Foundation

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(from a letter addressed to Ignatius Sum, chancellor of the Hytan empire's colonial forces)

We have spent too long in stagnancy.

The Fey and their desert kingdoms present a growing problem. With their worshipping of pagan gods, and their skill in riding, they have been steadily gaining a foothold in our western colonies. They are not a unified people as we are. But I know of their King, the one that they call Avangadro. He is a powerful individual. If given time, he will unify the Fey people. We must act.

The Orcs also present a problem to the Empire, even behind their great walls in stone. Unlike the Fey, the Orcs are a unified people. Under the command of their savage lord Hiro, the Orcs move as one. It is our good fortune that they do not move from behind their walls. Orcs practice chi. They are masters of the fist and foot. They will crush our people. We must keep them in barricade.

Lastly, we must explore. We must find new things. Our People grow impatient. They are unruly. Chandra gathers new rebels by the day. And they ride by night. We must find new lands. The Empire needs new footholds. The Dwarves still exist. If we find them, they could be a valuable ally.

It is time for the Empire to expand. I will accept no less.

Sincerely,

Herrod Blackchain, Maximus Rex

 

Caridad re-read the letter quickly, careful not to miss a chord of the tune she was strumming on her lute. When he noticed her at all, Chancellor Sum seemed to think of her as another piece of decor in his hall; a tapestry, something to add warmth to the cold stone expanse. It had annoyed her at first, but she was learning how to turn this blindness to her advantage.

She filed the names away in her mind and bent over the strings, seemingly lost in a difficult arpeggio, all the while wondering how such plans for expansion would affect the family she had left behind.

 

I was intending this as a story. Not a role-play. Heh.

I'm trying to develop a gameworld here. So far, we have the following notable characters:

Chancellor Ignatius Sum: leader of Hytan imperial colonies.. he manages their operation.
Caridad: Ignatius' court bard. Knows about the Emperor's plans for colonial expansion.
Herrod Blackchain: emperor of Hytan Empire
Avangadro: Fey King
Chandra: leader of "Hands Against Hyta", a rebel movement made up of the downtrodden laborers of Hyta.. similar to the Populist/Progressive movements of the United States.

[ January 23, 2003, 22:47: Message edited by: TheBlackRose ]

 

Just asking to clarify - this is a story, so no one gets to participate in it? But can we introduce characters that do certain things (so it's not role-play per se)?

(And I presume this is the bread-and-butter game world? That is, medieval/Roman - based technology; nothing modern, and with (to whatever extent) magic and magical creatures.)

[ January 24, 2003, 00:00: Message edited by: C'Jakob ]

 

I'm trying to build a world for a story. Ideas are of course appreciated. Example: you make a post about a bloodthirsty Hytan warrior named Shura.

Yep; classical D&D world for the most part. Imagine the Fey realm as encompassing Egypt and most of Northern Africa, the Orcish Kingdoms as China (complete with the Great Walls of Orcish Might) and the Hytan Empire as Russia (with the unsettled land being the Americas). That is, if you wanted to compare the fantasy world to real-life geography.

[ January 24, 2003, 00:54: Message edited by: TheBlackRose ]

 

I must be getting ahead of myself, but is there anything that can be said, generally, about the Hytan, Fey, and Orcs in culture and society? I know that we're supposed to generate ideas for you ( ), but info on the background would still be nice.

 

Yep, C'Jakob. Questions from you generate answers from me.. giving more life to the world. A question can be more valuable than an idea.

Okay, the Hytan Empire is basically like the Nazi Germany of this medieval world. Its alignment rating would probably be Lawful Evil. It's citizens benefit from the prosperity of the empire, but other nations are crushed mercilessly beneath the might of Herrod Blackchain. It's a large and sprawling empire, albeit one with few territorial possessions. Religion is a part of daily life. Most Hytans belong to the First Church, which worships the Filius Dei, or Son of God.. the believed manifestation of God; depicted by many Hytan high priests as a "white-armored warrior wielding a sword of fire." Basically, a paladin. A secret police of doppelgangers, the Virinigr [weer-ee-nee-ghur], exists to keep the peace and eliminate civil unrest. A rebel movement exists among the persecuted laborers of Hytan society. This movement is known as the Hands against Hyta, and it is led by an enigmatic woman named Chandra.

The Fey are parallels to the elves. They are a savage people that hold sway over kingdoms of jungle and sand... a great desert, given life by a great river. Fey have unnatural skill with the bow, and their hunters are legendary. Their sheer fighting skill would be enough to hold against the Hytan empire and gain significant territory along its southern and western borders. However, they are a chaotic people, and are rift with civil war and strife. There is one who could unite them however. The Fey King, Avangadro.

The orcs draw parallels from ancient chinese empires. Basically, they're a secluded race that lives within the Great Wall of Orcish Might. Orcs are lawful neutral. They are formidable martial artists and monks, and have a leader, Hiro, who is among the greatest chi channeler ever existed. They have the strength to defeat Hyta, but are too secluded. Think the Ents from Two Towers..

 

All right, I'm giving this thing my best shot here. Still, it'll be centered around single characters, not armies, nations, or events.

---

The palace guard looked at the sundial in the garden. It was noon. Eight hours until he would be discharged from the royal guard, and have no job again. He sighed. He was running out of employment and coin. Still, it was noon - which meant break-time.

Gallimn stepped outside into the sunlight and shielded his eyes. Deciding that the uneasiness of his last day as palace guard had stolen his hunger, he decided to only smoke his Halzum Tieber* and muse on his current situation.

He was employed as a soldier fifteen years ago. The Hytan military, as he soon learned, was a lesson in oppression and hypocrisy (perhaps intentionally so). He left as soon as he finished the campaign against the rebels in the eastern province of Tessera. Still, there were things he learned from combat - be aware, analyze everything, and fend for yourself with as much practicality as possible.

After twelve years of service in the military, he took up a post as a sentry in the capital city of Aurus. He only imprisoned drunkards and beat up the occassional thief. No insurrection to put down, no Orcs to interrogate. He was bored with that work.

And so he took up a job as palace guard - he even happened to be experienced enough to protect the body (or pompous carcass, as Gallimn would often refer to the wizened man out of earshot) of Chancellor Ignatius Sum himself. Sadly, there were no assassinations to foil, no one to question or fight. All he ever did was walk in endless circles in the Gardens, enduring that nauseatingly happy music of the court bards.

Gallimn snapped out of his reverie when a senior guard barked at him, ordering him to return to the monotonous churn of palace patrol.

Still, Gallimn thought, better to be in the self-important presence of the Chancellor's carcass than to be on the streets without a home and a job.

He started marching about the interior of the palace, trying to look as stern and focused as possible. That was when he spied the letter. Gallimn shifted his eyes left and right to make sure no one was there. Then he skimmed over it. His eyebrows perked up.

Don't be an idiot, Gallimn,, the guard told himself. You're a soldier, a hardened warrior, not some carefree, naïve boy in search for adventure. You've grown a full beard**, your hairs are starting to gray, and face it, you haven't even gotten that much practice in fighting these days. Just settle down, find some woman to marry, and get a stable job, for Filus' sake.

"I could be a mercenary," Gallimn muttered to himself. "New lands to be explored. Orcs and Fey to fight. Besides, I've had it, absolutely soddin' had it with this boring Vasck***. I'm not gettin' any younger. Might as well."

It was then that the Chancellor of Hyta's colonial forces, Ignatius Sum, strided into the room, and snatched the Great Emperor Herrod Blackchain's letter from the guard's hands.

"That is for my eyes only, stupid guard. Now get out of my sight, and do not return. You are fired."

Gallimn strode out of the palace, carrying spear in hand and wearing his old, battered chainmail. He couldn't help but chuckle at the delicious irony of the situation.

New lands to explore, Gallimn. Places to go, people to see. And cold, hard, cash to be earned with blood. I'll try my hand at being a mercenary.

---

* - A kind of pipeweed, Hytan for "Purple grass".

** - The common Hytan sign for maturity and age.

*** - A slang term meaning "Orc dung".

---

How does that sound? I intend to put more.

(Rallymama: Don't take it too seriously. )

(Another question: Is the church one with the state, or is there the idea of separation of the two institutions in Hyta?)

[ January 24, 2003, 03:39: Message edited by: C'Jakob ]

 

OK.

Galimn: former guard, now mercenary. Has knowledge of Blackchain's plans.

Aurus: Capital of the Hytan Empire.

Tessera: An eastern province of the Hytan Empire. Has a heavy rebel presence.

----

The First Church is not officially one with the state. But for all intensive purposes, they're basically one entity. If you're an enemy of the state, you're an enemy of the First Church of the Filius Dei. Which is not a good thing.

Please write more!

----

Terms:

Hytan: Used to refer to any citizen of the Hytan Empire. EX: Peter, a Hytan farmer, paced nervously.

Imperial: Used to refer to a citizen connected with the Hytan government. EX: Magnus, an Imperial general, conquered several nation-states... all for the glory of Blackchain.

Filial: Used to refer to a citizen connected with the First Church of the Filius Dei. EX: Jericho, a filial priest of no small measure, healed the man's wounds. Capitalization doesn't really matter. This term may be changed.

[ January 24, 2003, 04:38: Message edited by: TheBlackRose ]

 

The two monk-guards flanked the sorceror as they led him down the great hall of Xin Tusks-of-Bronze, Fifth Son of the Second Eldest Brother of the Youngest Son-in-law of the Patriarch of the Tusks-of-Bronze family. It was an honor to be invited, even summoned, to the Lesser General's home. He had little patriotism or pride for his nation, unlike many a peasant or commoner. All he wanted to do is be left alone.

The sorceror knew he could not escape or run if he needed to. The guards were trained well enough to snap his arm like a pine chopstick if need be. He decided that he would go through with whatever the Lesser General decreed, even if it was death for practicing sorcery. But it was not a matter of honor, family or nation. He had not talked, or even sent a messenger to talk with his parents since ten years ago. They had not done the same either.

Xin rose from his chair, and a servant gracefully poured two cups of green tea for him and the sorceror.

Good, he thought. Green tea symbolizes comradeship and compromise. I will not be reprimanded or beaten. Ah, but perhaps the Lesser General is cruel, like a tiger who plays with the deer before devouring her.

The Lesser General nodded, dismissing the two monk-guards.

"Stand up, Tseng Scars-from-fire, Estranged Son of the Fourth Nephew of the Patriarch of the Scars-from-Fire family."

The sorceror stood, but kept his eyes to the ground. Some nobles would disembowel the inferior peoples who dared look into their eyes. Xin motioned for Tseng to drink his tea, and the sorceror nervously sipped the hot beverage.

Xin sipped his tea as well, pacing about the opulent hall like a caged tiger.

"We both know who we are, is that not correct?"

"It is, Lesser General."

"You are an intelligent Orc, are you not?"

"A wise philosopher once said that to call oneself cunning, he must first understand folly, then outsmart the tigeress and the snake before the King."

"Ah, what wit. I know you to be wise, then. You have studied the ways of art and law, have you not?"

"I have."

"And you have once encountered an old sage in the academy, who recently died of age, have you not?"

"I have."

"And this man taught you sorcery because of your great potential, did he not?"

Tseng's cheeks flustered an angry red that contrasted brightly with his olive-green skin. This was the Lesser General's way with words? First entice him with praises, then subudue him with a rhetorical question? At that moment, he silently wished Xin dead. Sorcery was punishable by amputation, torture, death, and exile, all of which (except perhaps for the last one) Tseng greatly feared.

"I confess that I have."

Xin turned his back away on Tseng, his thin, haggard face staring at the ceiling. He stroked his own chin, as if he were musing on something only he and the spirits knew about.

"Though we do not know why the serpent hisses," Xin pondered, "nor do we understand why the raven's feathers are black, we do trust that the spirits of creation have endowed them such for a purpose."

And what purpose of my sorcery? Tseng wondered.

The Lesser General turned to face Tseng.

"Our nation is powerful. Our Leader is mighty. We are one with chi, the force that binds all Orcs and all other beings. One of our warrior-monks can defeat four of the infidel's Centurions."

"What you say is true."

"Yet the barbarians who call themselves Hytans are numerous, as many as the stars in the night sky, as many as grains of sand on the beach."

Tseng made no comment. What should he say? And why did Xin want him?

---

(Okay - Edit: added more. I meant to write on and complete most of this part, but I was called away to lunch. TheBlackRose: The Orcs refer to the Hytans as infidels, and Hyta (apparently having a Roman-ish flavor) has elite soliders known as Centurions.)

---

"The sage Qing-tzu once said that an army does not charge recklessly on the battlefield and expect to win the day. No, observations and studies of the enemy must be made. Know the enemy better than yourself and you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.

"That is where you come in, sorceror. I will give you all the dregs of our society: skilled thieves, assassins, bounty hunters, trackers, and murderers. Travel north, across the Maroon Desert*, and make your way to the infidels' great citadels and temples. Learn whatever they are planning. Murder and kill if you must - but be stealthy and subtle. You goal is knowledge. It is doubtless that the nation will be pleased upon your return."

Xin looked into Tseng's eyes.

"We both know that sorcery and espionage are not honorable things to do. But the greatness of our King and our nation comes first, always first. We cannot allow the infidels to take advantage of the resources in the world. No, the ends justify the means, as much as no one wants to hear it. Do what you have to do - the well-being of our kind is in your hands."

Tseng was stunned. There was no way he could not accept. This was practically an order gilded with promises of power and prestige. But adventure was what he wanted, a chance to escape the rigid Orc society he was born in. This was the chance of a lifetime - he could not say no.

"Very well."

The Lesser General smiled. He led Tseng to the stables. There, a motley group of tough, lean, and hardened Orcs waited there. Supplies were ready. Weapons were sharpened. And all that left was the journey.

---

* - a cold and dry desert that lies between the Kingdom of the Orcs and the Hytan Empire.

[ January 24, 2003, 19:47: Message edited by: C'Jakob ]

 

Tseng Scars-from-fire: Orcish sorcerer

Xin Tusks-Of-Bronze: Orcish Lesser General. Knows that the Hytans have supreme numerical advantage. Wants to find a way to defeat them, and is enlisting the help of Tseng. (?)

"Infidel Centurions": (?)

[ January 24, 2003, 19:08: Message edited by: TheBlackRose ]

 

The next day, Gallimn made sure to get up early - early enough not to be able to tell the time from the city sundials. He wanted to be able to be the first one at the public forums*, and check for anyone looking for a mercenary. Preferably a small, quiet task that the larger mercenary groups would overlook.

He was in luck.

Mercenaries wanted. Training not needed; plenty of experience to be gained in battle. Five hundred silver pieces to be paid after leave. Provisions and pack animals will be supplied; bring own weapons and armor.

Campiagn will be an escort from here (Aurus), to the southwest cities, along Southern Hyta, then towards the Far East of the Empire. The march will last two years. Battles will be fought against Goblin hordes and to protect new settlements there. Mercenaries may leave after four years of service (including the march to the East).

Those interested will meet in the Drowning Griffon tavern after dusk of today, the fifteen day of Tyracea**, year 408 of the Hytan Empire.

The pay was poor, he was expected to bring his own arms, and no experience was necessary. Just what he needed - to refreshen his skills, get in shape, and see some action again. And the other mercenaries would be going for the bigger catches of the day.

The mercenary-to-be spent the rest of his day, smoking his Halzum Tieber, and dining on rough bread, salted fish, and pickled vegetables, the usual fare of the lower and middle-class Hytan man. He just sat back and mused on his life, waiting until dusk.

When darkness fell (and to Gallimn it felt like an eternity), he took along his armor, a few rations of bread and cheese (no one expected mercenary food to be of good quality), and a pouch of battered copper and silver coins. Placing these on his old, stubborn, mule, and carrying his spear in hand (guards would often harass and take the weapons of the civilians who carried them, but Gallimn had enough friends among the guard to make them look the other way). He made his way toward the Drowning Griffon.

A group of about hundred and fifty young, green men, most who clearly did not know each other well, lounged about the tavern, having drinks and talking aimlessly. Gallimn was confident that he was the only one in the room who had actually killed another person in combat. Everyone else was either a foolish and naïve lad, or a very good person at concealing his identity.

The room went silent (although Gallimn was only smoking at the time) when the cliente walked in. Gallimn couldn't decide which was more surpising - that it was a woman dressed in mail and carrying a curved sword, or that she wore no red cape***.

The woman walked around the still room, eyeing each individual like a hawk searching for a fat rabbit to catch.

"I am the one who has requested you to escort me and my men - and women - across the Hytan Empire. I see over a hundred and fifty of you here. That's no problem - I imagine well over sixty will desert after they've seen what this world has to offer. Those who intend on wasting my resources can get out of my sight right now."

No one left. Gallimn understood it wasn't an issue of fear, but rather of pride. No boy soldier was going to back out of a job in front of his friends just because a person - especially a woman - said the task would be hard. Still, he sensed an air of apprehension in the room.

The woman nodded. "Excellent. I'll see if you're up to the task. Don't expect me to be your mother - if you get hurt, tend to your own wounds, unless one of our healers happens to actually be nice to you. I see most of you have no armor - too bad, but you probably wouldn't be able to afford it anyways.

"Now get up, pay for you drinks, get your horses, and get on the road. We travel by night - you're likely to meet more bandits and monsters that way. Which means more experience in combat for all of you."

She strided out of the buildling. A mass of grumbling and mutters burst from the men immediately her presence was gone. Gallimn figured about two dozen men had already decided the task wasn't worth four years of their lives.

And that means more than twenty less immature people to bother me, Gallimn thought.
---

* - Like the forums in ancient Rome - essentially a giant, commmunal newspaper.

** - the sixth month of the Hytan twelve-month calendar.

*** - the sign of a Hytan military officer; mercenaries are often hired by the Empire when the military morale is low, or when the work is simply too dirty for them to do.

[ January 25, 2003, 03:19: Message edited by: C'Jakob ]

 

@C'Jakob - Seriously? Who, me?

***********

Caridad wasn’t often grateful that she favored her talented father instead of her beautiful her mother, but on this cool, misty night she breathed a soft prayer of thanks as she wrapped her cloak about her and hurried through the street. If she were prettier, Lady Tiselle might have seen her as a threat and given her old cloak – the very garment that Caridad was currently enjoying - to some other young woman in the Chancellor’s service. Maybe there was a place in the world for shallow people who lived according to the whims of fashion, after all.

Stepping into the Barge and Barrel, Caridad scanned the room as she moved to the bar to claim a tankard of ale. Several people greeted her and pointed to a table near the hearth. A shout went up as a young man leapt to his feet.

“Cari! I knew you’d be able to slip away tonight. Drink quickly, my girl, I’ve a surprise for you!”

“Oh no, Zoran, not another surprise? The last one kept me out of the marketplace for almost two weeks!”

The laughter went down easily, but several of the other young men at the table grew more edgy as their tankards grew less full. Finally, Zoran stood and extended his hand. “Milady, we must depart. The pleasure of your company isn’t simply requested, it’s required!” Caridad shook her head but rose to her feet and accompanied the group outside. All her questions about their destination were brushed aside with vague replies, so she stopped asking. It was good to see Zoran again, and she let the conversation distract her from the surroundings.

Whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t to walk into a warehouse full of people. She stared in amazement for a few seconds before the phrase “Hands of Hyta” broke through the babble of voices. She turned on Zoran in fury.

“How could you bring me here! If the Virinigr catch me, I’ll lose more than just my job! We came to Aurus to find you a teacher, not…” Her angry words were cut off as Zoran pointed to a woman standing on several crates at one end of the room, preparing to speak. When she began, all other voices in the room fell silent.

“Blackchain is feeling the grip of the Hands, my comrades! As we strike ever closer to his heart, he will learn that…”

As Chandra continued, Caridad felt herself being swept along in the rising tide of fervor. The woman made sense – that common folk had to act to end the abuses of the nobility – but something didn’t quite add up. Casting about for an anchor, her mind fell upon the letter she had seen that afternoon in the Chancellor’s hall. Pieces began to fall into place, and when Chandra finished Caridad grabbed Zoran’s arm.

“I must speak to her. Can you get us through?”

A few well-placed elbows brought them to the woman’s side. Caridad opened her mouth to speak, but lost her words when she looked into Chandra’s burning eyes. She fiddled with her cloak pin to regain her composure, but it was long enough for Chandra to spot the Chancellor’s badge on her tunic.

“What do you mean, bringing someone from the Chancellor’s own hall to this place? I won’t allow you to ruin all that we have built because you wish to warm your bed come winter!”

Zoran’s hand tightened on Caridad’s arm. “Caridad is my sister,” he replied through gritted teeth. “I’ve trusted my life to her before, and if she says that she has important information, then she does.”

After a brief pause, Chandra nodded her apology and Caridad quickly relayed what she had read. Chandra’s skepticism turned thoughtful.

“So the emperor wishes to expand. I wonder how he plans to move into new places without loosening his grip on the old ones?” She looked steadily into Caridad’s face. “Can you keep us supplied with this information? When, where, how many troops?”

Letting go of her anchor and floating on the swift-moving current, Caridad agreed.

 

The woman without the red cape shouted toward the mercenaries to leave. The men (and women) in the front carried torches in the darkness. It would be a long walk, and Gallimn wondered why they had to march in the darkness - no one, not even a person as mad as this woman who had hired him - would think of travelling at nighttime, even if it was meant to harden the men.

In any case, he carved his name into his worn and battered armor, and marched briskly at the front, keeping pace with the drivers. But it was to eerie working for a person whose name he didn't know, and marching to an unknown place.

Gallimn slowed down his stride (or maybe he quickened it up; he was too tired to tell) to keep pace with the woman. And so he asked her her name, feigning aloofness and disinterest.

"Feels queer working for a person I don't know. Who are you, and where exactly in the hell are we heading?"

"Hah. Name's Khasta. From Baristahm - where we're headed to. And you are?"

Gallimn nodded. He was vaguely with the city of Baristahm - a city bordering the Fey kingdoms. It was hot, dry, and any exotic as Hyta could get. That and it was a tight, oppressive city ruled by callous nobles - oppressive enough to breed plenty of discontent. As far as he figured, the nobility had so far kept it under control.

"Gallimn. Ex-soldier, ex-guard."

"Oh? Guarding where?"

"The palace of the rotting corpse of the Chancellor himself."

Khasta chuckled, saying, "Hytan upper-class and government are all idiots. Someone really oughta set 'em straight. But you see anything of interest in your career?"

Gallimn was fairly surprised by her response. Such a comment would have earned a painful beating in the city - he had carried out a few himself. But he tried to remain nonchalant.

"Yeah, I've been across the Empire before. Fought in a campaign in Tessera against the rebels. Fists against Hyta or whatever they're called."

He could see Khasta scowl a bit, as she said, "Mmm. Find anything worth knowing as guard of the Chancellor."

Gallimn shrugged. He might be jailed or the like if he let this kind of information slip, but then again, he was on the road, talking with a woman who seemed to have quite an anger against the Empire.

"Emperor feels the need to expand. Make new colonies, defeat the Fey, the Orcs. Kill or imprison the rebels. That kinda stuff."

"Oh? That's rather... intruiging."

The conversation stopped there, and it left the mercenary wondering why he was working for a woman with such an interest in the activities of Hyta.

 

Falco dropped to the freezing cold desert sands, and lay, panting for breath. The sky was dark, and the only light was from the moon. His neatly trimmed black beard and close-cropped hair were soaked in sweat. Another figure dropped down next to him. “Do you think we out ran them?” said the man. Falco rolled to see the face of the man next to him. He was younger than Falco, and sported no beard. His eyes were wide with fear, or excitement.

“I don’t know Paolo. Those legionnaire* buggers are fit.” Falco quickly got to his feet. He cursed as he felt the gritty sand slide down his baked leather breastplate. He could see the same irritation on Paolo’s face.

The younger man knelt on one knee, and struggled with the leather buckles on his armour. “No time for that.” Said Falco “They bastards are still tracking us.” Falco helped Paolo to his feet and the two set off again.

Falco felt strong enough for several more miles. He knew the man beside him would to. Falco counted his breathes as he ran; it would distract him from the aching running through his legs. He lost his count as Paolo spoke. “Do you think it was worth deserting?” His inquisitiveness was apparent in his voice, even through the gasps.

“Its better than the two thousand lashes. No man has survived that punishment, and I don’t think we’re anything special.” Falco started counting his breaths again. He could almost feel the raw leather tongues of the whip lashing against his bare skin. Two thousand for just hitting another soldier, it wasn't worth dying for that. He forced the thought from his mind and concentrated deeper on his counting.

The two ran through the cold for what seemed an eternity, until could see the sun flashing at the horizon. Falco swore several times, as if ordering the sun to return to its depths. To be stuck in the desert in the blazing hot sun with only half a skin of water was certain death.

Suddenly Falco stumbled, and he felt himself falling, and then rolling. He stifled a cry as his body connected with a shallow rock. As soon as the momentum slowed and stopped, he lifted himself to his knees and spat sand from his dry mouth. No use, the sand had dried up his mouth and its gritty feeling was all that was left.

Paolo was working his way down the sand dune Falco had just rolled down. “I’ve been here before.” He said as he reached the bottom, pointing at a rock pile. “I remember when we turned east of here. I know there is a water hole there after a couple of miles.”

“Then so do our pursuers. We’ll have to risk it and head west, the map shows thats where the rebels are rebuilding from the Tessera campaign.” For over a decade, the rebels from the province had been slowly creating a new army. Falco had obtained the information from a drunken Centurion the night before his punishment. Ordinarily he would have been placed in a cell, but recently the cages had rusted and become weak, and had not been replaced yet. Added to the fact that the garrision was undermanned. The centurion had been his guard, and Falco had watched while the man slowly drank his way into a stupor. He had gotten so drunk he forgot Falco was a prisoner and even showed him his scouts reports and maps. Falco had swiftly slit his throat with the centurions own dagger and taken the maps. After waking Paolo, he and his brother were now making for the rebels, and there, they would prepare to avenge their family’s murder.

Falco recalled his succession with the Hytans with anger. He had been a young boy of ten summers when his family was killed by pillaging Hytans. His father had been killed while the soldiers raped his Mother and sister. When the first hairs appeared on his face he was drafted into the auxiliaries, foreign men used as frontline troops for the Hytans, and rushed off to a frontier town garrision.

His first fight had been a small skirmish against the rebels. Later he had fought in a pitched battle against them. Two hundred Auxilliares were sent forward first. Most fell from arrows, but when they reached the rebels, they hacked and slashed their way to the centre. The rebels had surged around them, mercilessly cutting down the Auxilliares. Little did they notice the dark shield wall of the legionnaires marching into their flanks. After less than an hour the rebels broke and ran.

Falco had been one of the few Auxilliares to survive the battle, and after several more fights Falco became more familliar with killing. He knew the stench of death. It was always bitter. But when he had killed the centurion, the smell was sweet. Soon, he would taste it again, as insurrection was close to coming.

*Hytan infantry. Sticking with the roman theme

[ January 29, 2003, 11:02: Message edited by: Morningstar ]

 

Drowning Griffon: fairly well-known Hytan tavern. Used for military recruitment.

Baristahm: a desert city on the borders of the Fey kingdoms. Ruled by an aristocracy. Rife with civil discontent.

Legionnaires/Centurions: Hytan military ranks.

Auxilliares: Expendable foreigners, used as Hytan front-line soldiers.

[ February 03, 2003, 03:06: Message edited by: TheBlackRose ]

 

As dawn broke, Falco thanked his gods as the sight of a large emcampment. The sound of voices reached his ears, and he heard Paolo drawing his blade forth. "Put it awat Paolo, we have come in peace." his face noticeably blushed.

Falco turned his attention back to the camp as he saw soldiers rushing to and fro, pulling on armour and struggling with horses. Falco swore and ducked as an arrow flew over them. Swiftly he unbuckled his swordbelt and held it up high before throwing it down. Paolo followed suit and in moments rebels with bare swords surrounded them. With pride and authority, Falco spoke, "Take us to your leader." he said.

"Our general, Hytan" corrected a tall man,

"Take us to him," repeated Falco. The soldiers stared at each other, none of them were all together that organised. The tall man spoke again,

"Fine, but watched your step, we don't like Hytan's."

"We're not Hytan's." said Paolo outraged, "We are Fey!" Falco raised a hand to quieten his brother, he did so and turned back to the tall warrior.

"Fey, eh? All the same watched yourself, you're wearing Hytan armour." The tall soldier led them on, and the rabble, which is all that could be said of this 'army' dispersed, and returned to their tents.

The general was tall, lean and all though old, fit. His hair showed grey through age and stress. "What have you got to say then?" he said impatiently, and muttered "as if I didn't have as much to do already". Falco stepped forward.

"At this very moment," he said "Hytan's are mobilizing to attack your camp." The general shot from his chair wide eyed,

"How do you know this?" he exclaimed. Silently, Falco handed him the maps and reports. The general cursed as his eyes swept along the papers. "Tala, prepare to move camp. Now!" The tall man rushed from the tent and began barking orders. "And as for you gentlemen," he gestured to Falco and Paolo, "I am greatly in your debt. Surely there is a price for your deed." Falco leaned in close to the General.

"We need passage to the Fey kingdoms, and transport to the city of Baristahm." The general nodded and shouted for fresh horses.

"Take this note," said the general as he hastily scribbled on a piece of parchment, "and make your way to the port city of Marilsa. Ask for Captain Jaque Blacks, he will smuggle you to the desert kingdoms. Good luck to you." with that he rushed out of the tent and began helping the troops with moving.

Meanwhile Falco and Paolo mounted the horses given to them. They were going home. And with home came the best chance of vengence. The Hytan's would feel the pain of their own spearpoint...

 

The brothels, taverns, and all sorts of other institutions in Nangzhou* were much like its sewers. The people viewed them as filthy, unclean, and fit for only the worst kind of people. But like the sewers, they were necessary. Necessary to pacify the scum and bottom feeders that the Orcs in higher society refused to acknowledge. The laws of demand and supply, commerce and trade still applied in the hierarchical world of the Orcs.

Indeed, the Dizzy Lotus was one of these social pits. Tseng finished his fifth glass of wine, yet he did not feel sleepy or drunk. Indeed, he was aware and thoughtful as ever, wondering what the outside world, beyond the Great Walls of Orcish Might, beyond the Red Wastes, beyond the scattered Gnoll tribes**, was like.

He could have purchased a prostitute, and let his fears and frustrations could in such an activity. The crew that he had been given to use was certainly making the most of their stay here. Why shouldn’t he?

But an odd stir kept him from buying one. He got up and left the Dizzy Lotus.

Drunk and confused, he wandered about the Nangzhou streets. Perhaps he could do some sort of ritual cleansing to wash out the drunkenness. Or perhaps a street guard would force him into the stocks.

Lurching about, he stopped and vomited on the sidewalk. If this were daytime, the people would ridicule him, and then again tend again to their affairs.

But this was the dawn of night, where the social rats and flies, the thieves, the murderers, the rapists lurked about the city. And safety was the first thing Tseng needed to find, even if he was to consort with them in the future.

But every home was dark. The candles had been long blown out by the common citizens, and only various buildings continued to be lit. One of these was one of the dozens of monasteries scattered about the city. Staggering into the building (for they were open to the public at almost every hour), he expected to find Orcs practicing martial arts and exhaling Hwahs***.

The thought of combat brought a thought to Tseng’s head. Of course, most commoners were well-versed in simple unarmed defense, as well as staff fighting, the true monks were masters of flesh and bone. Breaking a brick with a fist was not uncommon.

But how the infidels, the so-called Hytans fought was a mystery to him. Did they practice chi as well? How awkward and clumsy they must look when doing so! Or did they use those exotic weapons known as swords and spears? Clearly, metal weapons might be used in menial tasks, as they were used among the peasants. But the idea of a thousand men charging into battle wielding a cumbersome piece of metal was ridiculous. Tseng did not even give thought to the idea of metal armor; the notion was too far-fetched for him.

But Orcs practicing chi was not the case. Instead, incense had been lit, and no one but a small Orc sat cross-legged on a mat, meditating. Tseng recognized the Orc as one of the men he had been assigned.

He decided to interrupt.

“What are you doing here? Not enjoying yourself like the others?”

The meditating Orc did not respond, but his eyes remained closed. Eventually he opened them.

“Meditating. And what are you doing here?”

Tseng scowled.

“Do you meditate often?”

“No, this is my first time. I wish to understand the secrets of chi further.”

Tseng was impressed, even if he himself had but passing respect for the way of chi.

“I see. What is your name?”

“Zao.”

The sorcerer noted Zao had no family name. He was clearly a vagrant or thief of some sort. And the idea of one meditating was interesting. Very interesting. Tseng sat down, and began meditating as well.

---

* - Pronounced NINE-zhoh. A major city in the Orcish Kingdoms that borders the Red Wastes, the desert that separates the Orcs from Hyta.

** - Various Gnoll tribes wander around the Red Wastes and the lands around them. They often serve as mercenaries to both Hyta and the Orcish lands, as they are valued for their brute strength and power.

*** - The sound an Orcish martial artist makes when exerting himself. When practicing against a dummy for example, one might shout, “Hwah!” when striking it.

[ February 26, 2003, 20:09: Message edited by: C'Jakob ]

 

Falac, as Falco had renamed himself sat on horseback approaching the City of Baristahm. Travelling across the Ash Sea* had been an easy trip, with no confrontation with any Hytan military. The voyage would have been an uneventful one, if not for one fateful thing. Paolo had died. In a small skirmish with pirates, the Wind Racer was boarded. Paolo had been among the first to die, before the pirates were beaten back. The recent death of his brother brought great grief to Falac, but he fought it back. The funeral had been a good one, a burial at sea. It seemed unusual for a desert born man to be returned to the ocean, but in its own way, it seemed right.

Falac rubbed at the braids in his beard as he thought of his journey across the desert lands, riding down the Great River. Falac had decided against travelling down the river, seemingly too obvious for a fugitive to use. Instead they had arrived at the port city of Muelisia, one of the only three Port cities of Fey, each by the banks of the river. Muelisia was second to the biggest, yet seemed merely a town to Falac, who had experienced the massive stone cities and structures of the Hytans. Muelisia was still large though, by Fey standards, and made out of a material that looked, and felt like sand. Its buildings all seemed to hav a curved look about them, and the towers were thin, broader at the base, weeding down towards the middle before broadening again. The city offered many services: Blacksmith, grocers, general store, outfitters and the like. To the disappointment of Falac, there were no whorehouses as it was against the Fey religion to sell ones body. Falac realised that a long journey at sea required a woman afterwards, but now it would require him to woo some barmaid. Next, after several small villages and encampments, Falac came across Karem, a city nearly twice as large as Muelisia, but not half as pleasant. The roughly cobbled streets stank of human waste, and people were dying on the street. With the plague apparent there, Falac had not even tried to stop, deciding to fill his water skins at the next water hole. The next few cities were fortunately up stream, and the plague was unlikely to have taken any toll there.

Before Baristahm, came Hurimo. Slightly smaller than Karem, but secretly in complete Hytan control, with the local leader being influenced through gold. Hurimo was virtually a Hytan city, with foundations already in place for garrisons, but were announced as new homes. The roads were neatly paved and there were even sanitation facilities. By the time Falac had reached these though, his beard had grown long, along with his hair, from which hang thin braids making his appearance almost unrecognisable from his previous self.

Now Falac reined in merely two hundred metres from Baristahm, the largest of the Fey cities, and it marvelled him. The city dwarfed even the Hytan city of Aurus. It was here that the “King” Avangadro ruled. He wasn’t in strict fact, a king. He did own the largest army, the most of the very few cities, merely sixteen in all, compared to the massive scale of fey, and was a charismatic leader, but other leaders around Fey would deny him the Monarchy.

Falac rode in; gazing with undisguised wonder at the paradise they called a city. Where others marvelled at the artistic structures, Falac marvelled at the defences. The walls were well over twenty foot, with towers every fifty metres. The walls were twelve foot deep. At each gate were two portcullises, six feet apart. Falac rode on, seeking the palace…

*Ash Sea. A common trading route, passing over a plate boundary (big line of Volcano’s), named for the islands of Ash that sprung up occasionally and disappearing some months or years later.

**Imagine Jerusalem