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Post by Dia on Nov 16, 2008 11:43:45 GMT -5
I Anarchy Honor. Does it any longer hold any meaning? Accusations that an emperor would slay his own wife, followed by open rebellion. Anarchy. Betrayal. All during a time of war, when order and loyalty are most necessary. Is this truly what we have been reduced to, dear Pherin? That this so-called “New Dawn” has manipulated the minds of our Kyrstinaw-born legions, and turned them against the empire they have sworn oaths of fealty to. What of the peoples of Ivelfrost and Prontera? Two of the great port cities of our empire, destroyed during the havoc of this conflict. Will this New Dawn be there to help the survivors pick up the pieces? Or will they abandon them to pursue power elsewhere? I have been to both locations personally, leading behind me a legion to restore whatever was salvageable in the cities for those still left. Not one New Dawn soldier has joined in this effort. Not even one, while the forces of the Witch King have been sighted amassing to the south, and we weaken our borders to lend aid to those immediately in need. Some will say that such is war. That cities will be destroyed, and civilians will die. But what of ambassadors of peace? My own daughter, Loria, slain at the hands of this despicable excuse for nobility, Daric, when she merely wished to discuss peace with her brother. No son of mine any longer, I assure you. Riots have begun amongst those still loyal to the empire. Those who demand that something be done to end this violence, and silence these traitors. I apologize for my hesitation, you will understand it was my own blood I was against. But I will hesitate no more. I issue now a warning to the nations and factions of Fenmyr. Do not interfere in this conflict. Take not the side of the Empire or the New Dawn. For when this empire is reunited, all hostile actions taken against its people will be punished as severely as possible. I declare now a state of war against the New Dawn, its armies, and those loyal to it. Those wishing to remain loyal, or neutral towards the empire, will of course be left unharmed. But rest assured, dear Pherin, these anarchists will be purged.- A message from the emperor of Pherin, Derek Blake, delivered across Fenmyr and all bordering provinces by bards, scalds, and scribes, only moments before the Kyrstinaw city of Loria was surrounded and razed to the ground by the Emperor's 6th legion.
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Post by Dia on Nov 24, 2008 1:11:00 GMT -5
II The End? The sky above the great city of New Pherin was lit brightly as the 6th legion marched towards the eastern slope leading up to the city's military district. The Emperor Derek Blake traveled ahead of the legion hours before so to make arrangements for a grand feast in honor of their victory against the New Dawn forces occupying the Kyrstinaw city of Loria. As the men and women of the 6th marched up the long slope, many began to whisper amongst each other. One question had now filled everyone's minds. Why was it so silent? With the lights so bright, the feast had surely begun already. Such a festival would often be heard for miles around. Yet only a quarter of a mile away and the only sounds filling the night were of the crickets in their trees. There came a crashing sound up ahead as the force was reaching the summit of the great hill New Pherin sat upon. Soldiers quickly drew their blades and charged up the hill to see what was the matter. Horror flooded their once stalwart faces as they beheld the sight at the top of the hill. The walls of New Pherin were shattered. The city was being ravaged by flames, and not a soul was to be heard calling for help. As the shock settled in, officers began ordering their squads into the ruins to search for survivors. The military district of the city was completely empty. Its weaponry and barricades moved elsewhere. The government district laid in utter ruin, showing signs of taking heavy spell fire. The park laid abandoned, and the temple district was home to a few survivors who’s minds were left in total disarray, unable to even convey the events of the night to the legionaries. The middle class and market district were subject to varying levels of damage. Some common folk had been cut down while attempting to flee, and while some buildings remained in tact, others were burning to the ground or fell under siege fire. Trails of corpses lead the legionaries to the slums of New Pherin, where the people appeared to have been evacuated. The streets of the slums were empty, and silent. Puddles of blood littered the crevices, while streaks of blood lead in the direction of the old council chambers in the southeast corner of the district. The legionaries approached the chambers cautiously, unsure what would await them within, though praying for some survivors of this disaster. A strange hissing sound was in the air. The legionaries took phalanx positions, guarding one another as they approached. Then, upon the doors of the ancient chambers they saw burnt into it the symbol of a throne, constructed from ivory skulls and bones, sitting over a black circle. "The Witch King..." one legionary uttered, just as the sounds of groans surrounded them from all around the slums. The black blood, infectious undead servants of Wesker Whitestar, overran the city of New Pherin within hours, taking the people of New Pherin, and members of the 6th legion as newly afflicted servants in the Witch King's horde. Derek Blake was reported missing and presumed dead or infected as of purification attempts later that tenday. The attempts were a failure. The Witch King's forces have since been tearing a path south through the Silillnyme, towards the coast.
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Post by Dia on Dec 8, 2008 20:47:46 GMT -5
III Where Hope Lingers Arngrim Aeronlianson, king of the Lifson people, sat at the head of his Mead Hall, watching over its patrons. The entertainment could hardly be heard over the roaring crowd, who were set on enjoying what many a doomsayer was calling the end. Lifson men and women, Sindri dwarves, imperial soldiers, and wandering foreigners alike were laughing and drinking, despite what drew closer from the north. Thaine Rynen, loyal guardian of the Lifson king, stood stalwartly at the side of Arngrim, being one of the few in the hall still dressed for combat. He looked down at Arngrim, and muttered softly to the watchful king. "Doubt half of them will even sober up in time." The king nodded grimly at Thaine's words. "The ones who still have a desire to win will." Thaine offered a single nod before turning his attention back to the rest of the hall, just as the great doors at the other end were flung open. The whole hall went silent for a moment, turning to a man in tattered imperial armor. "Skyros and the Drakesmoke Isles burn!" the soldier shouted. In the distance, an eerie glow was on the horizon to the north, over island-city of Skyros, and its neighboring Drakesmoke Isles, where various settlements had been established. The hall's patrons began whispering worriedly amongst themselves, their celebration surely cut short. From amongst the crowd, an officer of the legion stood up on a table, raising his voice above the others'. "Members of the 1st, move outside and arm yourselves. Go!" The officer stepped off the table and stormed out of the Mead Hall, followed soon after by the other imperials scattered throughout the hall. Thaine snorted slightly and cast a look over at the Lifson king, who rose up from his seat, addressing those still in the great Mead Hall. The patrons all went silent, giving Arngrim their full attention and respect. "Lifsons, Sindri, honored guests. Feel gifted that the enemy is nearly upon us now, we needn't wait any longer to earn our entry through the gates of Valhalla. Those capable of fighting, be quick to ready yourselves. Those who cannot, gather now at the eastern gates. I wish volunteers to lead the defenseless away from the city to step forward." The Lifsons and Sindri roared and downed the last of their drinks, moving to the many weapon racks about the hall to arm themselves. The few who were not warriors said goodbye to their loved ones, knowing it may be their last farewell, before heading out of the hall to wait on their escorts. Stepping forward from amongst the crowd came Isidora Sinus, the unmasked Witch of Rashemen, and Jedia Solaria, the Gray Knight and hunter of undead. Thaine offered a single nod to both in silence as they approached the king's throne, while Arngrim wasted no time in addressing them both. "Thank you for stepping forward. I will need you both to go with Refr to the city of Gnarm. Lead the refugees there, and tell them to prepare the longboats to escape before the carnage can reach them, should Bifrost fall." Thaine looked over at Arngrim, who returned his gaze and nodded slightly. Isidora summoned her staff to her hands, and from Jedia to Thaine, speaking softly. "Do either of you need anything? I'm ready." Jedia shook her head, and grabbed her halberd, uttering "No." Thaine simply walked around the table, and began heading for the exit. "No, lets get moving."As the three met up with the Lifson refugees and began their trek to the east, the sky to the north became filled with the ensuing aerial battle of imperial airship squadrons against the endless fleet of the Witch King.
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