Arcana: Iron and Magic 5300

[General G]

Carinthian Underdark
January

The surface expedition commanded by General Zeiler departed from Pressburg Redoubt's subterranean port just as the city's day shift had begun. Cheering crowds lined the walkways and streets of the port as the five airships lumbered away from the docks and set off on their voyage. The lights of the port dwindled in the distance as they set off down the long dark tunnels leading west toward the distant harbor gate. Although most of the crews had a great deal of practice maneuvering their ships through the entry tunnel near the port, this would be the first time any of them would test their skills against the skies their craft had been designed to traverse.

Whatever the flotilla's lack of practical aerial experience, in material terms it was as well equipped as could be expected. At the front were two ponderous ironclads, the Scheyern and the Archduke Charles, each bristling with heavy artillery. Behind them came three transport ships, the Meklau, the Adventure, and the Astrid , all loaded down with supplies and passengers. Scattered across the ships was the whole of the Geddesburg Regiment, eight hundred veteran soldiers and their supporting warstriders, as well as an entire company of elite soldiers from the Imperial Life Guard. In addition to the soldiers and airmen came a wide range of experts, men of science and trained cartographers, along with a trio of certified Imperial Mages. If not ready for anything, the expedition would at least be as close as possible to being so.

General Zeiler spent most of the trip through the outward tunnel in his small cabin aboard the Scheyern re-examining the maps of the surface along the route the flotilla would be taking. When he did occasionally glance out the cabin window into the darkness beyond the lights of the ships, he could only wonder if it was a look into the future of the expedition. There were scarcely many more dangerous ventures than the one he had been given to undertake. Going to the surface was one thing, but traveling across the whole of the old Carinthia in the middle of winter to the old capital was a job that seemed to have a high risk of being one from which there would be no return voyage.

Pressburg City, or Old Pressburg to the citizens of the Redoubt that had taken up its name along with its position as capital city of the House of Scheyern, had been lost during the war after a prolonged siege. No one within the walls had survived, and no scouts dispatched there by the remaining Carinthian armies in the west had returned. The agents quietly sent out decades before through hidden entrances out of the redoubts to explore the surface had brought back word that the city was abandoned and the surrounding lands still depopulated, but none of them had gone further than merely seeing the outer walls of the city from a distance. One had seen it fit to include a vague reference to the fact that the locals believed the site to be cursed, something that Zeiler would have paid dearly to know more about.

Whatever actually lurked in the east, the work of dealing with it fell upon Zeiler and his soldiers. The order to explore and if possible reclaim the abandoned city had come from the Emperor himself, an unwelcome footnote to Zeiler's promotion to the rank of General. A mere regimental Colonel was not a fitting figure to be the one to recover the home city of the Imperial House, if such a thing was possible in the opening phases of the Emperor's wider plans for the Empire's return to the surface.

A knock at the cabin door interrupted the General's examination of his charts. “We're arriving at the gate, your excellency” announced the airman who stepped through the door at Zeiler's invitation to come inside. Zeiler affirmed his intention of overseeing the opening personally, picked up his tricorne, and then walked down the short passage from his cabin to the ship's wheelhouse.

The wheelhouse was near the bow of the ship, a semi-circular room with wide windows affording the helmsman with an excellent vantage point. The helm itself was surrounded by levers and gauges, and other pockets of controls and instruments were clustered about the rest of the room. A handful of crewmen and the Scheyern's captain were present as Zeiler ducked through doorway and stepped inside.

“We've already put down a ground party, your excellency” reported the Captain. “They should be opening the gate to the outside any moment now.” From the windows the ship gate loomed ahead, illuminated by the searchlights of the flotilla. It was nearly a mirror image of the main gate above the Pressburg Redoubt, although unlike the city's exit the distant and rarely visited naval entrance showed some signs of disrepair.

After a few minutes the ground party arrived at their destination and the vast iron portal began to rumble open, sunlight streaming in from beyond. It had not quite made it halfway open before it began grinding to a halt, leaving flotilla's passage outside still as blocked as it had been when it was fully closed.

“I'll have mechanics sent down at once, your excellency” said the captain apologetically as he turned attention to a brass speaking tube and began issuing orders to a junior officer further aft.

Zeiler frowned slightly. It was a tremendous oversight that no one had been sent ahead to ascertain if the gate here was still in working order. It had been a long time he imagined, since any regular maintenance crew had made it this far from the Redoubt.

“Tell your men I will be coming down from the ship myself. I want to see the damage personally.”

“I'll let them know you're on your way, your excellency” answered the captain.

From the wheelhouse it took several minutes to aft and down to the bottom of the Scheyern's hull. Several rope ladders had been thrown down from a hatch, and the General climbed down from there to the tunnel floor to join the considerable number of ship's personnel and soldiers already on the ground. Groups of gunners and pikemen stood watch as crew from the warship rushed back and forth between their vessel and the oversized gears of the gate mechanism. One detachment of soldiers set out behind the General as an escort against any dangers lurking within the untraveled tunnel or outside the now unsecured gate.

“It's jammed but it's nothing we can't fix with a bit of time, your excellency” reported the engineer overseeing the impromptu repair effort. “We'll be able to depart before the afternoon's out.”

Leaving the repair crew to their work, Zeiler continued onward to the edge of the partially opened gate. Glancing upward at the endless open sky above, he pulled his coat closer and stepped outside into the cold winter air. The airship gate opened out onto a fairly narrow ledge at the very edge of the continent, littered with bits and pieces of wreckage. This entrance, according to records left by the original builders, had been built with considerable effort to provide a direct link with the old Imperial naval port on the island of Hidelberg to the west. To the best of anyone's knowledge it had been used to admit a few stragglers from the eastern fleet and then been sealed until the arrival of Zeiler's flotilla.

The fragments of wreckage did not however, look a century old, and much of the debris looked rather suspiciously like airship parts. One of the Scheyern's junior officers, drifting out through the gate after Zeiler for his own look at the world outside ventured the suggestion that a storm might have overtaken whoever had tried to anchor at the edge of the gate. Old accounts suggested that the weather in the area was quick to turn for the worse.

The report of a leadcaster fired from back inside the tunnel interrupted any deeper investigation. His hand dropping to his own pistol, Zeiler waved for his own escorts to follow as he rushed back inside. Everyone was a little on edge because of the fact the flotilla would soon be venturing into forgotten lands on the surface, and the gunshot had stirred the entire surface party into a worried frenzy as soldiers took up defensive positions and prepared to repulse some unknown enemy.

An unknown enemy that would not materialize, the source of the shot was not hard to find. A pair of gunners at the edge of the light were quite cheerfully standing over their prize, an albino cave crab that had lumbered into sight. The dog-sized creature had been brought down by a single well placed shot. While the things had once been something of a problem in the early days of the Redoubts, they were generally only now seen in farms being raised as luxury food for the rich and the nobility.

With the excitement resolved, the repairs on the gate continued quickly and after a few more minutes it resumed its motion and opened completely. The ground party made its way back up the long rope ladders and one by one, the flotilla's airships made their passage out of the underdark and into the skies west of Carinthia. The last handful of crewmen on the surface used a concealed set of controls on the outside to close the gate behind them before returning to the flagship themselves.

With the first and easiest part of their voyage completed, the ships of the flotilla set off somewhat uncertainly into the open skies for the first time.

[Rex 290]

Walstan
Gravlan City

"His Excellency the earloman of Helgast!" Called out the herald, his cry being echoed throughout the great hall. Built in days past, before the Alfar, the King preferred the rustic feel of the Great Hall to the luxurious Court of the moon built in Alfar fashion. It impressed, some thought, the fact that Walstan was moving away from Imperial influence. The Military Council had its rooms in a annex right off the Great Hall, but lacked any large area for general assembies or posting notices. Thus the Great Hall itself was pressed into service.

The Earl strode into the room, his retinue following behind him, puffed up with arrogance and a absolute conviction of self importance.

The assembly rose from the great benches. The room was long, very long, and normally taken up by two files of benches and tables running the entire length of the room between which stood the columns holding up the roof and a great open, yet narrow, space when it was a day of feasting. Now it was nearly empty except for the benches set against the wall.

"Well, there that fat bastard goes." Viscount Carlen said.

"He's not actually fat." Noted his companion, one of the King's clerks. Small and built like a stick the man had thick round spectacles perced dangerously on his nose. "The Earl is stocky, true, but I believe most of that is muscle."

"Of course your correct," Carlen said dryly. "Of course you had to ruin my attempted insult. Good show!"

"I try! Your dislike of the Earl is quite foolish, my friend."

"Nonsense. Speaking of trying, did you find out who's to command the armada?"

"The Prince of Walstan-Esetar!" Called out the herald in the background as the prince himself entered with only a handful of retainers.

"Yesssss.... You'll be surprised, I'd wager. But I don't wager as gambling is wicked." The clerk kissed the Orthodox icon he always carried with him. "I expect you'll find out soon enough, but there is no harm in telling you now. Afterall this very assembly will make it official..."

The herald interrupted when he thumped his heavy iron staff on the stone ground, the spell snapping into life and sending the sound throughout the entire hall. Everyone shuffled before the raised area at the end, where the King sat when present, as the Constable of Walstan appeared. Carlen followed, no longer able to hear his friends news. He glanced back and the clerk waved, smiling. The old asgar, face a mess of scars the result hasty battlefield healing, glared out at the mass of nobles and commoners waiting to hear the appointments. Most of the people in the room had ambitions to receive an appointment to the expedition, its existence a open secret in the Court and by now half the world.

"The King has seen fit to send his ships and vassals out to garner glory and riches for Walstan," He rasped. The silence was deafening as the old warrior dragged it out. "Ferdinand Catella has been appointed Captain-General of the expedition. As Master of Soldiers Mercy von Grecken; as officers of the crown they have chosen their retinues. Gods willing, we shall have victory." The man nodded to himself when both men appeared from behind him, and took their places three steps below him. As the Constable he was the commander of chief of the Royal Army, and could break either of the men. "I, Ulrond of Bloodstone Constable of Walstan by the grace of King Otho, hearby give the Baron Catella and the Baron[1] von Grecken you commission." He waved a hand and his deputy handed the golden scrolls to each man. Carlen looked back quickly and saw that his friend had vanished. "May the gods preserve you if you by negligence or treachery bring harm to His Majesty, for His Majesty shall not show you Mercy." He smiled. It wasn't nice.

Carlen hoped from foot to foot in excitement; Catella was a veteran and one of Walstans rising stars. von Grecken was a foreigner, one of the land hungry minor nobles with no prospects of inheritance selling his sword for glory and riches. He was aware of the names of most of Walstan's military commanders and knew that these two would surely be sent somewhere important, not a minor raid!

Both men accepted the commission, causing Ulrond to limp out of the hall.

"The appointments will now be presented," The herald called out. An robed man, whom Carlen recognized as his friend to his surprise, stepped forward from amoung the servants and officials hanging in the back. He made a expansive motion with his hands. Golden letters burned themselves into existence in the air between the commanders and the waiting officers; when the lists were complete men and woman stepped up to read through. Some left unhappy, others left clearly pleased. When it was Carlen's time, quite a few others having departed the hall, he scanned the first list. As he finished it he felt certain he was not to be employed, and that he would have to go back to his uncles company and wait for someone to die. His unhappiness turned to glee as he found his name listed under the supernumeraries.

"Carlan Dyvslare?" He whirled around to the voice, and found vonGrecken staring at him. "Consider yourself forwarded to my retinue. Your friends would have me employ you personally."

"It's my honor, sir." He furiously wondered what friends he had that could recommend him. "I won't dissipoint yourself, my Lord."

"Get to my headquarters in Volzak tomorrow by noon." The Master of Soldiers turned away, dismissing Carlen instantly.

"I'm going to need a new uniform coat," Carlen complained when his friend came to him outside the hall. "Did you have something to do with this?"

"Your harshly used raiment's?"

"Nay," Carlen said. "I did this all myself." It was true; Carlen wore his second best coat which accounted for the three holes on the inside lining. The outside he painstakingly patched. Beyond that, and general wear, his uniform coat was a strikingly handsome cut of cloth and wool that been the standard thirty years before in his home duchy of Wolfheim and its regiments before Wolfhiem's regiment had been merged into that of Balzum. None the less, it was somewhat outlandish compared to the current cuts in the army but nobody would find it out of place.

"Ah, then your appointment. I knew of it, but alas I do not have enough pull with the military council to account for your good luck. Good day, Carlen." The prospective, well now not prospective anymore, officer waved goodbye to his clerk friend as he briskly walked away to some duty. Carlen lingered for a few moments and then clicking his heels walked off puffed up with self importance.

[1]"Baron" is a general term of nobles in Walstan, specifically for nobles without rank in Walstan. Walstan and Balzum class structure is simple. One has a title, which represents domains and landholding, and one has rank which represents importance and status in the hiearchy. Thus a royal Prince would have the second highest rank in the realm but if he has no fiefs or property, no title.

[OmegaPaladin]

"Baroness, I must protest this rash move. These Krinleaf people are not proper Dokkar" Chancellor Khovansky strode around the anxiously. "Why, they are not even followers of the true Gods, revering instead a mere mortal? Who is this "Dominator" anyway?"

"He is their ruler, Chancellor." The foreign minister laughed. "And you wonder why they leave diplomatic matters to me. I am no fool - this man may well be a villain, but I shall not assume such without evidence. I would have thought a philosopher would not make such a mistake." The last line was delivered with a barb of sarcasm, and the Chancellor scowled.

"I can control an empire's bureaucracy, but I can not control you, Baroness Aslanov. I am merely arguing that it is reasonable to expect a nation to meet you at a neutral place if you are not allied with them, but apparently you are dead set on risking your life. At the very least, take a guard. I will travel to the lands of House Yu, who are stalwarts of the Empire." That thought seemed to please him momentarily.

Baroness Aslanov rose from the table. "I suppose these Alfar are proper Dokkar, then?" she noted dryly. "And I shall have my personal guard. Try not to cause a civil war before I get back." She sauntered out, as the Chancellor laughed.

"A civil war? I'll be lucky if I can even make an impression with House Yu." Hopefully our underlings will have some effect on the local lords while we meet with the real agents.

[El-Diablo13]

Krinleaf trading fleet

"Captain Draemore! We're approaching the borders of Babel!"

Draemore sighed with relief at the news. It had been a long voyage, and he was relieved to finally reach their destination. Still, he felt a twinge of worry. Babel was rumored to be rather...fanatically opposed to monarchies. He felt a brief moment of fear. What if they attacked the trading fleet, to send a message that no monarchists are welcome or allowed? He quickly pushed the thought aside however, and felt a tad embarrassed. Surely even the famed Semiramis wouldn't go that far to make a point, would she?

Quickly recovering from his dark thoughts, he motioned the diplomatic envoy attached to the fleet over. "Envoy Draa'k, we will soon arrive in Babel, and I have been ordered to turn over command of this expedition while we are on the ground to you."

"Thank you Captain Draemore. I assure you, I will make the Dominator proud of us."
==============
Krinleaf, Krinia

"....and it seems that a certain 'Baroness Katerina Aslanov' wishes to set up a meeting with you Majesty."

The Dominator paused a moment before replying. "Thank you Minister Mel'kun. Please inform the Baroness that as a long lost cousin of our race, she and her people are welcomed with full honors into our nation."

"Yes majesty."

[Phantom Llama]

Mursili Straight
End of January 5300

Rim-Sun grimaced. A city had fallen to the invaders. His forces were out of position, theirs were concentrated and poised to strike. Their commander was shrewd, with the eye of a hawk and the speed of a cobra. But... yes, not as good at this as he was. He made his counterattack, ivory gamepieces clacking on the board. Now rather than poised, the enemy looked vulnerable and overextended. His opponent, disarmed, retreated.

While Rim-Sun pondered his next move, he was interrupted by a sharp rap on the cabin door.

“Captain! The Élan is reporting a problem!”

Opposite, Captain Gunum rose to his feet. “Excuse me, General. We’ll have to continue later.” He crossed the room to the door, and Rim-Sun followed out onto the deck as the skyman explained the details.

“It’s unclear what they’re signaling, sir. They’re indicating something to do with weather, and magic... but we can’t make out any adverse conditions from here.”

The fleet was brought to a halt, lookouts jabbed into wakefulness, and the forward scout sloop recalled. As it drew level and laid a bridge across, it was easy to make out the alarmed expressions of the crew. Gunum wasted no time as the sloop officer alighted on deck. “What happened?”

“It was all...” the man waved his arms vaguely “...all wrong, Sir. The colours! They were... faded, somehow. Like we were fading right out of existence!”

Rim-Sun heard a murmur pass through the assembled skymen. For all the spirit of adventure about them, the name Mursili still produced a primal disquiet in many. This kind of story would only serve to strengthen that.

Gunum stroked his beard. “Well, you’re still here, aren’t you? It seems like it’s just a chromatic effect... ah, Colonel Shuma! What do you think?” He turned to the scowling young mage who had invited himself onto the scene.

"It's not a danger at all, sir.” Shuma pronounced. “They're simply overreacting, it's a harmless natural effect that may be connected to magical activity on the island. An active node, perhaps.”

Gunum beamed and clapped the sloop officer on the shoulder. “An active node, man! Imagine if we could secure that. Thera wouldn’t know what hit him. Back to your stations men, we press on. Flagship to the front!”

Propellers whirred, wood creaked, and the fleet heaved into motion once more, the flagship Merodin surging forward to take the lead. Sure enough, as minutes passed, things... shifted, not becoming trasparent, but warped in colour and somehow indistinct. The men of the Élan had been right. It was unnerving indeed.

Next to Rim-Sun, Shuma stood upright, sneering at the surroundings. “Is this it? I’ve seen worse at the university.”

“It looks like an aged crystograph,” the General mused. “Rather like we’re sailing into the past.”

“I fancy quite the opposite, sir,” said Shuma. “We’re sailing into the future. Once upon a time people would cower in terror from the likes of this. We will meet it head on with courage and reason, and uncover it at the source.”

Above them, on the ship’s banner, the red garland of the Republic of Babel faded to a jaundiced pallor.

[Screwball]

Cursor
Lanreath-Westmouth Border
February 5300

The common room of the Flagon and Lantern was as empty as it had been in weeks, since the company of cavalry had arrived in the small border village. There had been no problem finding accommodation for the hundred strong force, since Cursor sat on the main caravan road between Westmouth and the Lanreathan city of Fallo and was, in summer, the usual first stop for caravans entering and the last for those leaving the League. It still being winter, the large inn was almost entirely empty. Further simplifying matters, twenty five of the harquibusiers had ridden onwards to Westmouth along with the small group of well dressed civilians what had accompanied the soldiers in a handful of simple but very well made stagecoaches.

The remaining horsemen had spent much of their time waiting in Cursor drinking and gambling in the Lantern's common room, when they weren't impressing the village girls with displays of martial prowess or teaching them how to fire arquebuses and kill straw dummies. As a result, it was common knowledge that they'd been escorting a party of diplomats to Westmouth to resolve some kind of trade dispute, although what exactly that dispute was either hadn't been made clear or none of the soldiers had understood it.

Why said soldiers weren't currently packing the common room to capacity was something Amara didn't chose to question. Normally, winter was the one time of year she had opportunity to relax, but since their military guests had arrived, she and the two other barmaids that worked for her father had barely had a chance to even sleep. The other two girls had already gone home for the night, ears and tails drooping in exhaustion, and Amara was deftly clearing away the last of the night's detritus. One table was still occupied by six of the horsemen, however, and judging by their continued requests for more ale, they didn't plan to leave anytime soon.

'Not that anybody could blame them,' she thought, glancing at the rain battering the windows. With their buff coats and waxed raincloaks, they were undoubtedly more prepared for the rain than Arne and Barra had been, but they didn't actually need to go anywhere in a hurry, either.

Which meant that one Amara Tavidotter had to stay up and facilitate their drunkenness. Although, on closer inspection, thy didn't appear to be very far into their cups. At least the room was warm, courtesy of the large fires burning in hearths at each end of the rectangular space.

Cocking an ear in their direction as she policed up the tankards scattered along one of the long tables in the centre of the room, she kept a surreptitious track of their conversation.

"They're at least a glass overdue."

"Oh, come off it Vik. You've seen the weather outside; they could have decided to make camp somewhere and waited for it to blow over. If they've carried on, they're going to be making worse time than they usually would."

Vik, a short man with tan coloured hair and black tips to his ears, flicked his tail in disagreement.

"If what the talk about the terms we were offering is true, you know how the Westmouthers are going to react. Even if it's just free passage for our merchants, they'd flat out refuse; it's how they make their money. The stuff about opium and nepeta and immunity from their laws is just unpalatable cream on top of a completely unacceptable base, as far as they're concerned."

"There speaks a man who's the only member of his family not be become a merchant," the other Pliuni snorted. "You know how much these things are usually exaggerated. There's no way anybody would be stupid enough to think Westmouth would fold to a list of demands like that, so there'd be no point in trying."

"Assuming that the intention was to get them to accept in the first place. Gannarion's puppet-masters are devious sods, Devlin, and you're not suspicious enough."

"That horse won't jump, Vik," interrupted a third cavalryman. He took a long swig from his tankard before continuing. "I get what you say about them being greedy arseholes, but they aren't stupid. They have to know we can't fight every petty kingdom and city state that has even a minor interest in the West river."

"Oh, believe me, Cal, they are. Most of them see a collection of dominoes to be pushed over one at a time, and they're all convinced that those dominoes are going to oblige us by waiting to be pushed over instead of banding together, history of the region be damned! Oh, and we could do with some more ale, miss."

Amara realised that her 'surreptitious eavesdropping' had mysteriously transformed itself into 'standing still and blatantly listening in,' and squeaked in surprise.

"Oh, o-of course. I'll bring you some more out when I take these back to the kitchen."

"You might as well bring some for yourself as well, if you're going to listen in. You're a terrible spy, you know, and we're not going anywhere."

Blushing, she grasped two handfuls of empty tankards and made her way to the kitchen. When she returned, she had seven full tankards. Depositing them in the centre of the table, she perched herself on the edge of one of the unoccupied seats and clasped her hands in her lap.

"Ahh..." Vik sighed, taking a long draught from his ale. "Now that my burning thirst is quenched, we can resume the arguing."

"He means," Cal said in an aside to Amara, "that he can continue to be a paranoid lunatic."

"Were I a lesser man, Cal, I might be offended by such a remark. Given my clear intellectual superiority, however, I feel I can let it slide this time."

"Oh yes," one of the so far silent soldiers on the other side of the table remarked, flicking his red furred ears in amusment. "I recall vividly your accurate prediction that we'd be invading the Heptarchy two years ago at the behest of your merchant compatriots, and last year's obvious mercantilist scheme to invade and conquer Amu Darya."

"Minor miscalculations." Vik waved the criticism aside. "Even you must admit, Dorrin, that there's something going on here."

"Yes Vik, and what I think it is is that some merchant got himself caught smuggling opium or nepeta, then went whining to somebody in the competencies, and whoever it was had the pull to send a delegation to get whoever it was their ships back. No more, no less."

The door banging open to admit a pair of glistening wet figures in raincloaks and buff coats, as well as a cold wind and a spray of rain, interrupted Vik's reply.

"You'd be wrong," growled a deep voice from inside the hood of the foremost figure. "For once, it seems Vik might actually have gotten something right."

There was a moment of silence.

"I don't believe you," Dorrin blurted. "And for the Three Sister's sake, come in and close that bloody door! You're letting all the heat out, and all the wet in."

"You're a cavalryman, I'm sure it's not going to do you any harm."

"Of course it's not going to cause us any problems, Cef," proclaimed Vik. "Our beautiful companion here, however, doesn't have the advantages of years of hard campaigning under her belt."

Amara blushed and ducked her head.

"N-no, it's not..."

"Nonsense my dear! To allow someone as pristine as you to be exposed to the harsh punishment of the elements would be..."

"Alright, Vik, lay off the poor girl," Devlin snapped. "Now, Cef, come over here, close that door and tell us what happened."

Cef thrust the door closed and threw back the hood of his raincloak, exposing a weathered face several years older than the rest of those present. Now that they were in clearer light, Amara could see that his companion wasn't wearing a cavalry trooper's uniform at all, but the thick purple robe of a Death Cult adept under his cloak. The man was staring at her intently, and something about him made the back of her neck prickle uncomfortably. Distractedly, she took a sip from her ale and shifted further back onto her seat.

"Oh, the delegation got to see Westmouth's King. Vetri here had a front row seat, and from what he tells me..."

"He went ballistic," the adept supplied. "And I can't blame him. A more unreasonable and impossible list of demands I can't imagine. Whoever drew those up needs to be hung for incompetence. Forget those rumours about forcing them not to collect tolls on League ships; we wanted them to cede us the right to collect all tolls full stop. Considering that they get mos of their Royal income from those tolls, well, you can see why they weren't keen. Frankly, I was suprised we even bothered if all we were going to demand was that they roll over and let us bugger them up the fundament."

"What did I say?" crowed Vik. "I bet you wish you'd all listened to me now!"

"Shut it, Vik," Cef snapped. "This isn't something you should be happy about. Their alternatives were to accept our terms or war. Cedfer's going to be bringing an army here soon, I'd wager, and a lot of people are going to die so that some fat cats in the Three Cities can line their pockets with even more gold embroidery. That's not something to be celebrating."

Vik's mouth clicked shut so fast Amara barely saw it move.

"Until that army arrives, though, we're now supposed to picket the road, make sure no Westmouth troops try making a quick rush down it. I'd take the opportunity to have fun tonight, because you're not going to have much chance for the next few weeks."

He seated himself heavily at the table, then turned to the adept.

"You're welcome to join us, Vetri."

"Thank you for the offer, but no," Vetri replied, still staring at Amara. "I'm afraid I have a rather important matter to attend to. Please, have a good night, Cef. I shall see you on the morrow." With that said, he turned and walked back out into the rain.

Cef shrugged.

"Never met a priest who could hold his drink anyway. You got another ale spare in the back, love?" he asked Amara. Glancing at the door the adept had left from and putting his strange behaviour out of her mind, she nodded.

"I'll bring it right out."

[Phantom Llama]

Mursili
End of January 5300

“Steady, steady! That’s fragile stuff in there.”

The shouts of the camp swelled behind Smerdis as he surveyed the landscape. Their bustle drew a sharp contrast with the dead, silent wasteland before him.

They had sailed for about an hour along Mursili’s coast, seeing not a sign of life. The entire island seemed to be an expanse of grey dust and rocky hills, without even the corpse of a tree to break the monotony. Come mid-afternoon this hill had been chosen as the best location for a fort, with its three rocky sides and harsh cliff facing the sea a mile to the East. And so the first step of modern civilisation onto this forsaken land was being built behind him.

It was stirring, but somewhat muted by the grim view in front. Then he was jerked out of his reverie by the sounds of the Anthem of Revolution, struck up behind him by the military band. In better spirits, he returned to the camp, where the other cuirassiers were getting their birds settled in.

“Lieutenant!” One of his men, Shuma, waved him over. “Did you hear, sir! One of the scout teams found something. Turns out this island isn’t so dead after all!”

Smerdis petted Shuma’s mount as she tucked into her feed bag, feeling the feathers under his skin. Like everything else, they were faded and discoloured under the island’s pallor. It was reassuring to touch them, to remind himself that they were solid. “Really? I say. We didn’t see anything from the air, what was it?”

“Ah, they found...” Shuma leaned in, whispering reverentially. “...some fungus.”

There was a brief silence while Shuma observed Smerdis’ reaction to this revelation, then he burst out laughing. “I can’t believe we’re expected to find something worthwhile on this rock! The whole place is dead, the most valuable stuff in the place is the warstriders. We’ll just poke around for a while until the food runs out then go home.”

Smerdis frowned. “Yes yes, very funny. Don’t you let your guard down. Carloman thought nothing could happen to him, but look where he is now.”

Commotion across the camp heralded the return of another scouting party. The news filtered out quickly - five miles south, there was the remains of an ancient causeway into the island interior. The implications of this were rapidly understood, and gave morale a spritz of certainty - tomorrow, they would be on the move again, along a path made by civilisation.

The night drew in, and the soldiers retired to their tents, just before a vicious storm sprang from the ether. Mursili was said in the legends to have viciously changeable weather, and it seemed that part was accurate at least. As Smerdis huddled under the thunder of rain he gave thanks to the engineers whose quickly-constructed ramparts were mitigating what must be a foul wind. When it passed, he remained in his tent, but was swiftly jerked alert by a commotion outside.

“They’re cold!”

He emerged to find the soldiers who were relighting the campfires in agitated discussion. As he approached, he discovered what was wrong. The fires were indeed unnaturally cold, shedding the warmth of flames half the size. Grumbling and anger started to rise among the assembled. First the pallor, then the storm, and now this?

“All right, all right, calm down.” General Rim-Sun had appeared from the command tent, the Mage-Colonel Shuma with him. “Add some more kindling and pass onions around.”

This was done, activity and orders helping to dispel the cold. Smerdis heated and munched on his onion, enjoying the sharp, sweet taste as Shuma explained what was going on. “Perhaps a change in the transmissive properties of the atmosphere. It’s clearly not dangerous, any possible method would...”

Bang.

Everyone froze as the shot sounded out.

“They’re on the hill! They’re coming!” One of the watchmen screamed, and the camp burst into action. “To your stations!” Rim-Sun bellowed as soldiers dashed for leadcasters and shouting sounded all along the wall. Smerdis reached the half-finished rampart and looked over.

All along the hillside, ghostly figures crept upwards. Chalk-white, long-haired humanoids, slowly crawling, advancing on the camp in their dozens with an inexorable silence. Babelites fumbled with firepowder and officers shouted encouragement, but the pale men did nothing but climb.

Smerdis felt deeply unnerved, and mustered his courage. “Stop!” he called, but felt instantly foolish. If they understood or even heard him, the natives made no response.

Then the general was there, giving orders. “Give them another warning shot,” he declared, and the soldier next to him shouldered his gun and fired. The shot blasted out, passing through the air above the pale figures' heads.

Nothing.

General Rim-Sun set his face and glanced at Smerdis. “Drop the leader.”

Smerdis, a good shot, drew his smallcaster and trained it on the foremost figure. He’d never killed a man before. But was this even a man? He squeezed the trigger, and the target dropped.

Without a sound, the rest exploded into movement, rushing up the hillside with impossible speed. “Fire! Fire!” shouted every officer at once, and the soldiers gladly, desperately obeyed, delivering a volley of shots into the wave. Dozens fell, but the remainder were closing fast. Smerdis and the general retreated as the second line stepped forward and delivered a second round, accompanied by a volley of canister from the falconet battery. And then the dreaded cry went up.

“Fix bayonets!”

Smerdis turned and drew his sword as the burly grenadiers stepped forward, cold steel glinting. They stood ready for a moment, then a pale figure appeared, clearing the rampart by a full two feet. For an instant it hung in the air, arm swinging. Then its hand connected, a grenadier’s head snapped sickly around, and the battle was joined. Flashing bayonets and jets of sorcerous fire clashed with raw speed and strength in a long few minutes of vicious close combat. The shouts and screams of the men from Babel rang out against an absolute, dead silence as the pale men fought, struggled and finally died to the mass of bayonets.

A cheer went up as the last attacker fell, and the press of soldiers parted to allow medics to recover the wounded. Ten of the grenadiers had died, and twenty more were wounded. Warstriders and mages moving on the cliff found nothing but corpses, no survivors or clues to where they came from. They had appeared from nowhere, and departed this plane without a word.

Smerdis advanced down the slope. Something compelled him to find it, the corpse of the first man he had killed. There it was, lying motionless with a hole in its neck, while a mage looked it up and down. Unnaturally pale skin aside, there was nothing to mark it apart from a human.

“A ghoul?” murmured Smerdis. The mage just shook his head, uncomprehending.

[Silence]

Glasself
Tavern of the Billy Goat

Walking in through the snowy drift of the outside, into the warm halls of the tavern, Askalde the Red, drew little attention. Covered with the same fur coat and hat as many of the other patrons of the tavern, the only thing that stood out was his fiery red hair and beard, which was not that uncommon among the lands of the Glasself-Doryln, which some of the magi had attributed to the presence of the low isolated population in conjunction with the fire node that resided in Glasself mountain. Even if there was keen eyes that would pick him apart from the crowd, they would have been starring at the ten men who had claimed an entire portion of the back for themselves, whose fur lined coats and hat did little to take away from the inscribed magical plate armor they wore.

Askalde made his way towards the back, catching eye contact with the noble knight's leader who in a guttural voice ordered his men to make way for the arch-magus.

Bjorn the Lion, looked much liked a younger version of his uncle, so much so there had been rumors that he was in fact Rothgar's bastard son rather then nephew. None of the rumor mongers would say that to his face of course, where as Rothgar had the fiery temper of his youth cooled off by age and the duties of his office, his nephew was fare more impulsive and had a reputation as a firebrand. He was however, still versed in proper etiquette and had his men stand up for the Arch-Magus when he approached.

“You can sit down, and don't be as formal as this when're in the lands of the tribes.”

“Of course, though how shall we address you?”

“Askalde is fine, lad” Askalde said as he sat down, with the rest of the group following, a young waitress came over to bring forth a tankard of ale, which he sipped.

“Very well Asaklde.”

The arch magus eyed the table and its occupants, they were Bjorn's sworn brotherhood, the Lion Pack. They had made some fame for themselves during the last invasion, by descending from the Wall into the face of the enemy and slaughtering their way to the siege engines at great cost, leaving only ten members of the original 50 alive. They were men who feared nothing, and subscribed the old ways that only way to paradise was through battle in death.

And as Askalde looked upon the table to see the numerous empty tankards of ale and mead, they were men who could hold their drink.

“So when do you plan to leave, towards the downlands?” Bjorn asked.

“Tomorrow the storm will cleared by then.” Askalde said, referring to the winter storm that was dropping heavy layers of snow and ice on the city.

“First thing in the morn?”

“Yes, I travel light and I suspect you do to.”

“I would not allow a men along us Lions if they couldn't handle the discomfort of being outside the city.” Bjorn said, in the particular puffed up way that all men of Dorlyn boasted about their manhood, his eyes glancing at the “soft” city folk of Glasself, who merely glared back, proud enough in their own right as being one of the few members of civilization on this harsh land, and not well accustomed to being looked down on poor mountain folk who had more balls then brains.

Askalde of course didn't care, but he didn't want any trouble before the night was over, “Soften your blows of contempt for city dwellers, they're the reasons why you have so much fancy equipment.”

Bjorn looked at the arch-magus surprised at his defense, but to Askalde's approval was keen enough in tact to say, “I mean no disrespect, just stating the fact that me and my men are creatures of death and danger, and that we can travel with you in good and as well as bad times without any problem.” then his drifted over to a particularly pretty tavern patron, whose companion had seemed to passed out before her, “Not to say there isn't some good things about the city either... Now if you excuse me Askalde....”


Sky Docks

The Sky Docks district of Glasself was named for the singular sky docking tower that the skyships from the civilized lands moored at when they moved to trade with the denizens for furs and materials. It was the one part of the city that was dominated by foreigners who learned that it was the safest part for them. Though every year there was an apocryphal tale or two (mostly true though) of how one mostly a randy young sailor gotten involved with the wrong girl and found himself facing a mountain of a man who had no compunction about beating the shit out of him.

Occasionally these stories were strengthen by the unfortunate victim getting thrown into the entrance hall of the tower building. It was one such man that the small party that was escorting Princess Hela, the crown heir to the throne of Heroes stepped over as they headed to the awaiting skyship. To her left stood a athletically fit young knight who was surprising clean shaven and had grayish black hair smoothed hair, and dull brown eyes, emblazon on the chest plate he wore was the symbol of Greyjoy Family, the Great Wall. Born and bred on the Wall which constituted the boundary between Glasself-Doryln and the lands of the necromancer, Sven Grejoy was one of the the rare stoics of the mountain folk, his face unreadable mask of stone.

The center of the group was Princess Hela, who wore multi layered inscribed form flattering robe of gold, jewels, and adamatine bands. Red eyes and red long red hair dominated her features, with bands of adamantine with sorceress gold interlace continuously moving help accentuated her hair. Hidden within the folds of her outfit was adamatine dagger that had been her fathers. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she made her way through the small thrown of crowd who all looked in surpise that that a native was here. Behind her two serving girls dressed in rich fashion as well carried her baggage.

To her right stood the man who wore the simple grey and white robes of magus. A purple sash embedded into the robe with red runes that made up the Tribe of Heroes written language, showed that he was the latest of the ascribed Masters of the Tower, the 15th lord of sorcery. His features were of normal Glasself, trimmed blond hair and beard and blue eyes peaked out behind a pair of spectacles and trailing behind him was a flying trunk glowing with a bright blueish magical flame. Boredom and annoyance that he poorly hide on his face showed his thoughts about leaving the comfortable confines of the Tower that he had just been accepted as a master into for some outlandish trip to Mu or Lemuria. Thus Bardolf the “Brave” as he was called during the years of apprentice hood to Haraldr the Black, was not a man who was in favor of this trip.

The group made their way up through to the tops of the sky dock, and found that there was still as reports had indicated a fur trading ship that was going to be bound to Alba still in port, though signs of activity and such on the the small ship was that they were preparing to leave in short order. The princess took a step towards the ship, when the covering arm of Sven Greyjoy stopped her.

“It is beneath your dignity to consult with these soft folks ma'am.”

“Well somebody needs to talk to them.” Bardolf grumbled, “You're not the type that would do it Sir Knight.” he said, playing it safe. As a full Master he was only second to the princess in terms of social hierarchy.

“Yes, that's why you are here. I'm just the sword to protect her highness, you're the advisor and concierge.”

Bardolf was impressed that the Greyjoy knew such a word for a second, then sighed as he gave into the fact that what the mountain man was saying was correct. He was the advisor and man to make sure things went smoothly to better protect the image of the princess. Who was looking upset that she was being treated as this dainty thing.

“I can deal with the captain without bringing dishonor upon me and my family boys.”

“True, if this was a citizen we be talking to about, it would be insulting for them to not be addressed like member of the Heroes, but these are foreign barbarians who respect hierarchal to the absurdity. I'll do the talking then.” Bardlof said.

As they were arguing among themselves, the men on the ship stopped working and glanced over at the five strangers, “What are they saying?”

“Something about who gets to talk to us and barbarians.” said the chief deck hand who knew most of the utterly foreign language that the self proclaimed Tribe of Heros spoke. The language isolation between them and the Heroes was another reason why the Sky Docks district was the boundary for the foreigners, it was the only area where there was enough natives that would deign to speak the language of the “soft folk” who as far as they could tell was equivalent to the men who were sent into the sewers who fixed things. A job that needed to be done and respected for it, but not one that you wanted to do.

“What are you're gawking at!” came the shrill voice of the captain, an Alfar merchant captain whose trade runs to Glasself had helped pay off his loans to the merchants and now was the full owner of the ship.

“Group of natives off the deck, sounding like they want to come over.”

“What?!” the captain exclaimed, in all his years of being the captain of the his vessel, he had only heard stories about natives wanting to leave their lands. Being so prideful and arrogant the average bloke on this blasted snowy hell of a mountain kingdom couldn't imagine that there be better place to live.

At this moment, Bardolf approached the ship, and the captain turned his gaze upon the man and the strangers. His eyes widened, he been here enough to recognized a Master of the Tower, as well as a one of the famed Knights from the mountain, and his eyes gazed upon the princess whose visage was reproduced in the currency in his pocket.

The master magus came up to the captain and said, “On behalf on her Royal Highness, the Princess Hela would like to open up discussions on payment of fare for the transportation of Her Royal Self as her companions to the Most High and Exalted City of Alba.”

The captain jaw's dropped, and his XO standing dumbstruck by the boarding blank, muttered, “I think we can work something out.”

[Arc]

The Ebon Wood,
Ameroe

Acrotith was an old fortress lying across the mouth of a one-time river valley in the depths of the trackless Ebon Wood. An island of white rising out of a leafy sea spanning the horizon, its alabaster battlements were the last refuge of civilization clawed back from the foliage. Founded on great mass of rock exposed by a torrent of water in times immemorial, the lofty spire of the center keep seemed to touch the clouds. Its walls surrounded the flattened summit of the rock in the shape of an octagon with a bulky turret at each corner. Inside the walls a lattice of bridges and walkways tied back to the seemingly invincible mass of stonework in the lower keep. Facing into the valley there was an enormous arched iron gate, with two blocky towers looming over the causeway that spanned the drop down into the forest. Its far end was a tunnel into darkness, overshadowed by trees whose gnarled roots had long since devoured the road that once ran the length of the valley.

It was a worthy seat of power for the lords of Ameroe, although a tenuous one. Somewhere under the canopy a forgotten legacy of villages and towns was slowly being erased from the world. The old keep would’ve succumbed to the same fate, save for the arrival of the Westmen some decades before. Even after so many years though, the keep was little more than a particularly stubborn outpost in a hostile land with no settlements, no industry and no people. Maintaining the keep seemed like an errand unto madness, save for one thing. Deep in its heart beyond the reach of a century of ruin and decay there was a great library, the only one to survive the fall of Ameroe. The vast and disorganized jumble of parchments and dusty tomes were Acrotith’s secret wealth. But it did not come free.

The cost weighed heavily on the mind of the one man who could be considered the master of Ameroe. Kolbein was a lord without a title, caring for neither rank nor ceremony. He stood on an outlook midway up the spire, heavy hands resting on the edge of the masonry as he peered out over the wilds with pale eyes. The wind here was cool and it suited him, tugging at his sleeveless tunic, long grey hair and a braided beard. This was an old man, although none could say how old, as the children of gods did not age as lesser men did. Even aged he was still a pillar of warrior might, even now still more worthy of the title of war god’s own than his youngers. In body he was a master of arms, but in name he was a legend. That, above all things, was the reason he did not be a king to command.

This day he waited uneasily for dusk and Acrotith’s yearly ritual, the one day during the year Kolbein was forced to allow visitors to his keep. As expected, a solitary winged silhouette appeared against the setting sun soaring over the trees. It didn’t take long to reach the fortress, casting a long shadow against the walls. Sentries eyed the skies with trepidation as the slate blue form of the dragon Kronth circled overhead, leathery wings making a powerful stroke as he descended towards the spire. Soundlessly to those below, the dragon grappled onto the side of the tower and wrapped its body around its curvature just so his serpentine neck brought him to eye-level with the balcony where Kolbein stood. The Asgar didn’t so much as flinch, his lip turning into a deeper frown.

“Every time you have all day, yet every year you wait until the very last moments of light,” Kolbein said flatly.

“The dusk represents our fleeting little meetings so well,” the dragon replied smoothly, bemused and pleasant by contrast.

“Say what you’ve come to say,” the Asgar said bluntly.

“As you wish,” Kronth answered, and passed unto seriousness quickly. “This day marks the passing of twenty three years from our first meeting here. Our bargain was that you and your kin would remain for a time no more than twenty five.”

“I am aware,” Kolbein acknowledged icily.

“By our terms, you and your kind were not to pass any deeper into the wilds beyond these walls,” the dragon added, drawing closer. Kolbein could almost have reached out and laid a hand on the jagged horn at the end of the monster’s jaws, and he definitely could smell the sulfuric foulness of its breath. “Yet your scouts have been venturing ever-farther into my domain. You have precious little time left, god-child. If you value what remains, curb your desperation. I tolerate your presence here, but nowhere else.”

“Is that all?” the lord of Ameroe asked, discipline forbidding him from showing any sentiment on the dragon’s barb. Kronth drew back and slowly nodded without a further word. “Then go in peace.”

Then it was over, as the dragon released its grip and took back to the sky with a loud whoosh of air, heading back along the path it had come. As it disappeared back into the molten orange orb on the horizon, a few soft footfalls sounded the approach of a man from behind, dressed in embroidered woodsman’s leathers.

“He always knows,” Kolbein spat, addressing the newcomer without looking back. “What news, Einar?

“None good,” a raspy voice answered quietly. “I thought the wastelanders less conspicuous and sent three parties of five into the wilds, along with one of rangers from my own company. One lot of wastelanders returned after finding one of my men alone, jibbering nonsense. Of the rest I don’t know, I suspect they fell to ambush.”

“Damn that beast,” Kolbein cursed, pounding a fist uselessly into the stone.

“You should teach that one to show more respect for the war god’s own,” Einar said, still not much above a whisper. “Wouldn’t his head be a worthy trophy for the great hall?”

“No,” Kolbein answered, scowling at the forest below. “There is more to this. Twenty years in this place and we still know nothing. I refuse to believe this is the work of one creature, even a dragon. There is a power out there somewhere beyond our reach, working against us.”

“We are not the first,” Einar replied. “Those who built the keep must have known.”

“The key to everything may be in those decrepit books. Would you chance that we would blunder into it with only two years to search, though?”

“No,” the woodsman sighed. “We are running out of time.”

“That dragon knows it,” the lord of the keep continued, expanding a thought. “The ruins of the city are beyond him to control, but it has been too long since anything of use was found. There is too much at stake to rot here and do nothing. Go see the Magister, go find the scribes. Tell them to search the maps again. Deny them food, deny them rest. Search until you find someplace elsewhere we might look.”

“And if we find nothing?”

“Then we have two years to learn how blind men can wage war.”

Einar departed without a word, his footfalls echoing swiftly through the passage back into the tower. The lord of Ameroe remained there, glaring into the distance as the last rays of light faded and the world before him fell into shadow.

[dacis2]

The Assembly Building, Liangcheng City
The Celestial Empire of Zealtranesia
Sometime in January, 5300

“All right, I think that’s enough filibustering for one day.” The Speaker of the Assembly called out, silencing the Minister of Industry mid word with a bang of his gavel that reverberated throughout the cavernous chamber. The Emperor and Prime Minister, who were seated behind the Speaker and thus could clearly see him raise the ancient, magical hammer, were the only ones who managed to plug their ears in time while the rest of the Assemblymen got to wince in pain. The Speaker, being equipped with earplugs, continued nonchalantly. “The Assembly will now vote, all those in favour?” Hands rose all around, then more hands joined them as their owners noticed the unanimous votes of the Prime Minister and Emperor, and still more hands rose as a clear majority was established. When the counters had finished their counting, and made their records, the Speaker rapped – gently this time – his gavel once again. “Item 53002311, Foreign Ministry Budget for AY-5300/5301 and associated budget increase, approved by the Assembly.” He yelled, scrawling his illegible signature on the sheet and slamming down his chop on it with full force. He then passed it on to the PM behind him, who did the same, and so did the Emperor behind him, completing the legislative process. The Speaker then checked the sundial in the middle of the room, before nodding to himself in satisfaction and calling a half hour recess.

The Great Hall of the Assembly was a teeming mass of Assemblymen who were taking the opportunity to stretch their legs and wings, and gossip over who did what to get their budgets approved. A number of the ministers went to their private rooms, where refreshments and –more importantly – private restrooms awaited them. Thus, had anyone noticed the small form of the Minister of Defence rapidly retreating towards his private room, they would have alluded it to a pressing need to complete certain biological processes.

Ou-Yang Hansheng pushed open his door with some trepidation, and breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed that he was not alone in the small room. “Thank goodness you came. I was afraid that I did not get the message to you in time. I certainly did not expect the Assembly to hasten the Ministry’s budget approval vote. Shall we begin my rehearsal? Time is short.”

“Actually, Minister, there has been a change of plans.” Upper General Chen Ruiwen said as she rose to her feet. “We’re going to handle the presentation. We do not feel that you can competently represent the needs and interests of the Host.” Ou-Yang opened his mouth to protest, but quickly shut it with a nod of resignation. “Don’t take it too hard,” Chen gave him a consoling pat on the back. “You rose through the ranks in Administration, not Policy. Normally you would have had more time to adjust before you had to do this, but no one expected old minister Yang to keel over this soon, nor that the current policy head would be as new as you are. Trust me, you can let us handle it, just make sure the Speaker knows what’s coming.”

Minister Ou-Yang nodded again, this time, with slightly more resolution than defeatism. “Thank you generals,” he said, nodding to the other two in the room, “you all have my personal gratitude. If there is anything I can personally do for you, anything at all, kindly let me know and I will do my level best to accommodate you.” With that, he turned to leave.

“Actually, Minister, there is one thing...” Middle General Liang Xuefeng piped up. Ou-Yang turned, and gestured for her to continue. “Minister, you aren’t in any sort of... intimate relationship at the moment, correct?” He shrugged and nodded. “In fact, if my intelligence is correct, you’re still a virgin aren’t you?”

Ou-Yang reddened slightly, “Even if I am, what is it to you?” he asked indignantly.

“I guess you don’t know the Army very well yet, Minister, but it doesn’t like being owed favours,” Lower General The Archmage Li Taifeng piped up, “they’re too afraid that they’d forget about it, so the good General Liang here is asking for immediate payment. In the flesh, so to speak.” Liang nodded, baring her teeth in a wide smile. “In fact,” Li continued, “I wouldn’t mind taking my favour simultaneously. More efficient that way, in fact. Hey Upper General, you haven’t gotten laid in a while, why don’t you join us?”
The Minister could only splutter a reply. Chen gave her generals a quelling look, gently took him by the shoulders and pushed him to the door. When they reached the portal, he turned his head to ask plaintively “They are joking, right?” Chen merely gave him a reassuring smile, and shoved him out into the hall with a gentle pat on the derriere.

She turned back into the room and closed the door behind her. “All right, the both of you went a little too far there, the poor boy is barely a hundred and twenty.”

Liang cocked an eyebrow, “Excuse me? Who might I ask, took poor innocent little me, barely a hundred years old, and...”

“Now now, generals, we have work to do.” Chen cut her off mid word with a waggle of her finger, to which Liang responded with another finger. Chen shook her head and chuckled, before sobering quickly and giving her a quelling glance. “Time is short, let’s get to it.”

* * *
“All right, everyone please take your seats.” The Speaker called, before rapping his gavel. “Item 53002312, Defence Ministry Budget for AY-5300/5301 and associated budget increase. Minister Ou-Yang, the Speaker’s Circle is yours.”

Ou-Yang rose and called, “I yield the Speaker’s Circle to my proxy.” A quiet murmur of approval could be heard throughout the Assembly. No one seriously expected the junior minister to defend his budget, they settled down and waited for the Chief of Defence Policy to take the Circle. Instead, the doors of the chamber swung open, and the three members of the Military Council strode in.

“The Assembly recognizes Upper General Chen, Middle General Liang, and Lower General Li.” The Speaker called over the murmur of the astonished Assemblymen. “The Circle is yours.”

Before they could begin, the Minister of Industry jumped to his feet. The Speaker cocked his head at the Circle, and Chen waved for him to continue. The old man spoke without preamble, “Certainly the military isn’t needed to argue for a 2.5 percent increase to their budget!”

Chen merely grinned, “I’m afraid that you are mistaken, Minister. The budget request the Assembly received is accurate, there is no missing decimal point. The Ministry of Defence requests a twenty-five percent increase to its budget.”

A gasp hissed through the Chamber, replaced by the roar of a hundred voices speaking in unison, many decrying the request, or others simply making sounds of disbelief. Even the Emperor, by far the most reserved person in the Chamber, let his jaw drop slightly, before quickly recovering. He and the PM quickly shoved their fingers into their ears as the Speaker lifted his gavel and started slamming it. “Order in the Chamber! I will have order in the Chamber!”

When silence returned, the Prime Minister spoke up, “General, I presume you are not here to waste our time, defend your proposal.” Chen looked behind him, into the eyes of her sovereign. He merely nodded slightly, a hint of a smile visible on his lips. The Speaker motioned for her to continue.

“Thank you sir, I will certainly do so. Gentlemen, the reason of my request is simple. I am certain that you all are familiar with the 5300 Defence White Paper written and approved by this very Assembly.” She made a show of opening a copy of the very Paper. “It is fundamentally identical to the 5250 Defence White Paper, with one very significant change. I quote ‘... the Celestial Empire will bolster its national security through the maintenance of stability and integrity of its neighbours through any means necessary, up to and including the use of military force.’ I believe that this, gentlemen, was a signal to all of Lemuria that we will no longer remain passive in this time of uncertainty. I understand that the Foreign Ministry has been tasked with improving our relations with not only our neighbours, but also with distant powers. I can only take this to mean that the Celestial Empire is leaving its policy of non-interference in favour of a more interventionist one. Am I incorrect in my assessment?”

Chen looked around the chamber, and only silence replied. She pressed on. “In that case, the Heavenly Host would be expected to perform the role of an expeditionary force in addition to its nominal role as a territorial defence force. And to successfully fulfil these roles, the Host must be expanded.”

“That certainly seems the case,” the Foreign Minister piped up, “we certainly would not want to weaken Zealtranesia’s defences while pursuing its national security!” A few chuckles rose around the Chamber. “I’m certain we will be able to support the additional brigade you are requesting, General.”

Chen shook her head. “I’m sorry Minister, but that would be insufficient. I require that the Host be at least doubled, preferably trebled in strength.” Once again, a quiet gasp rolled through the Chamber. She noted a few of the more... active Assemblymen twitching in their seats, but they kept their peace, mindful of the Speaker’s gavel.

“I shall elaborate. Our army is one of the best equipped on the whole of Lemuria. The price of that is that the majority of our nation’s mana production is diverted to supporting the tremendously mana intensive equipment that it uses. Further expansion of the military that is similarly equipped would be impossible. Thus, the number of what we are now calling Class One brigades will remain constant for the time being. Instead, to support them, we are proposing the formation of new Class Two brigades for the expeditionary force, and Class Three militia brigades for local defence. At the moment, it is estimated that we must raise three Class Two brigades and five Class Three brigades. This is currently beyond our capacity to support, hence the barest minimum of forces we require are two Class Two brigades and three Class Three brigades. A twenty five percent increase to the budget will permit us to complete this expansion within one and a half years, though this may be hastened if the Assembly is willing to import additional Adamantium and Pegasi.”

The Prime Minister leaned forward in his seat. “General, are you saying that the Host will be unable to carry out our nation’s stated defence policy until the middle of next year?”

Chen shook her head. “No sir, the Host is currently capable of deploying a single Class One brigade for expeditionary operations. It would be sufficient for a low intensity conflict, say, breaking up a fight between some of the small principalities or city-states that border us. However, it would be sorely insufficient to combat another major power. If everything goes according to plan, the first Class Two brigade will be available by the middle of this year. All Class Two brigades are earmarked for the support of expeditionary force operations. By the end of the year, both Class Two brigades will be operational. By mid next year, all three Class Three brigades will be operational and one additional Class One brigade will be available for expeditionary force operations.”

The Prime Minister merely nodded and leaned back into his chair. The other Assemblymen took his lead, either trying to poke holes in the plan or making requests for more information, and the process of governance went on.

[Phantom Llama]

Babel
The Krinleaf Affair

Foreign Minister Matar felt a little ill-at-ease around the delegation from Krinleaf. As an absolute monarchy, Krinleaf was of course an enemy of the Merodists, but that had long been overriden by the practical necessities of trade policy in an unenlightened world, and he did not consider it a wise course for the revolution’s advocates to simply shout loudly at everyone who disagreed with them. Rather, what put him off was the sense that they did not feel that way. That they considered themselves at odds with him and feared that he would have men in here to execute them at a moments notice.

Even after years of peace, the ideological gulf between Babel and her peers stymied development.

Nevertheless he continued his work. He took the elves on a tour of Babel’s modern firearm and artillery workshops, the University of Emisum, and the art gallery’s collection of works from the new Actualist style. All this of course was just formality, a hopefully positive lead-in to the real task of the day.

“Honored Sirs,” he said, folding his hands on the polished stone of his desk. “Your nation produces many wondrous things, but at the moment Babel desires only one product: Adamantium.”

***

Babel proposes an equal trade of 200 adamantium for 200 gold, 100 this month and 100 next month.

[Bossmuff]

Duervalden City
Great Ring Docks
Balcony


As Agni and her companion left the dockyards, they remained entirely unaware of exactly who else was there. Had they been, they might have stopped for a moment. But even if they’d looked up the balcony-dotted pillar, and known which one was a government overseer post, they’d not have known it was occupied, nor probably been able to pick out the two dwarves overlooking the bustling dock.

Prime Minister Ragnan Elsmund, civil leader of Duervalden, preferred to hold private meeting here, overlooking the nerve center of dwarven commerce. There were several reasons for this, ranging from the poetic to the personal; when asked, he always reminded his companions that one should always have their eyes on their decisions. His robes of office were black, lined with golden thread, and his beard was bound by adamantium links, as denoting his office. He contrasted heavily with the balcony’s austere stonework.

Today was no different; he was here to discuss an important issue. Fortunately for their discussion, that issue was right in front of them, in the process of being moored to the docks. The Skynail’s red seemed faded in the ever-present red glow.

Ragnan folded his hands at his waist, turning to his companion. “What do you plan to do?”

The other dwarf didn’t respond. Unlike Ragnan, he was dressed entirely in deep, brownish-red that contrasted with his fiery beard. A prominent symbol – an ornate rune resembling a book-stand with a ring above it – was etched into his golden beard-rings. His face was hooded, a red cloak draped around his shoulders, but his hardened skin and gnarled hands suggested prodigious age.

If Ragnan was put off by the lack of acknowledgment, he didn’t show it. “It will have to be addressed.” He said chidingly. “Even if you don’t do anything, the other Professors will force the issue. They’ll even go over your head if they have to.”

Still no response. The old dwarf’s head was lowered, so that one couldn’t even tell if he was looking at the distant airboat or staring off into space. Ragnan knew the old dwarf had heard him; he wasn’t deaf yet. “As you can plainly see, there’s no way to keep this quiet. All of the Ministers will break their silence, now that she’s back.”

“IF she’s back, you mean.” The old dwarf responded, in a voice that was seemed unusually light for a dwarf.

“Do you believe she would willingly part with the Skynail?”

“She is less predictable than you think.”

Ragnan nodded accession. “Perhaps, but then why? The ship was valuable enough to her that she would steal it from you.”

“And her only remaining link to me.” The old dwarf replied. “Not to mention to Duervalden.”

Ragnan chuckled. “Ivan, sometimes I think I understood her better than you ever did.” He leaned forward on the grooved railing. “She never wanted to leave Duervalden behind. That’s why she took the Skynail, and that’s why she’s back now.”

“How convenient for you, then.” The old dwarf responded dryly. His lack of emotion was pronounced.

Ragnan sighed. “You know I’ll leave it to you to resolve. I have a more pressing matter than a petulant child.”

He dusted his hands, almost ceremoniously. Ivan made no motion, maintaining his neutral glare into nothingness. But he suddenly spoke.

“She’ll not be a trouble.” He said absently. “She made her decisions based on partial information. She is reasonable as long as proper evidence is presented.”

“Your Djinn servant?” Ragnan hazarded with a smirk. The very concept made him want to laugh aloud, a reaction he knew full-well was atypical. He considered it a mark of educated sensibility that he did not succumb to popular instincts.

Ivan ignored the amusement. “Correct. The practical and theoretical benefits of the Djinnic structure is undeniable. That, coupled with the prodigious gardens our work has produced, should be enough to convince her, assuming that your hypothesis is correct.”

“My ‘hypothesis’.” Ragnan chortled, before abruptly changing the subject. “I trust you’ve know of the Lord Protector’s speech yesterday?”

Ivan picked up the new thread instantly. “You trust vainly. Though I’m sure it’s on one of the only two subjects he is capable of considering at the moment.”

Ragnan nodded. “Yes, the western holds.” He said with suitable gravity, suppressing his mocking grin at Ivan’s apt evaluation. “He was quite convincing. Most of the Parliament is of the mind that the rest of the Dwarven nations must be united under Duervalden’s banner, for the greater good of all dwarves.”

“You exaggerate.” Ivan retorted. “But I catch your meaning; nearly every Minster has an ulterior motive for such an alliance.”

“And the University?”

“Hmph.” Ivan dusted out his sleeves. “Such are your concerns, not mine. I care only for the pursuit of the arts and sciences.”

“Which is exactly why I’m talking to you right now.” Ragnan said sharply. “Our discoveries put us at the forefront of dwarven science. Who would have thought that there would be swaths of hanging gardens in a dwarven underhold. Who would have thought that you could create warstriders that live and breathe, that heal wounds and tunnel into the ground!”

“I am aware of our advancement. Do you feel they will view it with the same reverence?”

Ragnan seemed to calm at this rebuke. “Perhaps not, but it will entice them. Dwarves prize ingenuity and innovation, as well as practical application. The Djinn and Alpha-ER embody all of that.”

“And you wish me to provide demonstrations?”

“Yes.” Ragnan affirmed. “Our diplomatic attaché will leave in three days, along with several merchant representatives. Please prepare a suitable magical escort for them.”

“Will you be sending some of the Striders, then?”

“We want someone who can explain them adequately, yes.” Ragnan nodded. “I take it you can prepare such a dispatch?”

“Yes yes, of course.” Ivan waved his hand irritably. “You’ll have your professors. I’ll have them for your approval in a day.”

“I always knew I could count on you, old friend.” Ragnan said with a bow. “I am in your debt. Not that it makes me any different than all of Duervalden.”

Ivan harrumphed. “You believe they will submit to an alliance.”

“I believe that they will see the benefit of a dwarven nation of united city-states, yes. I also believe that we have much to offer each other, in terms of resources. Which is why I am presenting both an alliance and trade treaties, and why we are sending traders down the Cuergold to the crocodile-folk..”

“As well as your ‘demonstration.’”

Ragnan nodded. Ivan shook out his sleeves.

“I wish that our luck holds as it did against Zyph, then.” Ivan said with finality.

****

Action: Sending a diplomatic liason to the western cities, to propose trade treaties and expose local merchants to the other dwarven holds. A small force of Djinnic Scout Striders will escort, along with a University dispatch. Second goal is to open negotiations for military alliances.

In addition, sending a trade caravan down the Cuergold, to the bordering villages.

[El-Diablo13]

Krinleaf
Ministry council chamber

"Nonsense!" Minister Freedon cried, 'Of COURSE we need to expand. For too long we have sat iddly by, while the petty kingdoms up north have mocked us, and defied our authority!"

"Wait a minute Freedon! What you're proposing is war on the northern kingdoms. They've done nothing to deserve this. Most of them don't even know we exist!" Mel'Kun paused, took a deep breath, and continued. "We wouldbe the agressors here, the villains. Doing this would tantamount to what the necromancer did to us."

Freedon grimaced and growled back. "While I am 'simpathetic' to your view, we must expand. We are one of the smallest nations on the map. Just or not, we have the might. And that makes right. My Lord Dominator....itis your call, what do you say?"

The Dominator, who had been listening quitely, not saying a word, finaly spoke. "As much as it is an unpleasant reality Mel'Kun, Freedon is right. We must expand. Prepare the the Defenders of the Dark."

Some time Later

The elite calvary of Krinleaf, 500 in all, marched to the nearest petty kingdom north. It was pathetically easy to wipe away all resistance. The province was under Dokkar control. For the first time in history, Krinleaf had non Dokkar subjects.

Babel

Envoy D'raak coughed. "Well, that is an interesting proposition. However, we already have all of the gold we need. We are interested in trading for books, or levistone though. And please, it is rude of me not to inquire, tell me of your glorious nation, of it's history and recent...struggle." D'raak smiled. She was finally able to do what shed longed to do since she joined the Ministry of Diplomacy. Interact with foreigners.

==================

Actions taken Captured 1 domain just north of my territory, it's hills. Added Humans to the citizens of my empire. Moved 5 calvary to the new domain.

[Screwball]

On the road between Fallo and Cursor
February 5300

Even though spring had not yet brought heavy rains with it, it was a good thing that the Westmouth caravan road was wide, paved and well maintained along it's entire length. The effect several thousand marching boots and hundreds of hooves would have had on a dirt road didn't bear thinking about, especially early in the year when the ground was unfrozen and not yet baked hard. Certainly, it would have been unpleasant, especially if it had rained or snowed.

Even so, a marching army kicked up a lot of dust. It was, therefore, a good thing that his exalted rank in the Death Cult entitled Sini to march at the head of the column with Duke Vin of Fall, Marshal Cedfer's second in command, and the leader of the main body of the Lanreathan army while Cedfer himself was with the cavalry vanguard detached to reinforce the company of harquebusiers already billeted at Cursor. His position meant that he was spared the dust that was coating the units further back in the column with a liberal coat of clinging brown dust. Considering the severity of his allergies, it was probably better this way for all involved; nobody thought a mage with a case of uncontrollable sneezing was a good thing.

It also meant that his Telephonic Orb wasn't covered in dirt and grime, which would have been rather annoying when trying to speak to somebody on the other side. Especially when that somebody was Arcolin, the High Lord of the Death Cult, most powerful mage in the League and, most importantly, his boss.

"So, you'll just have to do without, I'm afraid," said boss was saying, his voice emerging from the dull blue sphere in Sini's hands. "If Cedfer had given me a bit more warning, I'd have had prepared spells to send with you, but as it is, you'll have to stick to the basics."

"That isn't particularly encouraging, my lord," Sini said. "I realise we're here mostly to protect the army from any magery the Westmouthers can scrape together, but without any heavy spells, our usefulness is... well, it's not great."

"Unfortunately, that's the way it has to be. Considering the state of our component stocks, its going to be the middle of the campaigning season before anything big is available. You'' have to make do with the summoning spells we're preparing now. In any case, the sorry state of our magical arsenal is not why I contacted you."

"My lord?" It seemed like a perfectly reasonable reason to use the valuable magical artifacts to him.

"Vetri, the Servant who rode with the diplomatic party to represent the Cult, contacted me with news that the 'negotiations' had failed, and something rather more disturbing. There's a girl in Cursor, apparently, who is swarming with spirits."

Sini's eyes widened in surprise?

"Necromancy? I wouldn't have thought a border villiage like Cursor would be an ideal place for a necromancer to hide. It's slap bang on a major trade road, for a start, so it's no like it's a nameless hamlet in the middle of nowhere."

"You misunderstand me, Sini. She's swarming with spirits, not ghosts, bound souls or undead. Vetri says, and I quote, 'its like she's a Deathlord who's Called in preparation for a spell, but hasn't made a Request or allowed Possession to take place yet'. Now, I know for a fact that I haven't sent anybody with that sort of power to Cursor, let alone disguised as a barmaid, and I can't imagine any underground sorcerer or mystic teaching her to Call the spirits like that and not then put them to work. Too bloody dangerous. Which leads me to conclude that she's doing it without knowing about it."

"Um..." Sini hesitated. Calling out one's boss over such a simple mistake could, after all, be considered an insult, tantamount to outright stating 'no, idiot, this is how it is'. "My lord... that's impossible. Even if you could make the Call without any training, all our records and research makes it abundantly clear that you won't get an answer unless you ask permission from Grandfather or the Daughters first. I don't see how it's possible that she could be doing that by accident."

"Nevertheless, my son, I'm convinced that that is what she's doing. It's dangerous enough to be around Servants who are learning to Call and then Request at the best of times. Can you imagine what the Academy would be like if we trained Servants to Call and then just left them with nothing to do? The place would burn down within a week. It's a bloody miracle that this girl hasn't obliterated the villiage yet."

"I'll ward her as soon as we reach..."

"I wouldn't be so hasty, Sini. Warding her was not something I had in mind..."

Sini knew, then, with horrible certainty, what Arcolin was going t propose.

"My lord, let's not be too hasty about this. She's clearly not suitable for immediate induction, and the danger of..."

"No, Sini, I disagree. Oh, she's not had the theological training and all the rest of it, but that's the easy part, and it's always been a secondary consideration for those joining the Cult for the purposes of magery. You should know that as well as anybody. Now we have a girl who's apparently such a natural that she can Call spirits- the hardest thing to teach a new Servant- without any training at all. I'd argue she's ideal for an apprentice. You've avoided that responsibility for too long, I'm afraid, and you're the man on the spot. I want you to find this girl, make her safe, and then take her with you. Offer her or her family whatever it takes, but make sure she leaves with you and the army. And by all that's holy, teach her control before she does something drastic."

"But..."

"No buts, Sini! Consider how lucky you are; you're out in the fresh air, you're going to keep company with somebody who I'm sure will be a charming young woman, you're in a respected and valued position. I, on the other hand, am bound to my desk by paperwork chains and forced to put up with that terrible woman His Majesty likes so much demanding religious representatives for all sorts of ill advised adventures, sending delegates to Zealtranesia and Duervalden among them. You'll be able to mould her as you see fit, and if you do a halfway decent job of it, I'm fairly sure you'll earn yourself a lot of political capital. So stop whining and enjoy yourself!."

"Of course, my lord."

[General G]

Carinthian Redoubts
January

Throughout the tunnels and galleries of Pressburg Redoubt, a chorus of steam whistles and church bells announced the onset of the night cycle. The great lights of the city slowly dimmed away, leaving the streets and passages illuminated only by streetlamps and the windows of businesses and residences lucky enough to overlook one of the main halls. Even now, with the main gates opened and a considerable amount of effort being put into the task of restoring the route back to the surface, only a handful of the Redoubt's citizens had seen the real sunset and nightfall that their artificial realm had emulated for generations.

Otto Kezer had gotten the opportunity several times now, and in his closely held opinion it was hardly worth the trip up to the freezing winter landscape above ground. It was the latest of his trips to the world above that had brought him hurrying back to the Redoubt, navigating through the crowds returning home at the end of the main workday he had arrived at the gates of the Imperial Palace just a few minutes before the start of the night cycle, and now walked hurriedly through the corridors.

Although much of the palace had darkened along with the rest of the city, Kezer could still hear the distant sounds of music and laughter as he scuttled through the mostly empty passages of the east wing. In the gardens and grand ballroom of the south wing, another of the Empress's fabulous balls was now in full swing. The High Nobles were well known for their lavish lifestyles, but they had missed no opportunity to celebrate far more than usual in the weeks following the opening of the main gate. It was as if, Kezer thought, they were somehow convinced that the long and thankless job of recovering their ancient surface dominions was already completed.

As a servant of the Imperial Family, Kezer had little love for the High Nobles and scarcely more for the Empress who indulged them. Ferdinand II had married a daughter of the Treffen family, a line as ancient and at one time as powerful as the Scheyerns. But where Imperial power and authority had been ruthlessly preserved in the Redoubts by Conrad III, the High Nobles had in general lost most of their wealth and nearly all of their political power with the destruction of their ancestral estates by the Necromantic armies. It was a mistake, in the minds of Kezer and many of his associates, to wed the Imperial line closely to such a moribund and unquestionably dangerously ambitious group.

It was bad enough how much of the Emperor's attention they managed to draw away in these all important days before the arrival of spring and the departure of General Klosel's army down to the plains of Outer Carinthia. The news Kezer had rushed back to the palace on this particular occasion only confirmed that the situation on the surface was far more dangerous than the more optimistic minds in the Redoubts might have liked to believe.

A single soldier in the dark gray uniform of the Life Guards was standing watch at the doors of the map room, at the far end of a winding passage in the furthest part of the palace's east wing. The guard simply stood aside to let Kezer enter without a word. It would normally be unthinkable for a mere clerk to pass one of the palace's sentries without question, but the agents of the Second Office do not hinder each other when about urgent business at a late hour.

Light spilled out into the passage as Kezer opened the door and stepped inside. The map room was a cramped narrow room dominated by several long oak tables along the center and tall bookshelves laden with charts along the walls. A pair of ornate chandeliers and a number of other lamps lit the room up, not quite literally as Kezer now knew, as bright as day. At the sound of his entrance the room's lone occupant spared only a glance up from the furthermost of the tables. “You weren't due back for another two days. Has Zeiler managed to smash himself on a hillside already?”

“One of General Klosel's scouts recovered the dispatches dropped by the Third General's flagship as it passed the vicinity of the main gate, Your Highness.”

“It's some sort of bad news” said Princess Alexandra with finality, looking up from her charts and turning her piercing gaze on Klosel. If Emperor Ferdinand had inherited the appearance of his conquering ancestors, his second daughter had gotten their militant spirit. A harsh dark haired woman in her early thirties, the Princess looked perfectly at home in the pearl gray uniform of the Imperial Family. “What has that layabout fool done?”

Zeiler was not, in Kezer's opinion, a layabout or a fool, but he had only narrowly beaten Alexandra for the appointment to unfilled post of Third General and the task of leading a flotilla to the distant ruins of Old Pressburg. The fact that he had been sent safely far away had certainly prevented a cataclysmic clash of egos.

“Nothing more than reveal an unfortunate problem on yet another of our borders, Your Highness” answered Kezer. There were too many unfortunate problems on the borders now. Ghouls to the north, the successor kingdom of Fravia to the south, and now this latest addition. “Zeiler's flotilla encountered what he believes to have been a warship lifting from Hidelberg before turning east.

“It's no damned surprise that someone's left on that island” said Alexandra coldly. “The shipyards would have been too much of a prize even if the original garrison and population hadn't survived.”

”The flotilla avoided pursuit in the coastal hills but the fact remains that we may have a potentially hostile naval power in place at the threshold of the ship gate” continued Kezer. “General Klosel's men already had taken steps to camouflage most of their work on the surface against aerial observation and attentional sentries have been posted along the western approaches to the main gate. The army's report should arrive in the morning but I believed this too important to wait.”

“Not a word of Hidelberg in any reports and documents after the redoubts were closed. For all of their secret expeditions out your predecessors managed to miss some terribly important information.”

Kezer could hardly disagree there. The Second Office's covert expeditions to the surface several decades before had produced several dangerously misleading assumptions about conditions on the surface. “I'm sorry, Your Highness. I assure you that my superiors are already moving to fill the gaps and correct the problems with the old reports.”

“It's too late for an apology to fix this disaster! Right on our doorstep. The City Guard will want another regiment and artillery to reinforce the defenses at the port and its approach tunnels when the main army is already shorthanded. Who do you suppose is on Hidelberg, Clerk Kezer?”

“I'm hesitant to guess, your Highness. Even with a century I have my doubts any thule barbarian might learn to operate an ironclad. It could be someone from the western kingdoms. Or perhaps even some descendants of the original inhabitants.”

“Second General Ailos was the most talented of my great-grandfather's officers and he had the better part of a fleet with him when we were forced to seal the Redoubts early. If anyone could have held the island until the collapse of the it would have been him.”

“We will endeavor to confirm things as soon as possible, Your Highness.” Kezer hoped that in its voyage east Zeiler's flotilla wouldn't send further trouble rushing in from the shadowy lands beyond the main gate, but he doubted he'd be that lucky. The flotilla would now be traveling far, and because of the desire for secrecy, without constant communications with the Redoubts. The first sign of further problems might very well be the arrival of a host of enemies on the roads into the hills.

[Oseng]

Chamlek, Near the Edge of the Dryad's Forests

Elora crouched in the undergrowth on the outskirts of the Dryad's forests, an arrow knocked to her bow as she grimly looked out at the rough tribal camp just outside the forest. She could sense the other members of her band in their own hiding places, sensing their grim resolve through the link with nature that all Dryads shared.

“What do we have, Senior?” Devra asked quietly as she silently joined Elora, moving silently through the forest with the characteristic stealth and grace that marked the Rangers – the warriors and soldiers of the Dryad race.

“Another band of goblins from the looks of it.” Elora said, looking up at the captain of her ranger band with a small frown. “They have set up camp for the night and posted sentries. I would wager that they are preparing for another raid on Kryian.”

The two Rangers exchanged an unhappy look before turning back towards the goblin camp. The Dryad's home land of Chamlek had always been isolated, even more so since the Carinthian Empire that had once bordered them fell during the Necromantic Wars. But that did not mean that they were alone in their corner of the world. There were semi-nomadic herders and tribesmen in the old Carinthian lands, a nation of mindflayers in the mountains to the south, and there were even rumors that some of the Carinthians had survived in some sort of underground fortresses up north.

But there were also tribes of uncivilized goblins and orcs among other groups as well. And in recent years the dryads had faced an unprecedented number of attacks and raids from such groups. The Rangers and Sages had managed to throw back and defeat every such raid on the home forests but the few traders that dealt with them had suffered greatly.

“I counted between one hundred fifty and two hundred warriors as they set up camp.” Elora said quietly. “Going by the decorations and totems it seems that this band is part of the Blood Bear tribe. But while I did see what looked like a fairly senior Chieftain I did not see anything suggesting that they have a shaman with them.”

“And that's rather odd for a Blood Bear warband of this size.” Devra said with a small nod. The ranger captain closed her eyes for a long drawn out moment as she considered the issue before finally opening them and shaking her head. “Regardless we cannot allow them to remain here, the only reason they would gather in such numbers near our forests would be a raid. Remain here and launch your attack when I signal.”

Elora nodded as her superior slipped back into the forest, carefully picking out a target before settling in to wait for the signal. The Blood Bears were one of the tribes that had sprang up in the wake of the Necromantic Wars and they had been responsible for several raids on Chamlek and the nearby nomads over the last decade.

She did not have to wait long for her captain's signal, it seemed as if less then ten minutes had gone by when Elora heard a warhorn sound the distinctive call to attack. The goblin warriors were caught nearly completely off guard as the sky was suddenly filled with carefully aimed arrows, dropping the goblin sentries at their posts and causing havoc within their camp.

The senior ranger had held her own shot and waited patiently as her chosen target, an older warrior covered in many trophies and decorations, stepped fully into her line of sight as he screamed orders and pushed the younger goblins into a semi-organized defense. Drawing back the bowstring she released her arrow, drawing and knocking a second even as her first flew true and slammed home in the right eye of the goblin leader.

The scene repeated itself across the small battlefield as the dryad's thorns struck home among the disorganized goblin's ranks, the arrow heads finding the smallest gaps in the goblin's armor when they did not simply slam right through the armor as if it was not there in the first place. The few goblins that charged into the woods met their ends at the hands of the rangers and their warblades, as a short but fierce fight erupted in the outskirts of the woods.

The Rangers slipped out of the woods with Captain Devra in the lead and carefully approached the goblin's camp as the few surviving goblin warriors fled across the plains that led away from the Dryad's home forest.

“Looks like this band has been raiding the herdsmen recently.” Another ranger called out, holding up several pieces of jewelry in the style favored by the nearby humans, as they carefully searched through the goblin's camp.

“That might explain what happened to their shaman.” Elora muttered to herself, turning slightly as she sensed Devra approaching. “How many did we lose?”

“Sixteen wounded and five dead.” The ranger captain said quietly with a tinge of sadness. The two of them had served together in the rangers for nearly two hundred years and were as much friends as they were fellow soldiers. “I'm taking care of the ceremonies, could you deal with the goblin corpses?”

Elora simply nodded in agreement and started issuing orders to that effect as Devra turned back towards the woods. To the dryads their physical forms were nothing more then a shell for the spirit that rested inside of each of them. The fallen ranger's weapons would be taken with the band while the bodies were ceremoniously laid beneath the trees of the forest, and within a day or two the dryad's bodies would be overgrown with vines and greenery as they returned to whence they came.

The fallen goblins on the other hand would be piled up and burned as a lesson to other potential raiders who were considering attacking Chamlek.

[OmegaPaladin]

Halls of the Eternal Dynasty
Alba, Imperial Demense
The bickering was always so tiresome. Natasha could hardly stand the constant barrage of claims and counter-claims. As House Petrov's representative, she could hardly skip them, but they were frankly pointless, a fact which she enjoyed pointing out. Being an expert in duels both physical and arcane, she could afford to be blunt. Her second was learning well, but he could not generate the simple fear that came from using a Mistriss of Magic as an ambassador. After one particularly long-winded appeal, she smiled and rose to speak.

"Fellow representatives, why are we arguing over the proper succession? Any Emperor worth the title will rally houses to his banner, either through personal honor or success in battle. If it is a figurehead that you pine for, do not sully the title of the Emperor with such a useless person, and simply install a regent. Any of your candidates will do for such a meaningless task. Frankly, I don't think you want an Emperor, because he would make actually do some useful work." This caused a few gasps and glares, but she continued.
"That aside, I'd like to see something accomplished here today. Can we at least reach the conclusion that no one has a line of succesion that other houses will currently accept?" This provoked a few nods. "Excellent. Kurilara will hold off on any endorsement, or attendance for that matter, until that changes. Good day!" This provoked an uproar, with accusations of treason and insults to her nation and parentage. She simply left, with her second in tow. His smile hid his concern poorly.

"Well, I cannot deny your logic, but since when has logic played a role here? I also cannot shake the thought that you merely wished to have more free time for sorcery and humiliating people in duels." He cut her off, standing before her in the hallway. "I thought you viewed other nobles doing the same thing as shallow?"

Her eyes seemed to slice into him. "Yes, I do. Surely you do not think mastery of the 8 paths of sorcery is the same as some nobles flitting about at a dance? The way to revive that Empire shall be found through sorcery, not in some dreary meeting hall with red tape and useless nobility!" She causally phased through him, as if to further make her point.

He was not impressed. Of course she could do that, or even kill him with a mere thought - this was simply showing off. "So we need the greatest sorceror to rule through raw sorcerous power? I seem to recall that was tried before, and we ended up with the Necromancers and world-wide war. I'm sure masters of magic will be key to Kurilara's success, but..."

She sighed in response and resumed her walk. "I don't want to Empress, and I sure as hell don't want to be a Necromancer. I don't even want to be HERE, where every damn wizard who's made adept is scheming for the throne. I'd like to meet some real arch-magus like the Patriarch, who actually is interested in my real desire, namely uncovering the true nature of magic." A wistful smile played across her face.

Simon guffawed and followed her. "What about causing wanton devastation on our enemies?"

Natasha brought forth a tremendous grin. "Oh, that too."

The Scintillating Palace
Karalgrad, Kurilara
The conference room's crystalline columns cast a mild glow over the ancient map and the assemblage of ministers and courtiers before the Prince-Marshal. Before them stood Count Pavel, clad in his usual deep blue garb, and flowing cape. "This map is of our beloved Kurilara, but from a few generations away from Vonril and the Founding. I'm sure you need no lesson in geography, but you will notice something different." He paused, and gestured at the map, evoking a gleam from the section west of the Heartlands. What it revealed set gasps echoing through the hall, for in place of the empty expanse below the towering peaks, there was a vast network of tunnels and halls. In their center was a symbol, labelled Belegorod.

Belegorod was a legend. While Karalgrad was the first city founded by Vonril, there were references in the sagas to a city deep in the underdark that was prospering when Vonril first entered the Underdark. The inhabitant of Belegorod had sworn fealty to Vonril after some legendary deeds since lost to time, and were said to marched with the Great Prince himself. Beyond the appeal of the legendary city, the idea that there was another realm bordering the Heartlands was shocking in itself.

Count Pavel strode forward to address the Prince-Marshal. "Your Highness, as I rule the Heartlands by your leave, it falls to me to address this threat. If you grant it, I shall lead an expedition in the Westlands. Whether I shall find Belegorod is for the Gods to determine, but I shall map and conquer it if need be."

The Prince-Marshal nodded and spoke. "Very well, my son. We cannot leave an undefended frontier bordering on our lands. What forces can we spare, Konstantin?"

The Watcher took a moment to consider the matter before relating the answer. "While our legions are mostly idle, I do not feel a full invasion force is necessary. Take a company of royal guard and of the warlocks, and others as you see fit. I shall have our other forces standing ready to aid you, should you need them." He was serious as always, with the precise mind of a former warstrider pilot. Pavel nodded - this force would travel light.

A commander stood in the back and spoke. "My Lord, the fusiliers under my command are yours, should you need us. We have refurbished our equipment and are encamped to the south." Pavel saluted the bold commander, and called him forward. "Excellent, I will indeed need your marksmen. If the court shall forgive me, I wish to prepare for this journey immediately." He left aside the commander, leaving the hall staring in silence at the map.

The Halls of Darkenhome
Krinia, Krinleaf
Baroness Aslanov had spent most of her life in the Underdark of Kurilara, and she had always preferred it to the elven groves on the surface. This land, however, was as different from Kurilara as her home was from the wooded enclaves of the Alfar. As she headed underground, her path was lined by countless soldiers in jet black armor. The land was even more industrialized than the Gatelands or that dwarven kingdom she visited once, and even more militarized than the Gates of Vonril. This was a state dedicated to strength above all else.

As well they should. Even the lightfield she visited was a land of terrors and darkness beyond the even what her eyes could penetrate off of the carefully chosen paths on which she was led. These were truly dark elves, and their lands were filled with shadows. Woe to the surface dweller who would walk these halls. The symbol of the land's god-king was everywhere, and the magic here was strange - as if she could feel it pulsing in the vines and luminous fungi that filled the halls.

As she and her entourage passed through the vast gate to the underground city, she saw a towering statue of a fearsome Dokkar lord bearing the staff of an archmagus and the blade of a mighty conqueror. The statue's gaze seemed to pierce her soul, and she could see why countless pilgrims prayed around its base. "The Dominator." Her words were not a question, but a statement of recognition.

Her recognition turned to surprise as her words met with a response. A group of giant spiders marched forth, looking like some inhuman living shadow monster from a nightmare. They divided and revealed a being exactly like the statue. All of the people around stopped in their tracks, and bowed in worship, and it took all of her will avoid doing the same. "Yes, I am the Dominator, my lady, and I bid you welcome to Krinleaf."

[Rask]

February,
Beyond the Southern Border of the Andrynian Empire, Horrible Monster Jungle, Andrynian Expedition, a freshly dug cave

"Monkey? You wake me for a monkey?" the furious voice thundered through the earthen cavern, causing dirt to rain down on the herald's helmet. A slit-shaped pupil nearly as tall as the troll, partially covered by a half-closed, scaly lid, swivelled to focus on the broad shape standing well within jaw's reach.

"Lord Redfang, I would never have disturbed you if the problem was not serious. If you would please turn your attention to the cave entrance..." the shivering troll, who had paled to a light yellow colour, continued.

Obligingly, the dragon opened his eyes fully and looked up at the section of sky visible through the arching opening leading out of the cavern. Loud moos echoed through the jungle outside as riding buffaloes stampeded past in a cloud of dust, with the long arms of their riders wrapped around their shaggy necks as said trolls held on for dear life. Then, a buffalo flew past, mooing piteously. The animal's eyes seemed to meet Redfang's own as it spun around its own axis, holding his gaze until it left his field of vision, still ascending.

"I suppose that warrants my personal intervention", the big winged lizard admitted, adding a heartfelt "Bugger."

The trees in a section of the jungle started shaking, as if caught in a localised earthquake. Then, the dragon's long snout emerged from the cavern entrance, scales gleaming rust-red in the midday sun. The opening strained at the seems as the dragon pushed his head out, the roots of a small tree catching in his horns. Claws as big as carts dug deep trenches into the fecund jungle soil as the dragon dragged and wiggled himself out of the narrow opening. Once in the open, he stopped, standing on all fours, and shook himself like a dog. The movement started at the snout, near the smoking nostrils, and travelled down the length of the serpentine body, swaying folded up wings left and right before finally abating at the tip of the long tail, whose spines and armour plates rattled like a rattlesnake. A hail of stones, roots, loose earth hailed down on the forest canopy, making pitter-patter noises like a sudden cloudburst.

"Now where is this monkey? Ah."

The problem in question looked like a silverback gorilla, and towered high over the tree line. The irascible ape had interrupted its engrossing task of pursuing the troll soldiers to turn and look at the new arrival, who was even larger than itself, in wonder that quickly turned to fury. The trolls on the ground stopped as their pursuer did, and started cheering and waving at Redfang, who sat down and blinked the sleep out of his big, yellow eyes. The giant gorilla pulled itself to its full, impressive height, towering even over the sitting red dragon, and banged its fists against its chest while bared its teeth at the intruder into its territory.

Redfang yawned despite the din, displaying two rows of needle like fangs and a split tongue. The jaws opened surprisingly wide before, with a hissing like that of a boiling kettle, a stream of flames vomited forth from the gaping maw. The orange and yellow blast of fire painted the ape's chest and arms with a sticky, burning liquid, and the animal shrieked a howl of pain that caused birds for kilometres to jump from their perches and rise into the air. The trolls, who had been cheering, resumed fleeing in terror when the giant, burning gorilla turned tail and barrelled down on them, trailing smoke and the scent of cooking flesh.

A while later, a vertical ellipse opened in thin air, displaying a transparent image in front of the dragon, who was lying on his back and had, up to now, been snoozing peacefully again. The room shown by the illusion, dominated by the giant gilded skull of an imaginary monstrosity, was a familiar one to him. Under the empty eye sockets of the monstrosity, a pile of purpure cushions occupied the space on a rectangular dais. Tentacle-like outgrowths from the skull shot out in a sun ray pattern from the skull and continued along the walls, until they turned into meandering, ornamental patterns that underlined the red and dark violet tones of the hall, drawing the eye of the visitor toward the centre of the room. As if the red carpet, over-abundance of thin pillars, and double-row of braziers burning in all colours of the rainbow wouldn't have managed to do so on their own.

"Lord Redfang," a voice like dry grass crossed the distance between the throne room of the Andrynian Emperor and the jungle beyond its southernmost borders. It belonged to a spindly man wearing sequinned robes whose garishness managed to outdo even the surrounding opulence. "It has come to our attention that your intervention in the recent ape crisis may have been neither as well-thought out nor as extensive as required."

"I got rid of the monkey, didn't I? Plus, I helped with the clean-up," the dragon snorted, licking his lips, "so you have no reason to complain about my work, Emperor."

"I am most emphatically not his Majesty," the long-bearded man shook his head, making the bells braided into his long black beard ring. "His Majesty Morgan Ignatius Andrynsson, praised be his name, is over there, on his throne. I am merely the Master of Ceremonies." With that, the elderly man pointed at the mountain of soft cushions towering behind him.

"Oh. Well, you humans look all the same to me." The dragon peered into the magical ellipse, inspecting what little he could see of the corpulent man, who had sunk deeply into a depression in the mound of pillows, and was surrounded by a thick cloud of intoxicating fumes. "Hrmph. the quality of emperors has been decreasing steadily since the founding of the Empire. Why, I remember-"

The near-spherical human on his elevated position went red like a tomato "Dragon! Watch your tongue!"

"Yes, your Decadence," Redfang rumbled tiredly.

"How dare you! I'm the Emperor!" came the voice voice from the depth of the heap of pillows, sounding very much like an excited piglet.

"And I'm the dragon who doesn't care."

The monarch let out an inarticulate shriek of fury. "Argh! Melchior! Turn this insolent lizard into a newt!"

From somewhere beyond the area visible through the oval, a dry and matter-of-fact voice replied "Of course, your Majesty. I shall commence preparations to journey beyond the southern border of our nation immediately in order to swiftly dispense your justice. You will only be deprived of my services for three weeks. Four at the most."

"You are the High Warlock! Can't you do anything faster than that?" the emperor whined.

"I could tune the telewindow so that it shows the Lord Redfang as a newt instead," the mage suggested, using barely any inflection.

There was a long silence from the pile of purple cushions that, presumably, contained the Andryinian Emperor somewhere within.

"I can make it an exceptionally ugly and undignified newt," the high warlock offered.

A long sigh came from the reclining man. "That will do for now. How long until second lunch?"

"I think those are the maids carrying it in right now, my Emperor" the Master of Ceremonies voice cut in.

"Very good. Dragon, consider yourself properly chastised. I have more important matter to attend to!"

[El-Diablo13]

Krinleaf
Krinia

"Baroness Aslanov. It is a pleasure to meet you at last. I have heard great things about you. But tell me, how is the Prince-Marshal? I have heard he is feeling unwell."

Aslanov was disconcerted that the Dominator knew of their rulers failing health. "He is...well, Lord Dominator. Thank you for inquiring."

"It is no trouble at all, I strive to show consideration for all of my friends. But let us speak here no more. I have a feast awaiting in the royal palace."

With that said, he ushered the Baroness through the winding streets of the capital city of Krinleaf. Aslanov looked around, although used to the darkness, she could hardly see anything, and what she could see disturbed her. Beasts seemed to be roaming free in the streets... Finally, after what seemed like hours, they arrived. The palace was not what one would think a palace should look like. It did not sparkle or shine. It was not a massive structure, although it certainly was not small. The 'palace' was really a fortress. The many wars the people of Krinleaf had fought, taught them to live in defensible utilitarian places. Not even the God-King lived differently.

The interior however, did look more like a palace. Works of art and beauty were all around. "Come" said the Dominator "The feast awaits". Sitting down at the feasting table, the Dominator proposed a toast. "To the mutually friendly and conclusive meetings between our great peoples". The Baroness returned the toast.
========================
Krinleaf
Newly captured territory.

Things were going well. The petty kingdom had fallen without a hitch, and none of the surrounding kingdoms dared raise a fuss, lest they be the next conquest. Governor Grim was very happy indeed. He received his first ever posting outside of the bureaucratic ministry. There was no active insurgency, and already the human populous was getting used to their new overlords, and were bringing in taxes.

Various improvements were already being added to the former barbaric kingdom. A wizards tower was in the works, and mines were already being constructed.

[Rex 290]

Walstan
Gravlan City

The House of Ferdinand Catella

The Captain-General was moderate sized man who kept the largest townhouse in the old district. He kept it as a sort of compensation for the plain fact that all of his brothers towered over him in height. His third brother, Aaron, in fact was towering over him at that moment by about two feet. "Brother Aaron, won't you kindly get your heads out of the clouds and answer my question?"

"I like it up here, listening to the rain is better than confirming that mother indeed refuses to come to the capital." He winced. "But I just did, didn't I brother?"

Ferdinand smiled. "It seems so. I hope you've arranged everything in good time; I don't feel like paying for shoddy service and won't stand it. Anyhow tell mother she's missing the chance of a lifetime." He waved him gone, and his younger sibling bowed and left. As head of the clan Ferdinand had tried to bring his mother out of the squalor of their home lordship and into the capital; but the woman steadily refused.

As head of the clan he had cut his brother in as one of the main suppliers of biscuit and bread for the expedition, a contract that would enrich his younger brother. Ferdinand had married for money and found that he had some affection for his wife after she passed away in childbirth. He had no child from that disaster, he had mused long ago, but had a fortune.

"My Lord?"

"Yes?" He turned, and his butler went on.

"The guests have arrived, my lord. They are waiting in the dining room."

"Excellent!" Ferdinand said, pleased. He'd summoned all the captains of the ships rustled up from Newport and across the realm wishing to get to know them as soon as possible. Naturally certain potentates and dynastic friends and allies were also invited. He entered the dining room, where his servants had laid out a rich spread for his captains. He was generous and had a fair spread laid out for their servants and retainers, who occupied another place.

He strode into the room with a smile. "My Lords and Ladies! I am honoured that you all were able to make it to my abode so that we might enjoy the first of many councils together." He sat down and his servants stared to pour the drinks. Wine or spirits of varying origins were offered to all as Ferdinand was determined to entertain in style. "I am Ferdinand Catella, as you already know, and have been appointed Captain-General of the armada by the King. I will be flying my flag on the King's ship Triumph. Now, enjoy yourselves!"

The meal concluded, and at least two rounds consumed, he cleared his throat and gained the attention of his table. "Since we are departing tomorrow for our great journey I shall tell you our mission; we are to sail to Rutas and with the blessing of the gods and god make the king rich, and ourselves richer!"

"Horray!" Shouted somebody and the table cheered.

"Have you got charts?" Asked the Iron Dyrad, Seapine ar Austenite Lune the iron Captain of the treeship contracted for the voyage, as she had introduced herself from her spot at one end of the table. In a room full of asgar, a few humans, and an Alfar, she had the honour of having the most unique ship.

"Ah, Captain Lune." Catella said. "In fact we do. My agents procured," Which is the reason why you command the armada, thought Arvil Lear from her spot on the table somewhat across from Lune with some envy. If SHE had worthwhile charts to Rutas she would have already tried her luck in the dark continent... "A verified chart made by Aspar Airelot the Navigator himself, from the Great Circumscription of the Emperor Henicus." He looked immensely pleased with himself.

Lune shrugged. "Good to hear. Are we to assume you'll be sending over copies before we launch?" Ferdinand froze for what seemed to Lune a telling moment, but was in reality hardly noticeable by anyone else. Yeah, I thought so.

"Of course." He finished smoothly and went on to less important things. And the conversation drifted away, and into the rowdy laughter of drunken sky dogs.

Avril Lear kept a scowl from her face as a pompous noble tried to impress his fellow guests with his wealth by boasting about his most recent hunting expedition as all present became more heavily involved in their cups. "I haven't visited the House of Lear in nearly a decade." Commented her neighbor, who was a also a member of one of the great houses of Balzum. He also happened to be the Captain of one of the armadas galleons, one of the fighting ships.

"It's been awhile," Undoubtedly his had been built on similar lines to the Streak. The lines the Streak had been built around more or less represented the height of shipbuilding that the principality so boasted of. There were differences between ships built in Walstan proper and its cold neighbour Balzum. While the royal galleons were big ships with many guns, the race-built galleons of Balzum were fast and stealthy to allow them to indulge in the favorite pastimes of Balzum's sky houses; piracy and legal trade with enough cannon to contest anyone daring to stop them.

"How is your old sky dog of a father faring these days?"

"He passed away three years ago."

"Oh," His face fell. The name came back to her, and a memory of a gigantic man with the biggest eyebrows she'd ever seen. Zollern still had large eyebrows, but Lear knew that the distortion of a child's memory had made them bigger than they actually were. It was no distortion when he looked offset at the news. "I didn't know. He was a fine friend and the surest bet in any scuffle- with the law or the King's foemen."

"It was rather sudden," She said lightly, and accepted a refill of her cup from a servant.

Zollern made the sign of the cross. "He was a good man. I'm sorry to bring it up, my lady. The Lear's of Balzum haven't a worry with you as Captain. I remember that ever since you were a girl on the Streak you took to the skys like any I've seen."

"Girl? I thought you were a man in those riding clothes." Leered her other neighbor, deep in his cups. He had been looking at her all night and now was drunk enough to lose his decency. "Let's have a feel, shall we?" Lear grabbed his clumsy hand and pulled it hard towards her and smashed her left elbow into his side in almost the same motion. With that same swift motion she returned to her normal posture. Gustav, standing behind his Master stifled a laugh as the fool fell out of his chair.

Zollern said loudly when some of their neighbors turned at the sound; not many considering the noise, "Your wine is strong enough to knock out this one with only a round, my Lord, shall we tempt fate to join our lightheaded friend?" He rose and toasted the Captain-General with his wine cup. A cheer went up, the guests ignoring the drunk falling out of his chair, as they downed another round. Zollern was laughing.

<<<<>>>>

Carlen woke up with a splitting headache. Rubbing his eyes in a fultile attempt to make the fuzziness away he lay in his bunk for a moment before he thought of a very important question: Whose bunk is this? He rolled off and found himself still mostly dressed with his things piled in the corner of the uncomfortably small room. The bunk took up the right half of the room while a writing desk and a travellers chest took up much of the rest of the room.

Somebody rapped on the door. "Come in!" Carlen said, more then anything to make the noise stop. His batman poked his head in.

"Ah, good morning to you, Count von Sleep!" He said cheerily.

"Peh!"

"Peh to you, Lord Drunk."

"Are you here for a reason or just here to harass me?" Carlen grumbled while starting to fumble with his boots. "I suppose I have you to thank for this; most appreciated. I can't recall the last time I had so many drinks thrust at me, for free no less! Catella knows how to dine his guests.."

"Anything at all for you sir, anything at all." Valgo replied, stepping into the bunkroom with a cup of something hot and an chunk of brown bread. "You best be putting all your clothes on since his lordship, the Captain General aims to depart in a few minutes." Carlen sprung up at that and hit his head and cursed loudly. "The Captain General's a marvelous man, indeed sir, marvelous man! Why, I myself got the honour of taking his valet for all his coin! More the pity the man had no head for it, or else I'd do so again, Oh, sir, you have a few minutes yet. Don't fret! Some of the merchantmen are being tardy."

"And how would you know that?" Carlen snapped, downing the mug.

"Straight from the ear of the ships master himself, We're good friends you know."

"Of course you are Valgo," Carlen agreed. "I hope the General isn't expecting me. Being late on the first day is hardly the best introduction!"

When they found their way past ratings moving back and forth through the narrow internal halls of the carrack to arrive on the great open deck Carlen was pleased to see only the Captain-General standing outside the wheel-house, wearing a golden breastplate that reflected the sunlight. Even so Carlen could easily make out the expensively and intricately detailed motifs on the armor. Otho slaying Guithelin. Teth-Galad striking down the elfin witch of the stone court; the heroes of the Eolmen. Carlen would never afford such a piece of decoration, not for the gold alone but for the fact it was wrought in adamantium.

Mercy von Grecken dragged himself up from the same hatch Carlen had used, a gaggle of underlings behind him. He stopped and stared at Carlen for a moment, perhaps trying to put a face to a name. Then he smiled, his expression unchanging otherwise. "Lord Dyvslare, up early I see. Good. A man whose prompt to raise wins battled, so they say. Come with me."

Bowing sharply Carlen fell in with his General, quite pleased that he hadn't been late. They stood behind the Captain-General as the fleet slowly lumbered up from their berthes to fill the sky. The population of Newport had turned out along the berthes to watch the royal fleet depart; cheering as the much fretted about expedition finally got off the ground. Carlen could see, for a time, the pikemen and halberdiers of the Guard straining to keep the masses from overflowing and entering the port.

Carlen waved downwards. It was good to be alive.

[General G]

Geddesburg Ruins
Western Carinthia
January

For the first time in many decades, humans had returned to Geddesburg. Small groups of soldiers wandered through the snow covered streets past overgrown buildings, patrolling through the lost residences of their military forebearers, and in many cases their ancestors as well. One of the detachments had made their way south, arriving at a half collapsed stone structure the old maps indicated had originally been the town's military depot.

“I don't like it” said the soldier at the front of the group, nervously keeping his fire lance ready to swing down at the first sign of trouble. “This whole damn place is creepy as hell”

“You should be more worried about what'll happen if the Colonel hears any of your whining” replied the detachment's leader, Lance Corporal Viktor Lorenz. “Let the officers worry about ghosts and necromancers, all we've got to do is make sure none of Zeiler's traveling lecture hall manage to get lost out here.”

“Or eaten.” said a third soldier, a tall and wiry young woman walking alongside Lorenz. “You saw those tracks. We can't have bits of those eggheads scattered all over this pristine wilderness.”

Private Eckhel had more than her share of cheerful disdain toward the large party of university experts that had been brought along by General Zeiler. Lorenz was increasingly convinced that the rumor she'd joined the regiment after being thrown out of Pressburg University was probably entirely true. “We can deal with animals” the corporal answered, confidently. “Or Jilek's ghosts. They've got no place in our city anyway.”

The group continued on through the snow up the steps and into the garrison. There wasn't much to see, the parts that hadn't collapsed were as abandoned as they had been when the regiment had departed a hundred years ago. Finding no sign of activity and nothing of interest, Lorenz led his detachment back into the streets in the direction of the landing site, where the expedition's airships were still waiting while the patrols and university men roamed the ruins.

Geddesburg had been a thriving city, once. Sitting along the main road down from the rich mines in the western hills toward the plains below, it had prospered under the Alfar and then the Scheyerns. Then the necromancers had begun their war, and like so many other once prosperous principalities it had been all but annihilated. Or at least, its buildings and material wealth had been. The people of Geddesburg had been the closest to the Empire's mountain redoubts, and many of its citizens had escaped to safety underground. So had hundreds of surviving soldiers, who entered the redoubts only at the very end along with the other remnants of Conrad III's main army.

The current Geddesburg Regiment could trace its existence unbroken all the way back to the army of Conrad I, and many of its soldiers were descendants of Geddesburg refugees. Even if there was nothing left but snow covered ruins half reclaimed by the forests, there was still a connection. The surface, with its vast open sky and nearly endless open ground, was not entirely an alien place. General Zeiler's decision to stop rather than proceeding directly to his destination further east had done a lot for the regiment's morale. The surface wasn't any more terrifying than the dark tunnels beneath the redoubts.

Unless you were Private Jilek, who was nervous enough for an entire half-company. He came to a sudden halt at a set of animal tracks crossing the street from one abandoned stone structure to another “These tracks are fresh!”

“What's that?” said Lorenz, stepping forward to look at them himself. Dog tracks of some kind, if he was any judge. And a large one.

“They weren't here before. Look at the size of them!”

“Nothing a long gun or pike won't sort out” concluded Lorenz, after a moment's thought. Over a half dozen armed and armored troops had little to worry about from a single large dog. Even if given the size of the tracks, it was considerably bigger than any he'd ever seen before in the redoubts. He was about to order the detachment to continue on when the sharp crack of musket fire erupted in the distance. “Weapons ready! Double time!” ordered the corporal, checking his fire pike and setting off at a quick pace in the direction of the shooting.

The detachment hurriedly navigated through what had once been side streets and alleyways, the shooting had stopped nearly as quickly as it had begun. A few minutes of advancing through the ruins brought them out onto another main road. Several gray coated Carinthian soldiers were clustered around the entrance to a somewhat more intact building a short distance to the north, one of them waved when he saw Lorenz's unit emerge.

With the emergency apparently passed, they carefully advanced up the street. Captain Relvosky was waiting when they arrived, standing beside the blood soaked remains of a massive white creature that was no dog at all. “Too late for the excitement, Lorenz. Next time we'll leave something for you to fight.”

“Sorry, sir” answered Lorenz, saluting the captain. Relvosky was a man who never failed to appear as the definition of dashing, even the spots of blood now staining his uniform and armor didn't seem to cut through the overall effect of his carefully trimmed mustache and supremely confident demeanor.“Some sort of wild dog, sir?”

“A winter wolf” answered Relvosky, turning his own attention back to the slain animal. “Damned fierce for something that's supposed to be extinct. Not afraid of us at all.”

Although Corporal Lorenz could not see Private Jilek, who was now standing behind him with the rest of his detachment, he was well aware that his face was likely twisted into an expression of supremely smug satisfaction. Another victory for the man's tireless paranoia.

“For a very good reason” announced a aged man who emerged from the building beside the captain, carrying his coat wrapped up in his arms. Several of Relvosky's detachment followed him. “We must return to the ship at once.”

“Yes, Doctor?” said Relvosky, turning his attention completely to the newcomer. One of the university men, Lorenz recognized him from when the company had left the landing site. Doctor Thurneysen, he recalled.

“Maternal instinct, Captain. It fought to protect its young” said Thurneysen, carefully opening the bundle. Relvosky leaned over to look closely, and Lorenz looked over his commander's shoulder. Inside were three tiny wolf pups. “Imagine that we'd find a lost species not two days out of Pressburg, I believe we have supplies aboard the flagship that can be adapted to feed them.”

Relvosky and the obviously excited Thurneysen led the march back toward the ships, behind them came most of Relvosky's escorts and then Lorenz's detachment came last. The corporal could only wonder if the doctor's enthusiasm at their accidental discovery of an animal species that had been hunted out of existence before the war was misplaced. After all, if lost animals persisted on the surface then who knows what else did, there were worse things that had supposedly vanished from pre-war Carinthia than wolves.

As they arrived at the picket line around the airships, Lorenz decided that he had best leave conjuring up imaginary threats to Jilek. It was all too easy to imagine unsettling things lurking just out of sight here on the surface.

[Rex 290]

The Lonely Islands
Half Way to Rutas

They sighted land. Slowly the expedition came to see the only harbour on the largest island, having circled around it once at a distance. The Captain-General ordered the fleet to advance closer to it.

Catella lowered his sight-caster. "Signal the Streak to begin its approach," He had decided to send a single ship in first, with the consent of its master, to test for a ambush. He didn't know if he should expect one, which meant to him that he should plan for one. "Well, von Grecken," He said to the Master of Soldiers standing near him, dressed in his battle armor. Adamant plate glided with silver in the image of the man's coat of arms. "Lets hope if the locals fight they don't fight long eh?"

"Wogs won't know how too!" The man sneered pointing towards a ruined bastion. Even from their distance they could tell with their sharp Asgar eyes how run down it was. "If they have cannon they don't have a place to set them up. If they have mages the Archmage," He half turned his head to glance towards where the sardonic mage was lounging unconcerned on the open deck behind them. "Will best them."

"And if they have soldiers, the regiments will smash them." Finished the Captain General. They both turned their full attention towards the galleon as it entered the fortified harbour area; even now Captain Lear had ran out her guns and armed ratings stood on the deck with muskets waiting to defend the ship. When the galleon came to be fully over land and descended enough that its ramps could be dropped, the men and women of the Deo Vyres charged out of the ship in full array. Arquebusiers, sword and shieldmen and the fanatics of Imadar were more then enough to frighten away the few native wild life in the dock.

Snorting in annoyance their Colonel raised a gauntlet towards the Streak and when its mate waved back turned away from the ship and trotted towards a knot of his men near a stone shed. Inside was a few trinkets- modern Lemurian trinkets. "Looks like this place has had some visitors, Master."

"Indeed," He agreed and opened his visor. He looked up and blinked at the sun; the sun was the same no matter where you travelled. "Spread out by tens. Maxisu you put your arquebusiers in that tower there and keep watch. Go!" Turning back towards the ship, confident that his under officers could handle themselves now, he saw its crew swarming out to attach anchoring lines to the docks. And behind the fleet was approaching.

[Screwball]

Flagon and Lantern
Cursor
March 5300

"Sir, I mean you no disrespect, but you're an ignorant yokel with no idea what you're talking about."

Amara watched her father splutter and grow red in the face. Ears flat, he started bellowing a reply, but was cut off by the priest's sharp hand gesture.

"No! You have no idea what you're dealing with. If you did, you'd be begging me to train the girl! It's a wonder this whole village hasn't been swallowed by the earth during a temper tantrum! You daughter, sir, has Called more spirits to her than anybody other than Arcolin himself is capable of, and they're sitting there waiting. Waiting for an instruction that they can act upon, regardless of if said instruction is truly what the girl desires. What's more, both you and she were completely unaware of this disaster waiting to happen. The only reason your family isn't dead is blind luck."

This did not seem to mollify her father.

"Listen you little pissant, I don't care what you think you see or how dangerous you think it is. Amara is my daughter, and I'm not going to let you conscript her into your cult and send her off with an army without a fight!"

Hissing wildly, he was out of his chair and flying at the priest, claws extended and tail lashing furiously. The deathlord took half a step back and waved a hand. Her father seemed to trip in mid air as his feet were yanked from beneath him, leaving him suspended upside down two feet off the ground and twisting madly in an attempt to escape the invisible hands that held him there. Amara gasped and tried to slide further back into her seat.

"Do you think I'm wild about this? I'm more annoyed than you are! I've got important work to do; being interrupted by this ridiculous war the South Amu Darya Company is so keen on fermenting is bad enough, but an apprentice? I don't have time for an apprentice, especially one whose main problem will be not killing everything around her rather than actually getting any spirits to answer her Call. If it were my decision, believe me, I'd wrap her in the strongest wards I could, send a Servant to check on them every year or so, and then forget about her. My Lord Arcolin, however, is convinced that she will be useful, so my opinion is of course discarded.

"Do you have any idea how irritating it is to have to drop everything to wipe the nose of some backwards tavern wench from the arse end of nowhere? You, girl, can you even read and write?"

The intense gaze of the priest locked itself on Amara's face. She gulped.

"Ah, erm, I know letters and numbers enough to d-do our books, m'lord."

"Hmph. Not a complete imbecile then." He barked. "I don't suppose you've gotten yourself a proper education on top of that? Classical literature, useful languages and mathematics? No? Of course not."

"Um, m'lord, do you think you could release my father, please? I-it's not very kind to leave him there..."

Sini glanced at the upside-down pliuni, still a hissing, spitting ball of anger, then looked back at the girl, and incredulous look on his face.

"I think not, child. The spell will burn itself out in an hour or two. He can stay there until he's calmed down and isn't going to try anything foolish like assaulting me. I'd hate to have to do something unpleasant to him. Now, you're coming with me, I'm afraid." He nodded to the two soldiers standing at the door. Pikes being too long to use indoors, they had left them behind, but even so they cut imposing figures in their black breastplates, morions and yellow and black striped clothing. The two looked at each other, shrugged slightly, and then advanced towards Amara.

With a slight squeak, she scrambled from her seat and moved to place it between her and the soldiers. With no exit other than the door behind them, she was rapidly backed into a corner.

"Come on now, lass. We don't want to hurt you; come quietly and there won't be any problem."

"Yeah we won't- what theaaaaargh!"

Amara, the priest, the other soldier and her father all stopped in surprise as a swarm of bright blue balls of fluff adorned with a set of impressive needle-like teeth appeared in mid air and descended upon the hapless pikeman.

"Gettemoff gettemoff getemoff!" he yelled, dancing wildly about the room and swatting at his face. Cries of surprise, followed shorty by yelps of pain, crashes and the sound of something fragile being dropped erupted outside as the creatures not molesting the soldier darted out of the unlocked window and leapt upon the village outside, cackling madly.

Sini simply dropped his head into his hands.

"What did I do to deserve this?"

[Screwball]

Commander's Pavilion
Cursor
March 5300

Cedfer, Duke of Cilwan and Marshal of the Armies of the League, looked at the bandaged and bruised officers sat around the long table in his pavilion and shook his head. Spearing Sini with his gaze, he flicked an ear in exasperation and sighed.

"Was all that drama really necessary?"

The mage, nursing a painful looking bite mark at the corner of his mouth, winced as he replied.

"I've never seen a spell like that before. It's not the sort of thing that the magic practiced by the Cult results in. Usually, at least. Then again, we don't usually have to deal with untrained people who can cast spells by accident."

"That wasn't what I meant," Cedfer grumbled. "Couldn't you have just waggled your fingers and sent her to sleep or something?

"Marshal, I don't presume to tell you how to run a military campaign. Rest assured that there are very good and extremely technical reasons why such a thing was impossible! Moreover..."

"Lord Sini, please. We can do without all the verbiage." Cedfer cut in, pincing the bridge of hi nose.

"Ah. Yes. Well..." Sini seemed to deflate slightly. "In actuality, it seems that the spirits I had Called were unwilling to take action against her; I used them to immobilise her father. In hindsight, that was something of a miscalculation; had I not done so, she may not have felt sufficiently threatened to work her summoning spell."

"I take it you did manage to get your hands on her after all that trouble."

"Yes, yes, of course. She's asleep at the moment; I had my servant feed her enough numbwine to knock her out. Her father may be a problem, but I shall deal with him myself."

Cedfer cast a doubtful look on the thin, oily-looking pliuni, then sighed again.

"Fine. just make sure she doesn't cause any more trouble. Fortunately, this plague of mouths on legs hasn't caused too many problems. As you all know, we're still waiting for the Count of Merinath and his square to join us, so we have time to make good the damage from this... incident. In any case, as the majority of the army is assembled already, it is time to lay out our plans and examine them for weaknesses."

He gestured to the map. The West river ran down the centre of the parchment, with the Lanreathen province of Vonja occupying perhaps a third of the map. The rest of the parchment was given over to detailing the Kingdom of Westmouth and the eastern part of the Grand Duchy of Montmedy to it's west. Small blocks of wood had been placed at the location of the three significant settlements owned by Westmouth, and a fourth on top of Cursor a short way inside the Lanreathan border.

"The obvious plan is to march directly to Morbach, besiege the city and accept it's inevitable surrender," he started, indicating the Westmouther capital. "However, this keeps us in the field somewhat longer than I feel comfortable with, considering how few troops this army leaves us elsewhere. Moreover, Morbach itself is on the other side of the river, and controls all of the nearby bridges, which makes that course of action effectively impossible. The river itself, of course, is too deep to ford at any point in Westmouth, so we will be going far out of our way in any case. I have decided to turn that requirement into a strength.

"We shall start in the north, at Hellevosetus," he proclaimed, tapping the wooden block atop the town's location on the map. "This does two things; it grants us a bridge across the West river that cannot possibly be controlled by the fortress at Morbach, and it forces their army to leave said fortress if they want to oppose us. A field battle is weighted in our favour, as we posses the better trained, better equipped and more numerous army."

"If that is the case, why would they march out to oppose us at all? Surely they would simply sit behind their walls and wait for us to come to them?"

The speaker was a young pliuni, wearing elegantly embroidered clothing and a ridiculously large and floppy hat topped with a colourful feather. Compared to the collection of battered pliunis he shared a table with, he looked fresh and newly minted.

"They might indeed do that, my lord Earl," Cedfer allowed. "They would, however, almost certainly lose the war should the do so. As far as we can determine, what passes for the Westmouth army is gathered at Morbach. Presumably, they assume we will take the quick and direct route in an attempt to end the war in a single blow. That's smart of them; they must know that we have the advantage in force, and they want to meet us at the river, under the guns of Morbach fortress, in order to give themselves as many advantages as possible.

"Should they allow us to move north and cross the river unopposed, however, then they have ceded their advantage. We would be able to lay siege to Morbach with ease, and they would ultimately lose such a fight. Essentially, they must contest our crossing the river, or surrender any hope of preventing us reaching the walls of Morbach. They evidently hope we will do so where they are strong. We shall not oblige them. Without the fortress, I am certain that we can force a crossing against their field army.

"This has two ancillary benefits. The first is that is allows us to wrest control of their northern dominions from them. Second, and more important in my mind, is that it gives us a chance to destroy their army in the field, as opposed to having to crack through a stone shell to get at it. I we inflict heavy casualties on their army in open battle, those casualties will not be available to them in a siege. If we succeed in destroying their army entirely, that is all to the good, but simple defeat and heavy casualties will accomplish our goal. We might hope that, having taken their lands and smashed their army that when we arrive at Morbach we shall be greeted by a surrender offer. If not, then having fewer troops opposing us and having already inflicted a body blow to their morale, we should find it much easier to storm the city.

"Naturally, the Westmouthers will do their best to poke holes in this plan; they want to win as well, after all. I think it best to beat them to the punch, as it were, and find those holes here and now. Feel free to air any objections you have; I value my life a lot more than my pride..."

[Admiral Fox]

Republican Parliamentary Hall
Office of the Prime Minister, Avalon

"You want to do what?!"

Julius Fenrir, Councilor of the Prime Minister, thought his friend and his boss had finally lost his mind. It was all he could do to keep himself from pulling his great bulk up from his chair and throttling the thin delicate man facing him.

"Let me get this straight, Mr. Prime Minister. You want to take roughly half of the Avalonian Navy's combat assets, and sail around the world, nilly willy making friends, eating spiced cookies, and generally advertising that we exist to the entire rest of the world?! And in addition, you want to personally be on board, as if a Skyship and two Frigates traveling alone in unknown lands aren't big enough targets as it is?"

Prime Minister Gregory Philipus merely nodded and flashed a small, subtle grin. "That's correct. Oh, and I'm told by the experts and mission planners that the round trip could take quite a few years, so I'll trust for you to keep Parliament in line."

Fenrir couldn't even get angry. It was daft. Beyond daft. "You're crazy Greg. Completely, absolutely insane."

The Prime Minister chuckled at his friend's exasperated outburst. "Julius, come over here and tell me what you see."

Puzzled, the Councilor walked next to his friend and stared out at the giant paned window which filled the wall beyond the Prime Minister's desk. It was a breathtaking view. While the Republican Parliamentary Hall wasn't particularly tall, certainly not as tall as the Tower of Avalon, it did provide a very picturesque view of Olympic Valley, all the way to the protective mountain ranges surrounding the city.

"Well, I see the valley. I see the city. What else is there?"

The smile on the Prime Minister's face melted away as he faced his friend. His tone lost that casual pitch, almost turning into a low growl. "That's right. There is only the mountains, the valley and the city. For most Avalonians, this tiny piece of land is the only world they know of. And if the reports we've been getting from our mages is correct, there are empires only several hundred years old which already match us in power and wealth. And if we don't expand, if we don't connect with the world, and if we don't find a way to turn the world after the Alfar to our advantage, we may find Avalon entering another 3,000 years of isolation. And this time, there may not be an Eternal Blizzard to save us, not that the isolation wouldn't kill the Republic."

"What do you mean the isolation would kill the Republic?!" Fenrir mentally winced after he made the hasty comment. He knew what was next. His friend was going to bore him to death with another history lesson.

"The chaos of 5140 and 5141 was not some isolated incident. In the late 2900s to the early 3500s, the Republic was plagued with political corruption and policy gridlock. Nothing could get done. Well, we were lucky after 3515, with Prime Minister Vanir's reforms. But I'm a student of history. And I know, and the scholars at the ARNU know that all Vanir did was slow down the inevitable. The chaos of 5140 was only the result of Vanir's reforms failing. It didn't come out of the blue."

"You mean..."

"If the Republic is not engaged or challenged by some exterior force, it will eventually turn on itself, collapse, and die. It's ironic, but the Necromancers were just the enemy we needed to rally the minds and focus of the citizens and the government around. In an odd way, the Republic owes its survival and continued existence to the Necromancers. It's not a matter of dominance. It's a matter of societal and political survival. We need allies. We need trade. We need competition."

The Councilor sighed and stared at his friend's expression. The larger man knew that underneath the Prime Minister's relaxed, almost jovial expression, was a man of principle, ideals and fierce determination. He also knew that when it came to history, very few people could match Gregory Philipus's nearly encyclopedia knowledge. "I can't talk you out of this, can I?"

"Probably not. Besides, I'll be in constant contact during the journey. It's about time we tested some of the new devices coming out of the Guild anyway." The Prime Minister turned back toward his desk and hastily scribbled something down on a piece of paper.

"Talking through a glass bowl isn't the same as standing in Parliament Hall."

"It'll have to do." Sealing the sheet in an small, but elaborate envelope, he handed it to his large, burly friend. "Here are orders for Lord Sigurd."

Fenrir took the envelope, eying it carefully. "Where are you sending him?"

"To Thule. I'm appointing Lord Sigurd officially as a Republican Ambassador. Inform him that he's to board the Odin, which will convey him with all haste to the city of Glasself in two days."

"You know that Thoran will throw an absolute fit. With the Aesir in refit and the Odin on courier duty, that leave us with only the Thor."

"I don't anticipate anyone sending an invasion fleet within a season. Nothing from our mages on Lemuria indicates that any of the nations there are planning an expedition up north."

"You do realize our 'information' is five years old," the Councilor added pointedly.

"All the more reason for us to establish diplomatic relations so we can keep permanent spies there," the Prime Minister replied with a smirk. "The refit to the Aesir won't be complete for at least another season, and the new frigates won't be finished until the spring. Don't worry. I won't leave on a half-finished ship."

"You do understand, the last time an Avalonian visited Mu was over three thousand years ago." Julius hoped, futilely to try one more time to change his friend's mind.

"And I think it's high time that we updated Archmage Mindu's report, don't you think?"

Julius eyed his friend and saw that determined glint still in his eyes. His friend was going to Mu, public opinion and political strategy be damned. And by Altera, Julius was going to make sure he did everything possible to make sure that the Prime Minister of the Avalonian Republic got back alive. "I think I have enough time to make the proper arrangements before the Aesir finishes her refit. And I'll make sure to keep the house in order when you're away."

The Prime Minister nodded and returned to his seat. "That'll be all Julius, thank you."

"Thank you, Mr. Prime Minister." Fenrir hurried out of the room and headed straight for the Arcadian Academy. The orders could wait. He needed to have some words with Admiral Thoran. If the Prime Minister of the Avalonian Republic was going to bet his life on the performance of three ships, those ships had better be filled with the best damn people possible.

Jotuunheim Shipyard,
Skymall Inn, Asgarth

Las Aerstrider had no idea where he was as the artificial manalight filled the underdrak city of Asgarth with something resembling daytime. He was more surprised to find that his clothing was also apparently missing. As he got up, he saw a letter on drawer beside his bed. Apparently, it had been opened and read, probably by him last night. Groggily, he scanned the contents of the letter. A minute later, he read it again, more carefully to make sure his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. By the time he read the letter again, Las knew how well and truly screwed he was. In a panic, he leaped out of bed, dragging part of the covers with him. Scouring the ground, he looked for his uniform, finding various parts scattered on the ground. As he was desperately putting on his pants, he noticed something else. There was a large mound under the covers on his bed. How had he missed that? The mound started to slowly move and he thought he heard a moan coming out as well. It was a low, sensual moan. A well-endowed woman climbed out from the bed and turned towards him, in all her naked glory, with a lazy look on her face.

"Why hello soldier. It seems you're awake," she said, sauntering towards him seductively. Las never had a chance as her tongue snaked into his mouth. Almost a minute later, he finally broke off, more because he needed air than for any other reason. He stared at her dumbly.

"I'm sorry miss. Who are you again?"

For all his soldierly reflexes, Las Aerstrider was no match for a strong morning hangover and a woman who realized she was used like a twenty-denarii strumpet. Surprisingly, while the slap sent him reeling into the drawer (the woman was surprisingly strong), it did alleviate his headache and returned his memory. Suddenly, he remembered quite clearly what happened last night; most of it involved said woman (who, it turned out, was the barmaid downstairs) and liberal amounts of ale, wine and who knows what other drink was poured into his mug. As he snapped out of his reverie, his mind returned to his current situation. Hastily, he hurried out of his room, his jacket still unbuckled.

As he ran out towards the massive Skycraft docks at Jotunnheim, he didn't bother to breathe the stale underdark air or notice the skeletons of three frigates in the docks. Instead, his eyes went immediately towards the massive Skyship anchored in one of the larger docks at the end of the small road. His panic prevented him from marveling at the Aesir as her weapons were undergoing adamantium upgrades. He didn't have time to take in her elegant lines and adamantium cladding. His mind didn't register that the Aesir was probably one of the most powerful skyships in the entire known world. All Las knew was that if he didn't make it aboard the Aesir in the next two minutes, his life would be quite miserable for the next ten years.

Checking his chronometer, he grimaced. Make that one minute and thirteen seconds. His new Captain was not going to be happy.

RAS Odin
Avalon Naval Shipyard, Avalon

Captain Rodinius Tertius was quite annoyed when he received his orders. The Odin was a warship, not a courier vessel. And with the Aesir in drydock, the Navy was horrifically stretched. While the Odin lounged about in Thule, the Thor would be the only vessel protecting Avalon from any major attack, and that simply didn't sit well with Tertius. He didn't understand why one of the transports couldn't convey the Ambassador. After all, it wasn't like Glasself would fire on an Avalonian ship.

Of course, intellectually, the Captain knew quite well why he was being sent. Simply put, it was a show of force and he knew that Glasself would respect Avalonian strength. He walked over to his First Officer, hoping that light conversation would take the edge off as they waited for the Ambassador. "Commander, you have a moment?"

"Ah! Captain, trying to distract yourself from the wait, eh?" The younger officer merely smirked as he noticed his superior's obvious discomfort.

"I was just wondering if you've heard any news about some of the new ships under construction." Tertius would suitably wipe the smirk from his subordinate's face later. Right now, he needed a distraction.

"Well, if you're talking about the Mjolnir class frigates, they should be up and running in couple of months. I even heard that more Odin class ships are being planned, although with the planned refit cycle and the construction of new ships, I don't know where the yards are going to get all that extra adamantium that's going to be necessary."

A ensign handed a letter to the First Officer. He read the message and turned towards his captain with another smirk. "Well, Captain, you'll be happy to know that the Ambassador is aboard."

No sooner had he finished when the Ambassador himself strode onto the bridge. Tertius shot an annoyed glance at his subordinate. "Ambassador Sigurd, welcome aboard the Odin."

For the most part, Ambassador Sigurd was an older, almost elegant man dressed in his ambassadorial robes. His expression spoke of a person accustomed to power and luxury, but mindful of both his place and how far his authority and influence extended. The Ambassador gave the Captain and the crew proper space and respect. He handed Tertius his own orders for inspection. "It's a pleasure to be on board Captain. I think it best we get underway. I'll have one of your fine men escort me to my quarters. I'll leave the rest to you Captain."

"Of course Ambassador. My officers and I would be honored if you joined us for dinner this evening. Six past meridian in the my dining hall."

"Of course Captain. It would be my pleasure."

"Ensign, escort the Ambassador to his quarters." Immediately, one of the junior officers gave a sharp salute and led the Ambassador off the bridge.

"What do you think Captain?" the First Officer asked conspiratorially.

Seeing his chance, Tertius allowed a predatory smirk of his own. "I think, Commander, that it's time we get under way so that we can resume our patrol as soon as possible. Helm, set course for Glasself, flank speed. Engineering, engage the Haze Field at your leisure. We're moving out people!"

Within minutes, the Odin flew out of the docks and towards the mountains. As soon as it cleared the city, it shimmered away in the Haze Field, cruising quickly but silently towards the icy continent of Thule.


**********

Action: RAS Odin dispatched to Glasself, under Haze Field and manajets. Will likely arrive at the beginning of next season and engage Glasself in trade and diplomatic negotiations.