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Genius

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The Realm War has raged like a great fire and, like all fires, it has finally cooled. The peace it was meant to create, however, lasted only briefly. The Viking lords fell almost to a man, bankrupting themselves in a civil war which left few highborn survivors. The Al'Pyr vanished entirely, though whether by deity or sorcery or slaughter, no one is sure. Osgal has fallen. The southern powers are no more. Only the reformed Liberation Union, renamed the Die Freiheit Sortieren, ekes on after the chaos.

There are dangers abound in the new world. Whispers of a terrible power rooted in the mountains, the surfacing of great beasts and legendary monsters in the deep wilds, and the appearance of inhuman creatures in the final days of war are only some of the concerns these new people will have to contend with.

The Realm War was merely a preface, the story begins now.


[Please use the provided map for reference. This thread will contain all stories told in Hearthland. For ease of use, please note the hex your character is in at the top of each of your posts.]


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OOC Thread


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0700: The Featherhills - These rolling hills sport the nests of proud hippogriffs. These vicious, near untameable beasts make their lairs atop the highest hills, allowing them to survey their territories as though kings. Indeed, hippogriffs are intelligent enough to understand concepts of pride, honor and deference, despite having no more capacity for language than the common dog. Trespass into a Hippogriff's territory with extreme caution.

0801: Capital The Acropolis - This empty city promises all the wealth and status of antiquity. With massive aqueducts funneling water from local streams, colossal buildings made to hold lavish games and ceremonies, and a labyrinth of stone and wooden hovels, this city is all the splendor and exuberance of times long past. It has access to healthy forests. The commoners who live here have no lord, and subsist day-to-day.
Currently Occupied By - N/A

1201: ??? - Tales tell of a terrible beast who lurks deep in the forests of the northern island. The common folk of the Acropolis call it the Green Serpent, though few have ever seen this massive beast and lived to tell the tale. Those who have died shortly afterwards of terrible acidic burns all over their bodies.


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1103: Town Barcan - A hotly contested village during the Realm War, Barcan finally came under the ultimate control of the Osgals after their warriors wrested it from the Keijo forces. Its capture marked a turning point in the eastern war, eventually leading to the fall of the Keijo Empire. It's easy to see why. With access to a variety of useful resources, Barcan was an ideal holding for the seafaring and mercantile Osgal people.

1205: Capital Tarnosa on the Island - Tarnosa was a socially and technologically advanced city whose people valued progress and invention over all else. Tinkerers and explores to the extreme, Tarnosans eagerly explored the world in their superior ships and made war with all the careful calculation of mathematicians, which their generals often were. Their support of the barbaric Al'Pyr in the Realm War guaranteed them dominion over the east, and their prized island. However after the Al'Pyr's disappearance, Tarnosa's high society collapsed in the absence of any partners in trade. Now, the ruined capital is home to a sparse few hundred peasants.

1207: The Eastern Ruins - No one knows what culture once reigned here, but they had a love for gold and extravagant wealth, animal headed gods, and slave labor. The riches in this ruins are rivaled only by the unparalleled danger lurking within. It is said that the bodies of the slain knights, lords and god-kings of this fallen empire guard their treasures even still.


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0508: The Anthills - Would that mere ants were the menace of these hills, yet the portals which have brought so much civilization and culture to Hearthland have also allowed a far more sinister race to establish its foothold: Formians. These creatures, an abhorrent mix of man and ant, range in size based on their caste. The diminutive worker drones stand as tall as children and work wonders with their dexterous hands. Warrior drones stand taller than most men and wield evil lances. Other castes exists, some which can fly, some which can enslave the minds of their foes and, most gruesome of all, there exists one titanic queen who lairs deep below the earth. Her powers are said to be beyond human understanding.

0409: Town The Southern Village - This village sports a small collection of people. Without a lord, their day to day life consists of little more than subsisting. They struggle daily to repel the dangerous Formians, local bandits, and all other manner of wild incursions.


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0403: Capital Jorgamundr Castle - This castle was one of the first abandoned places in Hearthland. The Clan Jorgamundr won great victories during the Realm War from this solid castle, but left the realm in pursuit of other conquests, leaving the small Viking kingdom vacant of lords. The castle is still maintained and kept by a small army of commoners, who retreat into it at the first sign of danger. They are an undisciplined and uneasy force, however.

0503: Town Jorvik - This village was formerly held by the Vikings after their conquest of the northwest. Now it is ruled by a weak town council, though its commerce still remains strong due to wealthy gem and gold mines at the foot of nearby mountains.

0204: Town Suthrngate - This village saw considerable traffic during the Realm War when Viking warriors used it as a springboard to bombard their Highlander foes to the south with army after army. The Highlanders refused to break, so Suthrngate remained the southern border of the Viking kingdom. Now it is a vital trade route. It is ruled by caravan merchants and customs officers, who collect taxes to fill their pockets and hire out unsavory mercenaries to "guard" traders.

0702: The Northern Ruins - These abandoned ruins acted as a Viking outpost during the Realm War, but whatever loot remained there was mostly taken with the Vikings when they left. Now, it hosts only a few deranged squatters.

0405: The Western Ruins - Occasionally used as a resting place for caravans coming south, these ruins sport a few shops and farmers, who have done their best to eek out a living providing for travelers.

0304: ??? - No one who ventures into these mountains come out. No one. It is clear that something powerful and vicious lurks in these mountains, though who or what this menace is none can say...

0305: Capital Burg Hohenzollern - At the end of the Realm War, the Highlanders of this castle found that their successive defenses against the Vikings had left them alarmingly depleted. They prepared to abandon their castle, injured but undefeated, when they were fortuitously restored to power under the Die Freiheit Sortieren, a like-minded military power who had come seeking Hearthland to begin their own free society.The two cultured blended with little conflict, resulting in the sole stable castle of the west.

0605: Capital Kilnmouth - Kilnmouth is a massive castle carved into the side of an active volcano. It is considered by many to be cursed. When the Al'Pyr vanished, stories were quick to surface telling of a catastrophe which annihilated the race. Some attribute it to an angry god, others to the Royal Family, who also vanished at the same time. It is likely anyone will ever know their true fate. The only truth that matters is that the Al'Pyr are gone, and as the world moves on, only their fiery mountain home will mourn their passing.

0805: Town Ruined Village - The Al'Pyr did not create settlements, they created ruins. This village is a collection of bones and blackened earth. Superstitions aside, the violent scorching of all wooden structures has left the land burned, but fertile. A new settlement could be raised here and might prosper. This particular village originally belonged to the Keijo Empire, a short lived power from early in the Realm War. This ruined village was one of the first to be destroyed.

0506: Town Ruined Village - The Al'Pyr did not create settlements, they created ruins. This village is a collection of bones and blackened earth. Superstitions aside, the violent scorching of all wooden structures has left the land burned, but fertile. A new settlement could be raised here and might prosper. This particular village originally belonged to the Fedayeen, the last power to fall to the Al'Pyr in the Realm War.

0706: The Southern Ruins - Unlike the devastation left by the Al'Pyr, these ruins still stand thanks to their stone construction. They seem to reflect an ancient civilization who worshiped and made sacrifice to a god of cold and winter, in a time long before the desert to the east existed. The ruins are serene but haunting, and few people stay for long.

0807: Capital Ruined Capital - Once called Mukhamas, the empty stone castle the Al'pyr hollowed out with their fires was the victim of internal secession as much as it was external attacks. Leaders rose only to be killed by their own men, or more rarely Al'Pyr commanders. Always religion was at the heart of these fallen people's motives. Each new ruler was a strong and charismatic man who, nonetheless, seemed incapable of forming a coherent strategy to protect its borders. The mighty Al'Pyr commander Truthspeaker is responsible for the vast majority of the southern conquest, and his final contest against the people of this castle ended in fire.

1006: Town Ruined Village - The Al'Pyr did not create settlements, they created ruins. This village is a collection of bones and blackened earth. Superstitions aside, the violent scorching of all wooden structures has left the land burned, but fertile. A new settlement could be raised here and might prosper.

0903: Capital Kokoro - The Keijo Empire's capital was given to the Baron of Osgal as a gift for his loyalty to the Al'Pyr in the Realm War. That it was given as a gift from the brutal warleader of the Al'Pyr saved Kokoro from total destruction at the hands of his pyromaniac tribes. The Baron of Osgal had begun to rebuild this sacked city, but his nascent empire collapsed before he could. Now, it is occupied by squatters who can trace their lineage back the oriental Keijo.

Kallistiae's Wife

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"That must be it there, the King's camp."

H
e spoke to himself as he spotted the camp grounds. They weren't majestic by any means, though this man had no expectations to begin with, and was suited to survive with the bare minimum as is. Equipped on his person would be his usual tools of combat; A round shield mounted on his back, a spatha to his left hip, and a dagger to the front of his right hip. There weren't a large bunch of people here, but enough to set up camp and protect the royals, that was for sure. Still, Narok knew better than to place his well being on any other man. When it boiled down to it, he was the most responsible for protecting himself, or sacrificing that self protection for a small multitude of greater importance. This didn't include protection of the King or his children. Sacrifice for people of importance was limited to his own Lord, as if his Lord would ever need to be saved. At this rate, he would reach the camp he saw in approximately 2 minutes. His Lord and fellow Commander would be along whenever they so pleased. Narok was good for wanting to not only scout ahead in a lot of instances, but he was always early to meetings of any sort when possible.

Ice-Cold Explorer

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The Baron Kelvin was a man of taste, firstly, and everything came secondly to that end... or rather, it would be more accurate to say that everything else was slaved to this first desire - that naught he touched should be without the element of artistry.

It was thus that even in simplicity of dress, a simple open chested shirt of light cotton and black trousers tucked into unremarkable leather boots, he was still as a walking masterpiece of nobility. His stature was proud - not overtly so, but rather of self-assurance in his stride and station in life, and his head shaded under the brim of a spacious hat, pulled low over the eyes against the waxing sun.

A scabbard of some length swung lightly at his side as he walked along the road, and on his opposite hip, a firearm of some antique craftsmanship... though 'path' might have been more accurate. The camp he saw before him reminded him more of a field command than the court of a king, if such was what he had been nominally summoned to, but perhaps even kings might fall on years of poverty. He knew it well himself.

He hailed the traveler before, a man much taller and seemingly broad in the shoulders than himself, with a wave of his left and a short "Hello, traveler!". Their destination being the same, it would be better to simply ask of his origins, once they had introduced themselves.

Kallistiae's Wife

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Narok would slow his stirde just a bit as his head turned to look at the man that spoke out to him. Judging by his attire and the manner in which he carried himself, it was easy to assume that he was a bit more than a proposed Battle Commander. This no doubt would be one of the Lords expected at this evenings meeting. The 5'10" in man weighing approximately 180lbs, and dressed more like a peasant compared to the man addressing him would grant a calm smile out of nothing more than social necessity. He gave the man a single nod of his head as he would return the salutations.

"Hello sir! I take it we're both headed to the King's company."

H
e mentioned more than he asked. Judging by his overall appearance, this Lord either had less of a distance to travel, or he had easier means of travel. It was good to note ahead of time. Assuming the man was a Lord, Narok had to be sure to limit how much was spoken between them. Despite not having any intent on giving a bunch of information on his origin to begin with, it wasn't impossible to infer things about kingdoms with basic information such as location. As such, he needed to avoid the upset of his own Faction Lord. He would also need to be sure that he didn't allow the man's company to distract him from why he strove to get here before everyone else. Speaking of which, Narok had to wonder if this presumed Lord might hold information on anyone that would be in attendance today.

Cultist

Scalar Warfare
"Hello, traveler!"


Narok certainly wasn't the only traveler present; as the two would soon be aware of, a mountain of a man approached, standing at a intimidating height of 6'4". His massive frame nearly shook the ground he stepped upon. Head shaven, dark complected skin decorated in aray of darker ink, one could assume they were a tribal design of his Land. Shirtless, the only thing that adorned his upper torso was some sort of garb, black in color, it wrapped around his neck and covered his face from the nose down, tightly. Below the waist was a loin cloth, also black in color, seemingly made of the same material his garb. Nothing suited his massive feet.

Peccaminous Peregrine
"Hello sir! I take it we're both headed to the King's company."


Golden hued eyes studied the "Baron" and the man he spoke to. Soon he too would be upon them, crossing his arms arrogantly, he remained eerily silent for the longest time. "What are your names, and which faulty idol do you represent?" His accent was thick and barely understandable due to the garb. Clearly unarmed, at the moment, he didn't seem hostile, more curious than anything.

Benevolent Spook

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He would arrive in his own time, at his own pace, as a herder of sheep was often a ponderous and slow moving sort. A man, just under six feet high with a pale complexion as though the sun never shone where he lived, peeled away from the forest line. His stride was even and sluggish, as though he felt in no particular hurry for anything. Light creamy blonde hair topped his head, and an expression on his face seemed to scream his skepticism at the current circumstance. His back was cloaked in a thick wool, lined on the outside with the fur of a great white wolf. As for the rest of Gunther's garments, they appeared in various shades of brown and off-white.

In his right arm he had a tiny little lamb tucked up under his shoulder. His hand lay flat across the little creature's chest and it's fuzzy black face stood out stark against it's own wool and his jerkin. His other arm hung slack, hidden under his cloak, and as he strolled into the light a sound came from the lamb in his arm.

"Baaaa~! Baaaa~!"

To anyone that knew Gunther even a little, this was a very clear announcement of his arrival.

Gunther's narrowed blue eyes would angle down towards his fluffy companion. He moved his lips and shushed the creature, though of course it had already stopped making it's noise. Glancing back up, Gunther took in the scene anew and immediately fixated on the one familiarity. Narok. . . He thought to himself as he started in the tall nordic-looking man's direction.

Narok appeared to be engaged in conversation with unknowns. One who appeared well kept even though his garb was simple and another who was a dark mass of muscle and ink. As Gunther approached he heard only the big one speak.


Better Than Gore
"What are your names, and which faulty idol do you represent?"


At this point, Gunther would interject.

"We represent no idols. Only the ideals of free trade and personal liberty."

He arrived near the group and came to a halt, turning his gaze to his friend.

"Isn't that right, Narok?"

Kallistiae's Wife

Fashionable Consumer

Narok found himself halted in his steps at the sounds of the tiny lamb announcing his Lord's presence. He would turn to view him, not long before the darker, inked man spoke to him in the most brutish of manners. This large tanned man, he easily came from a place far from the likes of where Narok himself came from. Though it mattered not. His distasteful words were easily repelled by Lord Gunther. He was correct, they represented no idols. Personally, Narok did worship his own patron deities of choice, though he didn't represent them. They did not request such of mankind to begin with.

"That is quite right my Lord. I see you brought our little friend along for the meeting after all."

H
e mentioned in a cheery manner, a smile spread across his lips despite his hard appearance. Placing his fists on his hips, he took a deep breath and looked back to the two unknowns to him, having yet to learn either's name, though knowing they were all here for the same reason. As opposed to the first man that spoke to him, this taller, darker man was no Lord. It was quite obvious that he was simply muscle. And despite the cultural differences between this man and himself, he knew that they weren't so different in the world of warriors. His dominating aura almost made Narok wish to face him on a battle field proper. Even if only to teach him that no respective deity could attain or share absolution to any degree. The way the man spoke of false idols easily depicting that the man himself was religious in his own right, and that his deity or deities were supreme when compared to others. Perhaps he was actually under the spell of a devil or witch of some sort?

"Regardless, I am known as Narok Smith."

H
e'd mention back to the larger, darker man as he looked to him once more.

"Who might you be?"

Ice-Cold Explorer

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A conjunction of roads, a meeting of paths. The reply came to the Baron easily.

"Indeed, I am here to see the good sovereign."

He paused, glancing back, and smiled pleasantly at both the desert tower and the shepherd alike, almost deliberately ignoring the conversation about idols and aims. "Gentlemen, the camp awaits, shall we not speak at greater length once we have arrived? My legs are weary, and the day grows hot."

The Baron pulled the hat back over his eyes, and with a vague gesture as if to say 'Please, follow me...' he strode confidently onward, into the clearing, amidst the tents.

Genius

A voice cut across the din of chatter. A wooden stool sunk in to the dirt before the assembled folk, and a handsome man vaulted atop it.

"People! To me."

Vulcan's red voice paired with Vulcan's red trappings in an excess of authority. In comparison to the paltry rags which made for tents behind him, the prince's look seemed ambitious, at best.

"Finally, you've begun to flock." He said, more to himself than any of the newcomers, then, "My father has held our camp waiting for a tenday in anticipation of your arrivals. We're unused to being settled for so long."

And they were. The court was like a great beast, winding its way across the land, slithering through its forests and hopping over its mountains, eating what it could catch and foraging what it could find. Small as it was, it was still easy to mark its path. The First Family of Hearthland had a mighty appetite. Vulcan assumed that appetite would only grow larger with these new additions.

"I am Vulcan, prince of this land. My father Gurzil is king. We are at Feast, so you will stay your hand from killing until you are bid to return to your given lands. You are warned."

"We will wait here for the others," he continued, when he was sure he had been heard, "If you have questions, ask them now. I will endeavor to answer."

Cultist

Spooky Mittens
"We represent no idols. Only the ideals of free trade and personal liberty."


Typical.

Although his interruption had been expected; for it was appropriate for a Lord to answer for his people, if Gunther considered Narok that. A low bellowed chuckle was all Gunther was given in regards to a response.

Peccaminous Peregrine
"Who might you be?"


"My name is not of importance, only the role I play for my Lord." His stature changed dramatically, unfolding his arms, they swayed to his side. Fists clenched with a white knuckle grip, as if he was preparing for an all out brawl, but then the Baron had spoke.

Scalar Warfare
"Gentlemen, the camp awaits, shall we not speak at greater length once we have arrived? My legs are weary, and the day grows hot."


"I can already tell you're going to be a pain in my a**." He would have continued, but yet another voice had echoed across the field.

The Vansin
"People! To me."


He began walking toward the man that shouted; perhaps his Lord would be present, if not, his Lord would hear about what had been said at this gathering.

"Pray that we don't meet one another, Narok."

Kallistiae's Wife

Fashionable Consumer

It was a good idea to make it to the camp. The travel had been a vigorous one. Lengthy, not harsh though. The weather was favorable and the level of predatory animals was relatively low considering the vastly opened spaces to and fro. Though before they set forth, it would seem the price came to meet them. He was afforded the audience, at least on Narok's part. Looking at the royal he found it hard to believe the prince was prepared to lead a kingdom, or even capable of defending it. He seemed too heavily pampered to put it nicely. Though he was certain his word was law, which was what a royal needed more than anything. Before he could rightfully respond to the prince with any questions as proposed however, it would seem this unknown darker toned man wasn't quite finished being a hard dumb a**. He would snicker and shake his head after making eye contact with him. He held his tongue, though he would do no such thing as pray not to meet him in combat. Quite the opposite. He would silently pray that he in fact did. And if he should fall to the man on the battlefield, he prayed that the golden halls of Valhalla would welcome him to eat and drink his fill until the day came where Gjallarhorn was sound, and Ragnarok was upon them.

"Merry meet Prince Vulcan."

H
e mentioned with the slightest of bows. He could think of a few questions, though with his faction Lord already in attendance, it would be best to let the higher ups discuss such matters. Narok would only chime in with question should one of his proposed questions go unasked by another. Despite being welcomed, Narok would idle here as a precaution to protecting his Lord, though he didn't need such in his opinion. If the opportunity arose, he was sure that this tall, dark, mysterious guy would be the issue, for he was the only one that seemed out of reach of diplomacy.

Profitable Businessman

The sound of the taiko beating in the distance would all but command the ear of those who knew it's meaning. This was no song, no musicians masterpiece that was being played. Instead it was the sound of warriors, the beating of war drums that accompanied those who commanded such forces. Every couple of moments the sound of a conch shell could be heard echoing over the fields in another type of signal. All that was being conveyed was marching orders, the continued movement forward of a small group of warriors.

In that distance if one perhaps gazed would see thirty members of what could easily be classified as a royal guard. Adorning matching sets of samurai armor of black and red, they continued forth under command. There was no faltering and none tried to leave, they were honor bound to remain as they were. Yet another closer look would garner glimpse to what covered their faces, masks to the common, mengu to their ranks. Their facial armor was different for each of them, mimicking faces of demons and devils. Their mengu hid their faces and their kabuto hid their heads. These warriors were dressed for battle even if there was not to be one.

Now one may think who would be brazen enough to command elite soldiers to a small encampment, one of which they were beckoned to by the one who ruled over the land already. That man was Oshiro Akio. A man that none would know of or the deeds he had done for his great nation. It would become obvious that he was who he was because of his position within the marching force. At the forefront he sat mounted upon horseback. The samurai armor Oshiro wore was black and red like that of the soldiers that marched behind him. As they did, his face was hidden behind a mengu that depicted his face as if it were that of a dragon. Atop his kabuto helmet were golden horns like what was normally found on the proud beasts.

They were yet at the camp, his horse pulling to a stop, commanding the entire group to fall to a stop. The drums would beat slowly with a rhythm that commanded readiness. From horseback he would look from his right to his left, his two battle commanders having remained just off to the sides of where he positioned himself in the front. Even that horse of his was adorned in samurai-esque armor, protecting it should it fall under attack. Oshiro would then lead forward, his horse raising it's head to attention as he rested his forearms upon the top of it. From beneath his mengu he would watch their destination from at one hundred and fifty yards.

“I suppose we should remain civil to these men. Gather what you can about them should we separate, it is sure to be valuable in the coming days. Give nothing of ourselves so that we shall remain in mystery. Now supposing we don't simply kill these men, what have you of the situation?”

The words were spoken in their native tongue, a preventative notion to keep any possible prying ears away from their conversation. It was the same reason they halted at such a distance, to prevent their plans from being unfolded before them. Unless someone stood near the three they would hear not a drop of word. His question and statements prior were not addressed to a singular man but to the two together that rode at his sides. Their input was valuable and was one of many reasons that decided their positions in the Imperial Army of the Keijo Empire.

turnipsama
Tankie Sokoya"

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            The first of the Al'Pyr approaches the camp, alone and unburdened by petty ceremony. She does not follow the beaten path the others travel along with their horses and their guards and their booming drums of war.

            Her path is through the forest itself.

            She has marked these woods already in some places with charcoal streaks and symbols on it's tree trunks. Places she has hunted, or come across others who were hunting and unaware of her presence. Her people have not been here long, and these are not their woods, but they have made an effort to familiarized themselves with the new territory. Even if that territory is not their own, they do not see it that way.

            The other newcomers make themselves easy to find, she can smell and hear them even through the echoing trees. She lingers on the outskirts of the camp, her burning golden gaze taking in each of the arrivals with silent curiosity. None seem to be willing to stand alone, as she stands, and she reads weakness in this.

            Before entering the camp, she removes the torch from her hip and lifts it, lighting it with a few quick snaps of her fingers. Sparks fly off the rings she wears as they are struck together, one of flint and one of steel, and these sparks fall onto the flammable cloth. She blows on it until it is burning strong, and finally she steps into the camp, bearing her god with pride.

            As she comes into view, she stands out immediately from the other guests. She appears to be in her mid twenties, about 5'6, by no means large or of intimidating stature. Her skin is an ashy black, decorated with gray paint cut with the cremated remains of her enemies. There is no hair on her head nor on any part of her body, and her skull bears strange, draconian bumps achieved through intense body modification. Her eyes are black with a golden iris, her ears are pointed, pierced and gauged, and her teeth are sharpened to a jagged point. Her fingernails, too, are filed into claws, and they dig into the wooden torch in her fist as she regards these strangers with harsh and blatant contempt.

            Where most of them wear colorful adornments, she wears almost nothing. Her nipples are pierced with small bones and can be seen through a mesh top that ties around her neck and hangs loosely to her navel, and just below that she wears a thong made of blackened cloth. She wears no shoes on her calloused feet. Her thigh bears a leather strap and two knives, one for carving and one for defense. On her back she carries a bow, a quiver of arrows, and a freshly killed boar. It is strapped to her with nothing but the flexible bark of a tree, and despite her relatively small stature she carries the boar easily, it's blood smeared across her thighs and coloring the palms of her hands.

            "I am Vulcan, prince of this land."

            This is who she approaches from the woods. She knows this mans face, and voice, and seems to ignore all others in passing when he presents himself.

            "We will wait here for the others, if you have questions, ask them now. I will endeavor to answer."

            "AYE!"

            She calls out to him as she draws nearer, but her expression remains stoic. It is hard to tell if she's going to greet him or try to impale him with something, and his guards watch her with uncertainty.

            "Vul-can."

            As one of the few of her people who speaks English, she recognizes this as his name, and tries her best to pronounce it correctly. She stops before him as he stands on his stool, ignoring the fact that he was addressing a group in blissful ignorance. She briskly stabs the sharpened end of her torch into the ground, then reaches back and grabs the boar by the scruff of it's neck, drawing her carving knife with her free hand. She slices the bark strap from her body.

            "A sacrifice,"

            Heaving the boar over her shoulder, she holds it as if she is presenting it to him. She then walks right past him to an open tent post and drives her knife deep into it, lifting the boar with a grunt and hanging it by it's bound feet from the handle of her knife. She turns to look back at Vulcan, seemingly pleased with herself. She draws her second knife.

            "to be burned before your feast."

            Without hesitation, she plunges the knife into the boar and begins to gut the animal on the spot, preparing it to be cooked and eaten, but only after the inedible portions are ritualistically burned. She knows her soon arriving companions will not partake in any meal without Al'Pyr receiving a sacrifice, and to her mind, she has done Vulcan a great service.

            If not for the readily available boar, they may have demanded a human sacrifice.





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

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            Today she is without armor: NSFW


Deathly Codger

....All is temporary...

It was a simple notion, really, but it lies at the heart of Al'Pyr beliefs.

Nothing lasts forever. The world is naught but fuel to be burned in the glory of Al'Pyr. Where most would take this simply as a nihilistic notion, reserved only for the most cynical of perspectives, their people did not see it so. Instead it was their reason for living, their reason for being. It reflected in their ways and their habits. There was a reason you would never come across an Al'Pyr church. Or house. They didn't build permanent structures - because no structure could ever be permanent.

For many of the Al'Pyr, they embraced this idea; each day was seized to its greatest potential, with little concern for what lies tomorrow. After all, tomorrow the world might end. The Al'Pyr were not prone to worrying. Nor were they prone to long lasting waves of emotion - they grieved strongly, but briefly, and then they moved on. For most of the Al'Pyr, this central notion gave them a clear path to walk.

For Gili -- it was torment.

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He was following her through the forest. Their sovereign was still a ways behind them. His sister had gone ahead to Hunt, to present a gift to whatever force had summoned them here. Their normal customs demanded a human tribute. If they were showing respect, they would take one of their elders and burn them alive before the other lord. If they were showing dominance - well, that was always a sight to see.

It was Gili that had suggested they present a boar instead. The reasons were... complicated. Not the least of which; they didn't know the nature of their host or how their customs would be interpreted. Upon agreement she had immediately run ahead to find the biggest, meanest, fattest boar in the forest. His little sister had a fervor that was unrivaled among their people. She would make them proud and assure that their introduction was burdened with an appropriate degree of gravity.

Their lord behind him, his sister sprinting ahead, Gili filled the space between the two. He made his way through the forest, watching the sun's light filtering through the leaves; as it splashed across the lighter leaves in shades of gold and yellow and red, he saw the inevitable future - the glory of their god that would roar between these trees. All in good time.

She was easy enough to track. He saw her markings. The charcoal hand prints on the trees she passed. He found the place where she had killed the boar, saw the trail of blood as it hung from her back. Barefoot, he placed his foot next to a spot of blood --

He was ten years old. It was his first hunting trip with their father. "Follow the blood, son. You struck a lethal blow, but you did not fell it with the first strike. Because you were careless, it suffers. Follow the blood."

She would not have let it suffer. Or at least - not by carelessness. If her prey suffers, it was a deliberate choice.

Finally, he broke through the tree line at the edge of camp, not long after his sister had finished presenting her tribute. The two were siblings; you could see it in their eyes, particularly the nose. However, where she was slim and petite, he was tall and considerably thicker. It was said that their family was the Spear of Al'Pyr. She, the head. Narrow, sharp. He, the shaft. Strong, sturdy.

Like her, Gili had little clothing, but lots of body modification. He had the same hairless head. The ridges beneath his skin were of a different configuration, much more heavily along his eyebrows and with a single, wide ridge along the center of his crown. He had a bar through his nose, several piercings in his ears. His lobes weren't gauged, instead they had a series of rings pierced along them. There was a thin rope with beads that ran from one ear to the other behind his head. His irises were a darker color, and he had even more intricate tattoos along his body.

He approached the camp, looking among those gathered. It was clear from their arrangement that Vulcan must be of their host party, at least. There was a look of query on the faces of most everyone else. Either they looked overly interested in their surroundings or they looked overtly uninterested, but it was remarkably difficult to simply look at home the way that Vulcan did.

Gili was not interested in displays of showmanship, nor did he have the tactical sense to try to glean strategic information from the others who were summoned. To him, this was not a tournament, nor war games. It was simply a path - one that held a sacred importance.

Ignoring Vulcan and the others he made his way to his sister. As she cut the boar, he spoke to her in their native language. Not because he wished to hide anything; but he spoke even worse of the common tongue than she did. His voice was deep and heavy, "(Hail, little sister. Did our host find our tribute worthy?)" He had exited the forest a little ways behind her and so did not see their initial interaction. He hoped the boar would suffice as an offering - it was as much a gesture for the giver as it was upon the receiver. Turning it down could start his event off with a rather sanguine inauguration.

Genius

Peccaminous Peregrine
"Merry meet Prince Vulcan."


"And to yourself. You've got the look of a warrior about you. Fight well for your lord." he cautioned. His own weapon hung handsomely at his side, a flamberge-bladed rapier. Its scabbard was as red as his chestplate.

Viice
"Vul-can."

"A sacrifice,"

"to be burned before your feast."


Vulcan looked down to his side and smiled to see Tin, now caught up to him, gaping wide-eyed at the savage girl eviscerating her pig. Whether he was enraptured by the violent, tearing jerks of her dagger through flesh, or the way they made her bared breasts bounce, he couldn't say. Either way, Vulcan found the girl's offering pleasant. The smell of the burning offal gave the air a welcome stink which, strangely, reminded Vulcan of his father's mother, who had returned back into the world when he was only a child.

Though, unlike this clever, ashy little thing, Vulcan's grandmother hadn't spoken a lick of the common tongue.

"We are glad to receive your offering." satisfied that he'd been heard by the rest of the new arrivals, Vulcan stepped down from his chair and approached the girl in her tent.

"I like the smell of burned beasts. Cook it a while longer and I'll have my women take it to the Long Tent." The Long Tent wasn't where he'd come from, but it was where they were all going. That was where Court was held, and where the king rested.

Vulcan turned back toward the exit of the tent and, more to himself than to the Al'pyr girl, said,

"I thought more would arrive today."

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