Total War: Rise of Kingdoms IC

[3SecondCultist]

The Ironfang Republic
Morale 7
Reputation 7

Spoiler: To the Free City of Khasal

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To the Maestro of Falling Stars,

I understand that your operational security is at a nil, as does everyone else on the continent. The Brotherhood is almost certainly intercepting our communication. Therefore, I will be brief. The Ironfang Republic will have need of a few adventuring teams that we plan to use this season to open up sea routes to your lands. We hope that you can understand that investing such resources now can only help your cause in the future; we have absolutely no wish for the Brotherhood or Silvermist to run rampant over you.

Furthermore, Secretary General Bruthazmus is hoping to host a few of your leaders in order to discuss a more detailed plan of action over the next several months. I have relayed my own orders to Oprak to be passed on, as my presence will be needed in the field. Would you be willing to devote some time and a few representatives of note to send to Rivaness to meet in person?

- General Azaersi

Spoiler: OOC

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I will be asking for some points of ADV (4 would be ideal) if you can spare them for EoT for us to set up sea routes to territories in your vicinity. Furthermore, if you have a VIP to spare, we can take this to PM to discuss sneakier plans.

Spoiler: To the Templars of the Burning Savior

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Dearest Priestess of House Ionlar,

I have passed on the news of your acceding to our agreement to the Council of Clans that meets in our capital of Oprak. Suffice it to say that we agree on much - allegiance means little without the strength to back it up, for one - and that we do not plan to get in your way as you move across Kyrsull. The goblins hope that you will be wary of dealing with the myconid Combine and the foolish dogmatics of Shemesh. Neither faction appears healthy to our eyes. Perhaps a purifying flame might be the best way to clear the path forward?

As far as your warning goes... our sages have heard it, albeit perhaps too late. War is brewing across Hanrui, and the Republic has found itself caught up in it of late. We hope that should we meet on the battlefield one day, it is not as enemies.

Best regards,

Bruthazmus the Even-Tongued, Secretary General of the Republic

Spoiler: To Silvermist (Mor 0)

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To the enterprising adventurers,

You are right - the Republic did sell our services to the highest bidder. When the offer was extended to the nations of Hanrui, it was done in the spirit of honest competition. You made an offer and we heard it, before you were outbid by a third party. Your people may debate the vagaries of haggling over price, but we stayed true to our word throughout, a feat that your people have failed to accomplish.

As a rule, our people do not jump headfirst into alliances with unproven partners. The summit was to get to know everyone on Hanrui, to set some ground rules for proceedings and establish regulations between neighbors. I thank the Brothers that we didn't agree to your son's 'diplomacy' then. Silvermist has shown its true character over these past few months. We hope that you enjoy whatever boons you were afforded by the literal spawn of Hell.

- General Azaersi

Spoiler: To the Theocracy of Shemesh

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The scroll that is returned pinned to the sleeping pilgrim is of a fine quality, but marked by only a single word.

... what?

[Zweanslord]

Theocracy of Shemesh

At Medju, Capital of Light, three pilgrims gather at a large plaza, in bright daylight. Around them, a busy market is busy, but in that place, there is a larger opening. They look up and pray to Shemesh. Soon enough, they are joined by other seekers, those who bring the Light to the far reaches, specialized not in conversion or rituals, but in lighting the path.

Together, they pray. “Shemesh, Light of our lives. We bring luminance to the dark far away, we bring sight to the unseen caverns and passages. Radiant are our torches, radiant are our candles, radiant are our lanterns. They carry the Light, as we carry Shemesh with us. Light everguiding in paths unknown to become lit, known to us and to Shemesh. We carry the Light! Shemesh carries us ever forward!”

“As darkness looms, I offer lanterns to blaze the path through caverns for blades to ward the Light.”

“As gloom seeks to dim, I offer candles to light spirits for journeys everlasting for songs and calls of aid to bring spark to the Light.”

“As night overtakes day, I offer torches to lead the way to the next down for prayer and chorus to support the Light.”

The offers are made at Medju, Capital of Light. No messengers are sent, but everyone knows, for the message is carried in the light of day, by spies, by merchants, by diplomats, by rumours and whispers. The Theocracy of Shemesh offers its adventurers in exchange for aid. Yet not all aid will be accepted. Most clear example of all is the Legion of Darkness, who truly is not welcome in Medju, Capital of Light.

[OOC: Offering 3 Adventurers in exchange for 3 Military, 3 Reputation, 4 Morale, or a combination thereof. Willing to accept lesser offers, such as for example 1 Adventurers for 1 Military. The Theocracy of Shemesh requires a person is sent to Medju, Capital of Light, before an offer is accepted. Offer ends in 23 hours from when this post is made.]

Public message to the Church of the Truth Speaker

A seasick female pilgrim comes, bringing forth her message. “Greetings. I am Semkhiri- A moment of wooziness. - from the Theocracy of Shemesh. The Light is so much in the skies. In the seas, in the, the- Semkhiri bobbles about, looking at the sky while trying to find her balance, but only focusing on the sun while moving left and right. So much. I come with, with- Swiftly predicted, Semkhiri tumbled upon a rock and fell on her back. She yelped momentarily, but figured it was safer to stay lying backing in the Light instead of letting further wooziness overtake her.

-a message. Yes! The Theocracy of Shemesh denounces the actions and nation of Silvermist for, for, for, the, for the same actions the Church is denouncing them! Semkhiri grabs her head, as she’s trying to steady herself. The ground helps, but she’s clearly thinking, recollecting. Oh! And the Theocracy of Shemesh denounces the Brotherhood of Sin with the war declaration of the Church of the Truth Seeker against them! Another moment. The Theocracy of Shemesh will trade with neither! Please come. Each day we look forward the dawn, radiating the Light of Shemesh.” Semkhiri smiles weakly, happy to speak of Shemesh, before drifting off to sleep.

Public message to the Ironfang Republic

Neshotpe awakens eventually, starts with praying to Shemesh, before noticing a scroll of fine quality. He opens it and reads it. Scratching his unkempt hair, he looks about, trying to find somebody to talk to. “I come from the Theocracy of Shemesh. I brought a message! I did, didn’t I? The light of Shemesh brought me here, to carry the message. You, I mean not you, but the Ironfang Republic did. To everybody! To the Theocracy of Shemesh too! A war declaration against devils, asking for others to join in return for your favour. I came with the message, the reply! The Theocracy of Shemesh cannot join in other wars, for the Legion of Darkness is besieging us!”

Public message to the Dwarf Hold of Khazn Durn

An older male pilgrim with a large, unkempt beard, arrives at the Dwarf Hold of Khazn Durn. He walks slow and asks entry. “Greetings. I am Khnakhtifi from the Theocracy of Shemesh. I come for information. We’ve received dwarven advice before. Perhaps more wisdom?” The pilgrim scratches in his beard, desert sand trickling from it. “The neighbouring nation, the Ironfang Republic, held a secretive meeting earlier, with many invited, many going. They talk in secrets, with this hold, with others. But not all, for some is known. There’s a conversation going on between the Ironfang Republic and Silvermist, with the secretive meeting being mentioned. Does anybody here know what was spoken of in there? Can anybody here confirm what is being said?”

[Janwin]

The Dwarf Hold of Khazn Durn

Mor: 8
Rep: 6

Spoiler: To the Theocracy of Shemesh (Mor 8)

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He's not entirely sure why, but King Thurgin finds a stranger in his court one day; a large, ornate hall with a large, conspicuously bare table in the middle of it. A man he'd never met before, and who doesn't entirely seem to be well. He glances at the guards questioningly, and they just shrug.

Normally, he'd probably call for a medic...or maybe a psychiatrist...but something tells him that this is normal for the followers of Shemesh. But then the man speaks, and his mind goes to other thoughts.

Thoughts like the possibility that the pilgrim had seen the goblins or angels currently enjoying the hospitality of his keep on his way in. There was nothing to be done about that, though, and if the pilgrim had seen them, Shemesh wasn't really high on his list of "who might try and **** the Dwarves over" anyway.

"Aye, lad. The meetin' they be referrin' to be the one held a couple seasons back, I be thinkin', but it were nay all that secretive since everyone were invited. Unfortunately, the dwarves were nay able t' send a representative t' that meetin', but from what be known it were a meeting t' discuss peace for Hanrui. Th' Republic has sent us some messages seekin' peace too, so it be in line with our own experiences."

The pilgrim had asked about the meeting that they were speaking of in the two nations' public missives, and the King told him what he knew of that meeting.
Normally the Dwarf King might have corrected the pilgrim in what he didn't know, but he had come recently to understand that sometimes secrets must be held close to the chest.

Spoiler: To the Free City (Mor 8)

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To Corin Letarra,

Given the current state of affairs, we would prefer to discuss what aid we might be able to provide in private. You are welcome to send a representative to our court, if you would like. After all, you are a nation currently under siege and we would hate to provide any information to your enemies if they intercept our missives.

King Thurgin Wildhammer

[Let'sGetKraken]

The Astral Collective

To the Templars of Our Burning Saviour

Spoiler: Disclaimer

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The following is public, since this seems like some fun RP and I don't want to close it off, but please treat this as OoC knowledge unless you have 11 ESP or higher or are the Templars

To the pilgrims, the humid warmth of the southern jungles of Rivaness would have been both a blessing and a curse. As the convoy from Kyrsull wound their way through well-maintained paths lined with sandstone obelisks, purely decorative in function, the cloying heat would have pressed down on them, relentless in its nature. If not for the moisture in the air, which saturated their robes and left their feathers unpleasantly damp, it might have been a religious experience to those who worship flame.

It was not gradual, as one might have expected. One moment, they were surrounded by massive trees and the buzzing of insects; they rounded a corner, and the jungle canopy cleared, revealing that they were practically already standing at the base of an enormous-three-sided pyramid. It stretched hundreds of metres into the air, a feat of architecture and engineering that would have taken a generation to complete. It was terraced; on the edges of the lower levels, the pilgrims could make out rows and rows of crops in all sorts of strange colours. The only way onto the tetrahedron (short of flying) was a series of pulley-drawn lifts, guarded by several dozen soldiers in silver and purple armour. The guard captain – a grizzled, one-eyed githyanki – spoke quickly with the Orecai, agreeing to let them pass once they had turned over their weapons for safekeeping.

As the lift ascended, the pilgrims were treated with a magnificent view of the jungle. In the distance, they could just barely make out the shape of another tetrahedron rising over the trees. Their escort – an enthusiastic gnome lieutenant – was all too happy to point out the various landmarks as they rose past another dozen levels. “Most of our farming is done on the lower levels, naturally; the air is too thin to support it up near the top! We keep mostly administrative buildings there; our citizens live in the middle sections. Oooh, speaking of which, right there on Terrace Six – that’s the one below us there – you can see the College of Dew on a Morning Leaf, where we train the Astral Collective’s pathfinders and rangers. And if you look over there…”

At the third terrace from the top, the pilgrims exited the lift and were escorted to a series of modest yet comfortable quarters, with the exception of the Orecai. He was brought to a waiting room, empty save for several chairs and a large wooden table. After twenty minutes, he was joined by a very strange pair: a hulking, four-armed humanoid insect dressed in fine violet robes accompanied by a female githzerai, her expression almost serene. After a brief pause, the thri-kreen introduced himself as Kriik-Krilr. He listened to the Orecai’s statement, nodding here and there, his antenna buzzing all the while. Once the preacher had finished, he clicked his mandibles together and replied: “We are pleased to receive you here on Tetrahedron Twenty-Six. It is true that Zeilrae has pledged himself to our cause; unfortunately, he is indisposed at the moment. I am sure that he will be quite pleased to receive your offerings and supplication in absentia; rest assured that he does not lack for consumption. Did you happen to see any of the ankhorrak on your journey through the jungle? They are massive beasts, and fierce predators. Not quite as fierce as a dragon, however.” The thri-kreen’s mandibles clicked rapidly in what the Orecai realized was the equivalent of a smile.

“We appreciate your offer of friendship; rest assured that we bear you no ill will. I would hear more of the Templars; tell me why you have come to Hanrui. How do the Pyresoul and his descendant factor into your belief?”

[Writtensanity]

The messenger that the Theocracy sent to the Fortress of First words is carried inside once they fall asleep. Questions abound in the fortress, like 'how many of these pilgrims must die for each that actually make it here?'

The messenger is given food and water as well as some healing attention. He awakes in one of the medical facilities of the Church, which is empty aside from him.

"Non-believer subject is awakening," Jeleva chimes from the bedside, "metal status seems normal," a short pause, "heightened," and then another short pause as the pilgrim realizes they have awoken in a bright room with an angel over them after fainting from exhaustion, "subject is panicked. Going to administer magical sedation."

The pilgrim falls asleep. Jeleva takes notes.

Spoiler: The Theocracy of Shemesh and the Dwarves: MOR 9

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One of the angels in the dwarvish courtroom takes off from the chandelier and, after circling twice lands beside the Pilgrim on the ground. "I have been told that I should deliver our response to Pilgrim Semkhiri directly to you rather than to them.

"The Church of the Truth Speaker appreciates your sign of Solidarity against the forces of deceit in the world. After the blunder diplomatically over the past two seasons, it seems to be for the best." The angel seems uncomfortable passing on this message, they are a warrior first and a speaker sixteenth. "As for the trade offer you have made the world. We would like to offer 4 MOR for the 3ADV. This ADV will be used to forge paths to [4] and [55] which we can use as a launching point for a direct assault against the legion of balance. Right now our ability to intervene in such things is left wanting due to distance. We hope you will consider its use in accepting our offer first."

"Additionally we would like to know how you defended or attacked the Legion in the previous seasons, do you know what their defenses are like?"


"I think that's all," the angel takes a deep breath before taking off back towards the rafters where he's comfortable.

Spoiler: Midturn for GM

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DIVE DIVE DIVE BOIS

7 Temp ADV going into the Cursed Temple

Additionally;

Grand Voice Dawn 1 MIL 1 ADV and Grand Voice Myra 1 MIL

If my math is right that is 11 floors.

[Janwin]

Spoiler: To Shemesh and the Church (Mor 8)

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The dwarf King watches as the angel flies down, glances at the pilgrim, glances at the angel and then sighs a little.

Note to self: check th' rafters before holdin' open court when they be here...

[St.Just]

Free People of Khasal

Reputation 3
Messages De Facto public

Spoiler: Ironfang Republic

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Hail the Heroic General Azaersi

My own plans are plain for all to see, and require my full attention. But my subtle friend Corin is already in exile, and has been invited to spend it in the hall of the mountain king. He can speak for the People in all matters regarding the coming war.

Spoiler: Church of the Speaker

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To the Grand Voices of the Church,

Well, that answers that question. Appreciated.

If you want to just go off on your own, you are more than welcome to unload at our pots and just go Crusading. But if you’ve got someone to handle coordination, the City’s favourite poorly-reincarnated-weasel is apparently going to be spending his exile in a guest suite in Khazn Durn and helping coordinate from there. As you are so loudly cobelligerent, I’m sure everyone would be happy for you to send somoene of your own.

[The page is signed with a barely legible ‘Atena’, and below that a somewhat grandiose looking stamp reading ‘The Intrepid Atena Nalar, Ruby-Eyed and Ruin-Seeker, Cartographer of the Perfected Map, Elected Captain of Khasal-in-Quepta]

Spoiler: Khazn Durn

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To the King Under the Mountain,

Your offer is greatly appreciated and, while it pains me to be drawn away from my suffering compatriots and fellow citizens, I feel prudence demands that I must accept. I look forward to seeing you in person.

In order to avoid miscommunication and needless confusion, I feel it would be for the best for everyone who considers themselves allied against the diabolical scourge to sit in one council of war. If you agree, then perhaps you could extend your hospitality to the representatives of the Republic and Church, as well?

Best regards,
The People’s Friend, and Yours,
The Esteemed Corin Letarra, Ambassador-in-Exile of Khasal

Spoiler: Astral Collective

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To Kalira, Skilled and Shadowed

A true pity. Well, I do hope that circumstances continue to conspire such that our interests align.

Be seeing you,

Best regards,
The People’s Friend, and Yours,
The Esteemed Corin Letarra, Ambassador-in-Exile of Khasal

[Lord Athos]

The Templars of Our Burning Saviour

Spoiler: To the Ironfang Republic (MOR 6)

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To the most esteemed Bruthazmus the Even-Tongued,

Be assured that the Templars have no intention of aligning with mindless infestations or blathering fools.

We share your hopes for the future, and profess we are optimistic.

Glory to the Flame,
Vestis of House Ionlar, High Priestess of the Cult of Our Burning Saviour

Spoiler: The Fungal Combine (MOR 6)

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Templar troops can be observed burning a line through the forest, fields and hills along their northern border, with standing orders of quarantine.

Spoiler: OOC

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I'm fine with that deal.

[3SecondCultist]

The Ironfang Republic
Morale 7
Reputation 7

Spoiler: To the Theocracy of Shemesh

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The reply that makes its way to Medju this time takes the form of an entire stack of documents, all bound together in string. A cursory glance at the postage, different languages, and styles of address reveal that these correspondences have visited dozens of courts and places of power. A letter has been stuck to the very top of the pile, addressed to the Archpriestess.

Dearest most faithful of Shemesh,

I see that clearly that there has been some misunderstanding about the nature of the way the Republic conducts its business. Goblins may have a history of hoarding secrets, but those of us in Oprak who have sworn to the Articles of Iron believe that a new era is upon us; one where an honorable person keeps their word, and does not lie.

Therefore, we endeavored to publish the attached reports to all of Hanrui the moment that our first summit was over, nearly a year ago. You will find several copies and transcripts of the meeting; how it took place, who arrived, and what was spoken of. The Republic is not afraid of sharing our words with the world, as we have nothing to hide. Please do not hesitate to send me another scroll if you have questions about any of the contents within.

Best regards,

Bruthazmus the Even-Tongued, Secretary General to the Republic

Spoiler: To the Free City of Khasal

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To the Tyrant of the Broken Shore,

I have passed along your message to the Council of Clans, and they plan to dispatch Bruthazmus in order to have him meet you there. The rest of the planning will be up to me - I will keep in touch if necessary, but we should limit our contact this way as to avoid tipping any hand that we hope yet to hide.

- General Azaersi

Spoiler: To All

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To all of the peoples of Hanrui,

We stand at a crossroads. One path leads to death, destruction, and despair. The other might yet show us the way to true prosperity. The Ironfang Republic has spoken to nearly all of those who call Hanrui their home: our messengers have traveled to Medju and the deserts of the faithful, traversed the peaks of Nex and spoken to ghosts of those long dead, and crossed the breadth and width of Kyrsull and her territories. Many of you are peers, if not yet allies - the goblin people do not wish to war with anyone.

However, over the past weeks the Republic has had cause to declare war on the Brotherhood of Sin. While we do not encourage war as a first resort, sometimes it is unavoidable. In order to help us conclude this war swiftly - and more importantly, to deter any such other pointless conflicts in the future - the Ironfang Republic is proud to announce that we are not alone. Two of our fine neighbors, the honorable dwarves of Khazn Durn and the righteous Church of the Truth Speaker stand by our side. The people of Rivaness have seen fit to charge us with its protection, and we seek to challenge the dark forces that corrupt the very land. We hope that those of you with good in your hearts can join us in the future, for ours is bright and full of promise.

Brother Kraelos, High Priest of Jang and Kherak

Spoiler: OOC

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I am declaring to everyone that the Ironfang, the Church, and the Dwarves have signed an allied defensive pact. As of this turn, any nation who attacks any one of us threatens the wrath of the others.

Spoiler: Midturn (GM Only)

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I will be spending 2 more ADV this turn in order to clear more floors from the Crystalforge!

[Lord Athos]

The Templars of Our Burning Saviour

Spoiler: Internal - Midturn

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High Master Aeth of House Veaneth (3 adventurer) and 6 units of Adventuring Knights assault the Necromancer's lair in the Renegade Mountain Fortress(10), only heading back if the High Master is in danger of dying

4 units of Adventuring Knights head into the Caves of the Stone Giants

[Janwin]

The Dwarf Hold of Khazn Durn

Mor: 8
Rep: 6

Spoiler: To All

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To the Nations of Hanrui,

The Dwarves of Khazn Durn shall stand beside our allies, unwavering like the mountain before the breeze.

In solidarity with the Ironfang Republic, the Dwarves of Khazn Durn declare war against the Brotherhood of Sin and their allies, Silvermist.

By my hand,
King Thurgin Wildhammer

Spoiler: Midturn (GM)

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Sending 1 ADV into the Mine of Kazn Duz.

[Zweanslord]

Theocracy of Shemesh

At Medju, Capital of Light, three pilgrims stand at a large plaza in bright daylight. The marketplace has thinned. They pray to Shemesh, together with other seekers.

None have arrived to take up their offer and so they take their lanterns, their candles, their torches, their Light, and spread out for another day.

[OOC: Offer ends without valid bid: No bidders went to Medju, Capital of Light.]

Public message to Dwarf Hold of Khazn Durn the Church of the Truth Speaker

The bearded pilgrim Khnakhtifi looks at the great representative the dwarves have bestowed upon the honour of him talking to. Truly, Shemesh lights the way to greatness. “Thank you for your answer, wise King Thurgin! However, Khnaktifi was suddenly interrupted by something else! When his eyes gazed upon what landed besides him, he quickly looked around, moved his feet apart in a defensive stance and prayed to Shemesh for protection from danger.

When it became obvious there was nothing to defend against immediate peril, but rather a representative of the Church of the Truth Speaker had arrived, the pilgrim adopted a more neutral stance, curiously looking at the angel. “Uhm, hello!” Surprised by the presence of the angel from the Church, the bearded pilgrim rubs his beard. Listening to the message, he looks at the angel up there, trying to talk back.

“Archpriestess Akhteret begged for what you are offering in return and Shemesh was called a false god, with the demand to, to.” Tears well up as he even speaks it. “Leave the light.” Sniffling, he rubs away his tears with his beard. “I can bring across the offer, but none will believe me, as the stories of that demand before the Church of the Truth Speaker would fight or aid the Theocracy of Shemesh have spread far and wide. You will have to go to Medju, Capital of Light, and tell that… demand… no longer is the case.”

“Also, if you’re claiming more lands, perhaps wise to announce that too. As for what the Theocracy of Shemesh did, is it not plain as day? We revealed the horrors of the Legion of Darkness.”

[OOC: Reiterating I am claiming the Legion of Balance has decreased significantly in Reputation, as in post #109.

Also, still open to trade 3 Adventurers for 4 Morale, though will require explaining no renouncing of Shemesh is necessary. It just means this trade is not part of the public bidding from above.]

Public message to the Ironfang Republic

A pilgrim arrives running apace, sweaty and puffing. “The Theocracy of Shemesh thanks the Ironfang Republic.” The pilgrim utters to an official looking goblinoid before tripping and passing out while murmuring about Shemesh.

[LimSindull]

Silvermist

Spoiler: Midturn:(GM)

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Grock, equipped with flame tongue, and three adventurers will explore the Troll caves.

Spoiler: The Church of the Voice and Truth Seeker: MOR 0

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More lies from those who cannot find the Truth. Your armies were marching on the Legion before they committed any attack. We take wholly the lack of your aid to Shemesh that you are not enemies of the Legion and that you march only to expand your own means. You know nothing but to Conquer and control. We are not the same. We deny nothing.

Spoiler: The Astral Collective: Mor 0

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Hypocrisy seems to be abound in this day and Age. You say that you do not sell your services, but given the choice between striking the Brotherhood of your own accord and profiting from us, you chose profit. Hide it as you will, but your actions show full well your intent. If I recall, you didn't join the Non aggression agreement because you were too concerned with brainwashing a dragon.

Since your collective seems so naive in your understanding of the world, let me kindly explain what the free city would do to those who imbue their collective hive-mind onto their citizens. They would come for you and rip out every ounce of your psionic power. They would cast you back into whatever reality you popped forth from. You are nothing more than a bully and have changed our agreement. What is the word of a collective mouth worth?

Spoiler: Ironfang Republic: Mor:0

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We don't blame you for taking the highest bid. We blame you for not understanding that your people would be used for war and were un-accepting of the consequences of your choices.When a contractor takes a job, they have a due diligence to fully understand not only the work, but the political situations behind the work.

As for my people, we came to seek an alliance. In all things that is what we have striven. You have not taken our hand.

Spoiler: To all (IR Rebuttal)

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War is the natural state of civilizations. From it, we enrich our lives and our country. The Brotherhood has every right to defend themselves from the economic prowess and devious subterfuge of The Free City of Khasal. You all have not been privy from their misdeeds and despicable actions of the Free City of Khasal, but we their neighbors know what they do behind closed doors. We will not sit by and let them go unpunished.

The ICK is intruding beyond their continent. They have all sold their expertise to the highest bidders and have profiteered from this war. Now, they believe that they are right to come and conquer new territory. This is not their business. They are an unwanted and unjust authoritarian figure that holds no right to inflict their will upon the other nations of the world. If you do not stand with them, you will lie underneath them. If you are not Ironfang, you will serve their will.

Spoiler: To all (DHKD Rebuttal)

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We reject any claim that the Dwarven Hold of Khazn Durn holds to wage war so far from their homeland.They have initiated no effort to hold any meeting with the warring factions and are dragging a local problem into the larger world stage for their own gain. They are simply warmongering colonizers bent to the will of the Ironfang Republic.

Spoiler: Templars of the Burning Savior: Mor 7

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We will be expanding south (19), please do not take this as an act of aggression. We look forward to making your acquaintance and forging an alliance.

[Writtensanity]

A Public Response to the Theocracy of Shemesh

A small cordon of angels arrive in the fringes of Theocracy lands, positioning themselves around aid sites and offering aid to pilgrims fleeing the Legion of Balance. When they have the chance, they find higher members of the Church and pass on a message.

"Our statement of conversion was exclusive to the situation last season with us preparing for war with the Legion ourselves. We did not have the resources to spare on charity outside of the Church itself. None of our current offers are considered charity, and arriving on your coast in a months time won't be either. The Light of Shemesh and the Sound of the Voice can coexist as a concert on a sunny day."

"Of course, the offer to show you the ways of the Voice are always open."



A Public Message to the Legion of Balance

Dearest Legion of Evil,

It has come to our attention here at the Church that the nation of Silvermist, those who align with devils, those who sully the pen and those who deny all Truths, are under the impression that we were the aggressor in this conflict between us. We do not want that sort of misinformation out there as being called a liar by a liar is simply too low a bar to accept.

Brothers of the Legion, if this was all a misunderstanding, please let us know that you are no longer at war with the Church of the Truth Seeker or the Theocracy of Shemesh and remove your troops from their lands. If that is the case we are terribly sorry about lending you Silvermist's Kraken, and we will return it to them at the nearest convenience.

If your Goddess of Balance still demands that you be at war with us, please feel free to ignore this letter as you do all reason.

Your (Hopeful!) Friend, Grand Voice Hybert


A Public Message to Silvermist


Dearest Newly Minted Warlocks

You are right that we have taken lands under our wing in the past seasons. You are also correct that we did not directly send Shemesh aid. You may be confused by the idea that we marched upon the Legion of Balance by sending a Kraken at them before they declared war on us. We have sent them a letter to clear this up.

Additionally, based on you speaking of 'marching' I feel it worth noting that Krakens mostly scuttle and swim, they rarely march and if they do it's not in our army.

I hear hellfire is balmy this time of year, but make sure to stay away from your new friends. We would hate for there to be anything other than sin purging this season.

Your Kraken Transportation Specialist,

Grand Voice Hybert.

Spoiler: MOR 9; Templars of the Burning Savior

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Do you hear the voice Brothers and Sisters from another world? Do you hear the Voice ringing in your ear? Or does she appear to you as fire in your hearts as she does to Shemesh?

Your Legions have been spreading across the South of Kyrsull, a place where we personally were planning to fight the menace of the Myconid horde. The cannot be reasoned with, they have no god but consumption.

We do not know the messages they have sent you, but we advise that you accept nothing from them but a declaration of war. They cannot be reasoned with, and you shall not find a stalwart ally in their ranks. Though, you will find many spores to burn should you stand against them Brothers and Sisters.

May whatever light you have in your soul guide you,

Grand Voice Jeleva, Church of the Truth Speaker.

[n0ble]

Where Angels Fear to Tread

“On a day when little water was to be found Man spent awhile in thought and realized that he might one day die, never to rise again. Man sent Dog to God to ask that he might come back to live again, like the flowering plant, after death.

Dog went off and followed his nose toward God. He was soon distracted by the smell of soup, and followed his hunger toward the source. Leaning close to watch it boil, Dog was content and forgot his mission.

Seeing that Dog was lost, Frog took it upon himself to go to God and tell him that Man did not want to live again. If Man were to be reborn, thought Frog, he would soon muddy the rivers and destroy the birthplaces of frogs.

Dog finally arrived to tell God Man's message. Leaning low, he crooned Man's need for rebirth in the song of his howl. God was touched by the devotion of Dog for Man.

But God granted the frog's wish, because he got there first.”
- an African Myth, first read in Mike Mignola’s Seeds of Destruction

Marshal Midgin grunted, cursed aloud, then doubled himself over as another bout of coughing wracked his lungs. His breath came out harried and ragged and wet, helped not at all by his stooped posture. He heaved forward, plunging his face into the bucket cradled between a pair of all too shakey legs. By the Shemesh Hanruni you are a cold, feckless bitc-It was a vomit-laced bile that came out, for he’d not had anything to eat in recent memory and even if he had it wouldn’t have agreed with his digestions. Instead what he spewed into the bucket was filmy, with stray chunks of orange anomalies that clotted his spittle. The foreigners weren’t alone. Whatever gas had waged war on his internals had not seem fit to exempt his lungs and so they added their own wheezing chorus to his pains. The orange was reinforced by a black sludge that hurt as it came out, and Midgin was wracked by another series of paroxysms as he felt another cough but not a cough building in his midden. He tried, then failed to swear in between another salvo. Then wiped a few stray flecks of spittle from his mouth with a spindly set of fingers. It could’ve been worse-could’ve been coming out both ends-but that was scant comfort amidst the fluids leaving him. Midgin grunted and looked up. A shadow fell over the bucket and his face and Midgin winced, momentarily embarrassed by his own weakness in the face of an equal. The Blackjaw was in his tent.

Interscene clan warfare had lefts it’s mark on many a soldier. The Marscal of the Second Parallel was unique. A phosphene alchemical has struck the Blackjaw square in the face, leaving him without any other name than his current sobriquet and even less face-flesh besides. A jagged black tract of flesh carved its way up from his namesake to an eye that was fogged over like sallow milk. The last few days of conflict with the bugs had added to the grisly tableau: small scratches and knits and gouges graced the umbral flesh of the Blackjaw’s face, no doubt earned in conflict with a formian that was big as the tale that garnered the injuries. Midgin liked the Blackjaw. His wounds made it difficult to converse and as things was Midgins condition, much like his fellow Marscal, did not lend itself to conversation. But the Blackjaws presence in his tent meant something and that was something Midgin knew needed addressing. Probably some **** to do with my Parallel. Not that Midgin’d hear of it. Even amongst the Brelanders the Blackjaw has a reputation for stoicism. Which, in turn, left it to Midgin to divine his second’s meaning with naught but his wits and a bucket of pertussints. And maybe a few words.

“Why are you in my sickness?” No response was forthcoming. Midgin set the bucket to the side and rose to collect what scant affects were strewn about the tent. The breastplate and longsword- his breastplate and longsword- made the white cloth's perimeter a solider's abode, which suited Midgin just fine. Midgin buckled his breastplate in, momentarily gasping at the pressure the armor exerted. The Blackjaw smirked, and Midgin tried to eek out some inkling of shared camaraderie amidst his scars. Finding none, the Marscal drew his belt up about his waste complete with: a longsword, its scabbard, several spore bags and his medallion. That drew a pause, nae warranted a pause. Midigin looked at the dull red liquid that his medallion captured, hodling it in between his face and the Blackjaw's grimace. The Ambrosia of Fate. Midigin didnt regard many things with respect. But when one was concerned with death it paid to pay attention, and Marscal Midgin was ever in the business of affording attention towards that which ensured his own survival. If only for a moment. He went forward, towards the Blackjaw into the head of a procession that occupied the Third Parallel. As always, no response was forthcoming

The blasted trench that greeted him was without a master. Marscal Groth was snatched away by a drone that had crested Hanruni's sky amidst alien wings. Midign remembered clearly: one minute Groth was expositing on the virtues of holding fast to the Truth of things, drunk on plant. The next he was amongst a great snarl of limbs and screams and blood that careened him up and away from his domain. Away from Hanruni. Never to be seen again. Midigin suppressed a grimace at an old friend’s death then bared on between the thick walls of earth that passed for the Third Parallel. In the days since Groth’s abduction, rumors had suffused the trio of trenches that stood against the bugs. Heh. Stood against them…Midgin turned attention away from such grimness and cast his attentions to the Third Parallel, the last bastion for their survival should things go tits up.

It did little to ease the torments of his mind. As was any medic’s trench, the Third Parallel was suffused with misery. Midgin saw their advanced countenanced by men whose limbs had shriveled, atrophied into black crippled approximations of what their former functions once held. We have no medicine. Women moaning and-nae-wailing over the malign lumps that passed for the gestations of their wombs. A man cut across his vision, no teeth in his mouth but plenty in his face. Men gasping out their last as they were spoonfed some gristleaf for their pains. We should never have accepted refugees. Midgin saw men brewing whiskeys and fight-draughts, ignorant of the aftereffect the latter would have while glad for the stupor the former would induce. The whiskeys and tabaccos would provide courage where prayer and brew could not. I’m going to die here.

No ones ever really gone.

Midgin’s pain could empathize with their plight, but not his mind. Whiskeys may have blissed a soldier out, but they distorted the vector of a killing blow. Delayed it. Bludgeonded it into a torpor that would see them to a death that Midgin did not want. Not here. Not amongst the lands of his fathers so changed and warped by annexation. Some stray smidgen -Marscal Midgin Smidgin. Heh-intellect held on and refused to bend to his empathy. They reached the end of the parallel, the entrance to the Blakckjaw’s domicile.

A ramp led upwards to a yawing opening, hazed over with ochre mists. Midgin kept walking and braced himself for the rotten egg smell that always brought tears to his eyes. Somewhere along the way to where he was master, his scarred companion had picked up his weapon: a maul, cruel and wrought of horrible black iron. “You planning on killing more bugs than me Blackjaw?” That drew a few laughs from the Third, yet fewer still from the second and their commander. The Second was a grim bunch. The pushback from the bugs had seen them hewn down to maybe a score of men, all armed with scowls and cruel looking sharp edges. Well. Except for the maul. Like everyone in the trench and the man who stood for them, it was a terrifyingly capable blunt object. Midgin suppressed a shiver and trudged on, bracing himself for the real terror that he was about to witness.

The entrance to dammnation yawned open, hazed over with an ochre mist that reduced visibility to about five meters. Midgin and the other pressed on and up the Third parallel's ramp, though Midgin calling a bit of packed earth and alchemicals a ramp was a bit pathetic. But the fungi come on, so we make do. He was glad to leave the horrors of the third trench behind. The two Marscals trudged up a part of the trench that cut upwards towards level land, the latter’s crew and reminders in tow. Secure land. If it could be called that. Groth’s rumored hauntings had permeated the very earth itself, though to Midgin’s mind things didn’t need much more tainting. The grass, now a mottled yellow amidst the gases the bugs unleashed, gave way to a bright red circle rimmed by a language of limb and hair and tendon, all slicked red in honnor of their nation.

The Balamites were at it again.

Maybe it was the chem in the air, the soporific haze that made his eyes water, but the Marscal would have put even monies on it being the sigils within the circle. Welded with the remains of the tribute the refugee-witches had demanded. For their survival. Midgin didnt question his own survival. That was never a question. But there were days...

Here a limb not used in the circumfrence met with torso into what seemed a face that held all the happiness of the world, its mouth pulled wide by all the hands the Balamites could proffer for. That was the part that scared Midgin the most. The shear reasonability of what had been traded in the face of extinction. That the monsters and old tales of his youth had been something more than figments of a soft minded wetnurse. That the things had been real and with very real appetites. That they had been reasonable, even, with forearms slicked red. How strange then, to take comfort in their horrendous gifts. Apparently mutual annihilation was great for making people work as one. Now if only the bugs had that problem.

Looking at the sigils meant not having to look around at whatever blasted Sinscape passed as worth surviving for today. But it also hurt his eyes and made Midgin feel like he was in front of a bucket again. A great spiraling bucket for you and your wastes. He looked back to the ochre grass and another sloping trench ahead. The Second parallel. That steadied him somewhat, He wiped a forearm across his face and hurried pace, doing his best to ignore the witches chanting. It sounded like an abattoir. A demented, cacaphonic abattoir. There was a battle to conduct and he had places to be that involved a different sort of haggling for flesh.

The Blackjaw laid a departing hand on his shoulder, its weight a comforting reassurance, then saw to one of his men that was cradled over himself and crying. Midgin couldn’t remember the man’s name, and quickly clambered up over the Second Parallel’s lip towards his real home. The smell of plant stewing in brewpots wafted over the rotten egg smell the wind typically carried. Couldve been that, but Midgin thought it something about being so close to the enemy put a bit of an extra spring in his step, just enough to heave himself back into the comfort of the First Parallel’s earth. He relief was cut short. The burst of energy had cost his lungs and he was paying for it, leaving him unsteady as he went face first. The impact drove all the air from his lungs, strangling any chance he had of catching a new one. Smothering it. This close to the front he wasn’t able to catch a brake. Too much sulfide in the in the air. Too much fungus. Too much blood in the air. Too many dead to the formian and whatever gamboled them about on their on their carapaced limbs, digging into the core of his psyche-

“On your feet soldier.” Letnant. Ranks. Good. Shreeva. Better. Midgin turned to the woman and her fellow trenchers. His fellow trenchers. Mine. Shreeva was colored a chalky purple, flush with the fightbrew that had swelled to a full plum amongst the others. Shreeva was offering him an a hand with a fightdrink in it that smelled like lavender and whiskies. Midgin flared his nostrils and the smell brought he up from his knees and into a waterfall of bitter chugging that set back down onto his knees as the brew scalded his throat with vigour. The ground took on a clearer, yellow free tint that rushed towards him and midgin stead himself in the boots and the brew as it took the same hold it was taking on everyone else. He could hear the wings of a birda and the laces of fungus that covered it wings, fluttering in time with the octagonal legs of a phalanx that danced below it. Retreat and cultivate. He smelled sulfides blowing through the few leaves left on the few trees left standing and Midgin bared his teeth and thumped in times with the earths sorrow because the sulfides didn’t smell like defeat with his new senses. They smelled like victory. You will die where you stand.

Midigin stood. Grasped forearms with Shreeva and Big Mykka and Silphee and the others and took comfort in the meaty thump of each embrace. He looked to Shreeva’s face, her eyes dark pools of violet that bled a lambent sap of true purple, just as sure Midgin was sure his own eyes were. “By Sin & Mist.” Midgin shivered out the last of the come-ups. “Hell of a way to report in soldiers.”

“Thought your coughing merited a drink. Marscal.” She added the title like an afterthought. Midgin didn’t cough when he spoke. “That it does. And what words the brew might permit me ‘fore we get to killing bug.” A few cries of “**** the Formian!” cheered on by “Bugger Stellacy!” and rounded out by a particularly enthusiastic “Bugs taste baddest!” from big Mykka, filled the trench’s steepness. Midgin turned and tried not to look at the feral promise of Shreeva’s face. “What would the Blackjaw say, Letnant”? He bared his canines and hawked a gob of black spittle, dyed purple by his vision. Shreeva returned the gesture. “Speech?” Dam. She even got the growly bit right. That settled it.

What the **** had the Blackjaw dragged him out here for? The thought came on slow, curd-like and Midgin found it lost to the bravery that gestated in his chest.

Marscal Midgin put both hands on his belt and cleared a jump to the lip of his trench with one jump, all legs. He removed a hand from his belt to his blade and readied for a flourish. The brew let him see the sun and he could catch it on his blade perfectly if he timed it right for the apogee of his little speech. “Alright you rascals! Git to getting up with me up heresome, that we may share-“ Then the earth exploded around Midgin and he was heaved first down a bit then much more up as the colour bled from his skin and his vision as he reached for his sword-a sword that wasn’t there. J-just slimy g-g-guts? He tried to wheeze but something was choking at his throat and something was through the part of his chest that was still his as the purple flashed-edges of his vision degragded to from violet to purple to black. To green, to the earth and the tunnel carved below him. Some feral purpose, maybe the last of the brew, forced Midgin to think-thhink things through to the end. He was surrounded by legs. Chittering and dancing and scraping and thumping together against one another. The Ambrosia! He could have it he could he could have and he could still fight with it in. It in. It in him. Midgin made to tear the little ornament from where it rested on his neck, then spied it next to his arm, cast free of his neck, crushed under formian lim-

---

Witch Tehan looked out across the field towards the unfolding calamity with a pair of eyes that were scrimshawed over with the signs of his nation. Well. Not quite. Balam was gone, which meant that Today Balam was a tent and a patch of much too green grass. I prefer crimson. Just not today. Today home had devolved into another slaughter, and Tehan would have been lying if he said any felt anything over a few deaths. In spite of imminent doom. They hadn’t called it the City Stained Red for nothing, and he’d spilled his fair share of crimson. Death was natural. Besides there were other things to consider, like the holy work he was doing right now. Work paid for yes, and even bartered for, but holy work nonetheless. Tehan looked about. Todays entrant into would-be Balam was the patch of earth reddened by what he and the other witches had stapled to it. Tehan grinned a bitter rictus. New Balam, I found you today! He glanced at the arcaneries being worked into the ground. All-he counted-eighty? Ninety feet in diameter of you.

The screams that came from what few severed ears he’d scattered about the first parallel sounded half drunk, half choked. Sounded like somebody had spiked the front-fighters brews. Pity. They were dying much too quickly and Tehan was finding it difficult to collect what was left in their minds but, that was what one got for shoddy potions. And its not like the brew left much mental energy to begin with. It spoke to his command of the magics about that he was able to pluck a few specks and morsel of consciousness from the dying tumult of what felt like the Letnant’s mind. And the last few gasps of Midgin’s hope for fuel. Useful things, amidst so much worry. Worry would make the prison weak and Tehan quite fancied staying alive today. All evidence of death to the contrary. The suffering went to the outsider. Tehan prayed that it would be enough. The thing for the tulpa was hungry. He could feel it like a hand on his shoulder. Beckoning to be glutted on thought and memory. Tehan’s eyes flitted away from the unfolding massacre, hazarding a glance at the sigil and remains staked to the ground. They made his eyes weep a bit more but it was worth it, another pulse of magic that elated his spirits. Daresay, almost nostalgic.

Things were progressing nicely, but not nearly quickly enough, and Tehan dumped a few more ounces of the First’s thought into the ritual, making sure to not give too much to the outsider being conjured, nor its vessel. It took a light touch, but Tehan was up for it. The air above the sigil-his coven’s sigil-began to wimple as the thought-bleed weakened the barriers between this reality and one more bent on thoughts of carnage. Witch Tehan smiled and thought a bit harder about the willpower prison he and the cabala were making.

The second parallel had already been overrun and was, to their credit, making a good and well ordered retreat out of the yellow and purple Miasma that chased after them. A man with half a face and an even uglier sobriquet was carrying a man and his head wound across one should. His other arm was occupied with dragging the lug of metal that passed for his weapon. The Second shared some color with the First's fightbrews, but where the first was purple theirs was acrylic cyan. Heh. Two soldiers streaked with purple fell in behind the second, adopting a familiar looking postion in the middle. Huh. The Letnant had made it afterall. Here and their the pair’s flesh was patched green, some fluke of the brew producing antibodies to whatever spoorifics were in the air. One of them was bleeding badly from a near-hamstrung leg, puppeted by the brew like Tehan would have done with his magics and a hex doll. The soldier stumbled, was helped by his Letnant, then collapsed to one knee despite fightbrew and commander tugging him forward. The Tulpa was nearly done forming. The Letnant had abandoned her companion to the fog and Tehan would have bet an honest amount of knuckle bones on her clearing it had she not already had a lungful of the sulphides. Her fellow in purple loped after the Letnant and into view, cursing her name in between mouthfuls of spittle as his body voided it’s fluids into the yellow clouds. Tehan blinked and looked back to his sigil, find no joy in observing the departure of excrement from apertures. The calls seemed to harry the woman, and she picked up the pace until she was near even with the Blackjaw at the head of his retreat formation.

They almost would have made it. Then the first soldier-formian crashed forth from the mist.

Once, when he back in the orphanages in Balam, Tehan had kept a pet spider. He’d hoped one day to have made it a familiar. By the Iron-Eye. Why did I ever think it a good idea. The creature before him was to tarantula as man was to serpent. It careened forward on a drunken tumble listing from side to side as more yellow smoke bled from the seams in the thing’s chitin. A madman’s approximation of the arachnid, matter -workable matter- crammed into places that had rotted from the drone and not yet been replaced with fungus. Here and there fungus-white poultices flecked with green held bits of spillage in place. Tehan blinked and turned the carvings in his eyes off, for the emenations stung and nip at the his eyes. He looked back and was rewarded with the total of his peoples work: the wimpling had given way to a twisting wrongness, a spiral unfolding into a circle into a gate that beckoned Tehan towards a rewarding home stained red. He shook his head free of dreaming. There was a rout to turn around, and no matter how many of the bugs had started coming forth from the blights the thing behind the gate would feast.

Tehan was stupid enough to look behind them and or the briefest of moments, the yellow mist was pulled back and showed the bugs for what they were: stretched to the horizon. In legions. Tehan resisted the urge to piss himself and was able to hold on long enough for the mist to close again. Obscuring the horrors beyond it.

He dumped more thought into coaxing the thought-shell into being, watching as one of the lesser witches in his cabal burned out. He simply dropped, effectively brain dead as the containment part of the ritual sipped away the last of his thoughts. It was enough to complete it, the outsider given full form by thoughts and hopes and blood, sculpted to a body that would let it endure and maintain its hold on this reality. Tehan felt his mind tethered to the tulpa (so that he could control the thing inside), then twisted his rope of concentration together with the remaining cabal members, winding it into a seemless yoke of concentration. He felt the conjured avatar settle into the thought-vessel. Heh. Hand: glove. The red of the conjured avatar was covered by a shimmering see through-the tulpa- that obsfucated the fiend completely from reality with a glass-like consistency. The tulpa was transparent to what was seen through it: a great demon shaped viewing lense that refracted what was viewed into an approximation of the fiend’s home plane. Mind over matter. Heh.

The first of the formian van had closed with the Letnant’s friend, barely pausing to plunge a pointed leg or twelve into the soldiers corpse as they closed towards his compatriots.

More drones had erupted from the fog. Things were getting remarkably close up, and Tehan would have considered running if-if. If he’d not had such a taste of such power. None of the clunky fightbrews used by these savages, real power. Mind over matter. He didn’t mind, his psyche scrubbed red with the slaughter contained within his catalyzed thoughts. He fought back the urge to join in the chorus the fiend was building about its prison. Nothing else mattered as his thoughts turned red. Extinction for all. Extinction for all. Extinction f-

Something huge clattered past the formian vanguard, easily the height of two soldiers stacked bottom thorax to bottom thorax. It moved as a great trunk of humanoid flesh hooked back on itself, tottering over an octangonal skirt of legs: two were withered. Atrophied. Human. The other six surged with a combined strength that carried the big arthroprod into and through the Blackjaws formation. The thing’s killing arm was a lesson in asymetry-a twisted appendage crippled by the grip-meld it had on the biggest club Tehan had ever seen. The other arm was mottled and rotted, more plant that human or even formain but for the quintent of dagger-like talons it had. Those looked formian. The thing didn’t so much fight as run-over the formation, spearing and flinging and bisecting brewed up soldiers like hex-dolls with its legs. The trio at the head: Letnant, Blackjaw and the luckiest unconscious soldier ever whipped around just as the terror came for them, powering into a leap that saw them clear the air between the third parallel the Alpha-drone.

A tongue snaked out of a face. Set within was a maw that was mounted upon a mosaic of eyes, each aimed in different targets around a lamprey like maw. The tongue bulged blood red, seeking out the Blackjaw as he took to the air. Spikes burst from the tongue’s viscera as the moist appendage thrust forward, seemingly in time with the Blackjaw throwing his wounded man to the creature’s member as he landed. And landed roughly too from the way his leg had bent. Still, the gesture had saved him. Whatever sensory apparatuses were a part of the tongue-some sort of magic whip the thing had eaten-were content with the flesh presented to it and janked back, dragging corpse and all. The Warrior came on, flanked by a wall of chitin and more flesh than Tehan had ever seen at market. For a moment his concentration faltered.

It was enough for a flaw to appear in the tulpa’s containment.

---

Warrior surged forward towards the man he’d been meaning to kill, all shrieks and gibbers and promises of pain. Something red was bleeding into the air but that was ok. The fungus was colorblind, subsuming whatever matter it could. Old John-but-not-Old John Strong clashed with himself, losing a war in his own mind over the wholesale slaughter that always came up red. His opponent, his only real opponent, was Warrior. His only true enemy in this sea of limbs and viscera. Warrior liked red. Loved red. Couldn’t be enough of it and in that sense the fungus had chosen an opponent for Warrior and John well, for the thing that was had escaped from thought was all red. The kind of thing that Old John would have measured himself against and boasted about over whiskies with his friends. The Letant seems organized. Crush her. John and Warrior were filled with thoughts of glory. He felt lungs heaving with disuse as the fungi made him breath deep in all the glory to be had, and part of John Strong did. Reveled and digested it like a good glass of absinthe or the smoke from a good tobacco. Swallowed it like an oyster. Crushed it under talon. Paved the road to it with deeds of blood-and Warrior-John’s deeds would live famously well with such a coat of paint as the one he was creating. A great red-yellow-green brushstroke across Hanruni, drummed out with his club and new lash.

My will. A soft voice came to him on the wind, resounding like a dust choked Stellacy in his mind. Frail and light, yet weighed down like throat and voice were one with sand. John’s biomass sagged within Warrior’s carapace as hope lanced into his mind. The voice carried a promise of defeat. Of frailty and endings and all the other things John had once placed value in being ignorant towards, now stood up against him as the only thing his legacy would ever be. The only thing he ever wanted from fight and slaughter. Our Will. Now he greeted it like an old friend, every conflict a chance to pass on to the lands of his father. Your hands.

The rouge drone had proved inadequate to the task, brought back into line like the stray thought that it was. John had always wanted to test himself agains the best. He’d never thought about what come after he lost his first and last fight. To know there was a fate worse than losing had come as a shock to John that could only be shook through killing, any killing. All-killing Something deep in the kernals of Old John’s mind had rebelled once, but it had been eroded out under from him by a tide of red. So now he killed as Warrior for his Hive, hoping the one thing that hadnt been granted could occur through some unforeseen quirk or fluke from the fungus that would see him dead. Kill me. Kill me! “KILL ME!” The words came out mangled, garbled. An alien challenge towards the crippled man that had eluded him. The sounds were foreign to John. Like they belonged on a faraway planet. One less kind and given over to the depravity of his new master. “SOMEBODY! PLEASE STOP ME, PLEASE! PLEASE! STOP ME! KILL ME!” More bellowing, this time echoed by the soldier-castes around him as they added appropriated vocal chords to the fungus’ proclamations. Mocking him and adding to the shrill cries that always went understood by fungus.

No. The thought bleached him dry of doubt, just in time with the slaughterfiends collision.

Whatever the outsider truly was, every inch of it caressed the Warriors biomass, greeting the parts of John that were still exposed with fresh lacerations. Look at you. All warm embraces and pointed smiles. A good death. Warrior and John gave ground then ground to a faltering brace against the creature’s advance. It bludgeoned at him with the stray scraps of thought that were still around, coalesced into a glassy look ram. Every blow shattered something in John, but Warrior endured. Thrived, even. John gasped as some of his bones were re-knit together again. Out of place and jumbled and jagged with the haphazard re-organization the fungi inflicted, careless of the host. But functioning. He didn’t need to breathe when the fungus and its Warriror did it for him.

The swarm buoyed him pressing forward to sever the fiends conjuration at its roots. Each of the conjurers were on the ground cradling their heads, the blood vessels in their skulls burst with the fiends escape from the willpower-prison. John snorted through nonexistent nostrils and pushed back, lunging into the gap that opened as the fiend staggered back. One of Johns six eyes human eyes cycled to look at the rift, noting that the remaining soldiers were making a doomed last stand, seemingly lobbing alchemical munitions in both the direction of the portal and the advancing formians. The rest of his eyes focused on the free-fiend, all sharp angles and crimson. Warrior loved crimson. It could learn much from this interaction. But the fiend was being carried off. Drone after drone after soldier had piled upon, only to heave it up above their thoraxs like the outsider was at a revelry. Bungled away over a sea of carapace. “No. No give it back. Give it back! Giveitback! Give me back my death!” Drool pooled underneath him as the Warrior screeched at the slaughterfiend, finding some sort of sympathy in the loss of a prize. Old John strong felt the six legs under and above his own two tense in time with the change in air pressure. The swarm around him stopped, and tensed in kind.

The Letnant was cresting through the air, a mad scream-snarl plain on her face as the last of her fight nectar bled into the air. She had the Blackjaws maul in hand brought high over her face as to swing down onto John in a beautiful crushing arc. He couldn’t have been prouder. The fungus spread Warrior’s claw hand-still spackled with gore from the Letnant’s Marscal- and his melded club hand in a half circle, welcoming the woman to come and crush John into blessed oblivion.

Warrior’s carapace did nothing to brace itself. It stood struck still, the Letnant silhouetted against a sun that shone down on John’s shell-suit. The rays of light that hit the carapace were cast back, revealing versilmitude of colours that sparkled from Warriors chitin. Like some like great horrific effigy that defied nature and the very luster of the sun’s rays.

The weapon appendage snaked out from Warriors eating aperture, newly imported from the Cicatrix’s gestations. It snagged around the Letnant’s foot and hauled her skyward, maul, armor, brew-suffused flesh and all, whiplashing her first towards Warrior then away. Calculations flashed through John's mind In a lazy arc towards the keening witches on the ground. The Letnant was pulled down at the apogee of her ascent maul-first, and the fungus forced John to consider it a good throw in spite of the payload and John’s sorrow at still being alive was laced with the shame of steeling another’s brave act away from them. The hyphae threaded throughout his spine turned John around in time to aim a sundering blow at the fiends return. Just as the Letnant connected maul first with the lead witch and utterly imploded the portal in on itself.

Whatever made up the fiends sharp ends cracked under the blow, supplemented by the breach in the fiends connection to reality. Brawn over brains. Heh. Every time. The fungi turned John back to face the epicenter of the magical detonation. They surveyed the damage, even as the eyes grown into the back of Johns skull showed the demon bleeding back into its own plane of existence, evaporating like steam. The fungi told John that it would last two more steps towards him then be gone and it was right. John was allowed to feel a pang of sorrow, then was corrected towards the detonation. Newly appropriated scavenger-biomass had settled amongst the detonation, their breastplates corroded over a sickly green-rust. They picked at what still lived with their beaks, and in the sounds that followed John found a new saddness, a great trench tumbled down into, to be forever harried and herded in a line towards what he could never have.

He felt…old.

Warrior clambered forward, any sympathy towards its weak humanity castaway into the ocean of blood it had waded, nae frolicked through since its inception. There was biomass to be harvested and recycled. Dead biomass. The Combine could use it all.

Spoiler: Midturn

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Sending 2 Adventurers into the Cicatrix (once more, for the Hive!)

[Lord Athos]

The Templars of Our Burning Saviour

Spoiler: To the Church of the Truth Speaker(MOR 6)

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To the most esteemed Grand Voice Jeleva,

Our Burning Saviour has many ways to grant us strength and direction. We know not in what way the followers of Shemesh feel their pitiful god, but as their fear, wailing and incoherent blathering tells us, it is not with fire in their hearts and souls. It rather seems a wet blanket suffocating those.

The "Myconid horde", as you call them, is an infestation, nothing more. They cannot be allied with, even if one had their heart set on it. His Templars will do no such thing.
We applaud your intention to fight the infestation. Although we must admit, the church has pledged itself to many conflicts, and although we wish you good fortune in your honourable endeavors, personally I wonder whether you may spread yourself too thin.

Glory to the Flame,
Vestis of House Ionlar, High Priestess of the Cult of Our Burning Saviour

Spoiler: To the Silvermist(MOR 6)

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To the Silvermist,

Do not expand to old Balam. You will find war there.
If you have need to expand to the east instead of the west, we offer you the stretch of hills at (12). There is already a path from your lands leading there. We have no need of it. Balam though is ours. If you want the path of friendship between the Silvermist and the Crusade to remain open, you will agree to this arrangement.

Glory to the Flame,
High Master Aeth of House Veaneth, Representative in Hanrui of the Grand Master of the Knights of the Holy Temple of Our Burning Saviour and the City of Golden Flames

To the Astral Collective

Spoiler: disclaimer

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Same disclaimer as the Collective, but with a meagre Esp of 6.

To the pilgrims, humans, orcs, freed elves bearing the scars of battle and the odd Oracai civilian, this was a land of wonders, just as had been foretold in the scriptures, and different from the plain forests and hills where the Templars had made landfall.
The humidity was a blessing of Our Saviour, and the Faithful embraced it with religious fervour, watching and listening to the representatives of the Astral Collective diligently, especially astonished at the sight of and from the great pyramid. The preacher and his escort though, although they may have shared their feelings, remained disciplined and calm in bearing.

When the preacher was finally joined by the githzerai and the thri-kreen, he bowed low and respectfully in greeting.
If he felt any disappointment about Zeilrae not being there, he didn't show it. He probably had already assumed as much.

When Kriik-Krilr had ended, the preacher lightly lowered his head in acknowledgment.

"My name is Archon Keldrar, of the Cult of Our Burning Saviour. I will gladly answer your questions, for it is my duty to the allies of Holy Pyresoul's heir. We have come for the legacy of our ancestors, who had come to Cursed Hanrui thousands of years ago, when Holy Pyresoul dwelled on this land. His great deeds are told in the scriptures, for he was a powerful ally of the Templars of his time, a divine being the Faithful have revered ever since. If his lineage has endured, there surely must be divinity in his heir, and a part of Holy Pyresoul, which is worthy of worship."

[GameOfChampions]

Turn 3: Midturn

Legion of Balance
Mor 7

Spoiler: Results

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The Legion of Balance sent 1 Adv into the Minotaur's Labyrinth and cleared 1 floor. They gained several rare pieces of spell crafting ((++) Mag).

Brotherhood of Sin
Mor 4

Spoiler: Results

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The Brotherhood of Sin sent 4 Adv into the Necromantic Palace and cleared 4 floors. They came back with rare ivory and ancient jewels ((+++) Econ), several rare reagents ((+++) Mag), and a powerful Cloak of the Ethereal (+1 Esp Item). On the way out a trap of death magic killed one of the adventurers.

Pillar of Wisdom
Mor 5

Spoiler: Results

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The Pillar of Wisdom sent 2 Adv into the Warped Cave and cleared 2 floors. They came back with ancient texts ((++) temp Rep), and beautiful corals ((++) Econ). On the way out the caves flooded and are impassable for the next few seasons. Dungeon locked 1 turn

The Fungal Collective
Mor 7

Spoiler: Results

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The Fungal Collective sent 2 Adv into The Open Cicatrix and cleared 2 floors. They came back with several rare pintings ((++) temp Rep).

Church of the Truth Speaker
Mor 5

Spoiler: Results

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The Church of the Truth Speaker sent The Grand Voices Dawn, and Myra, equipped with many potions (++++++ Adv), into the Cursed Tempe of the Soul Singer and cleared 10 floors. They came back with ancient Hymns to help the abilities of The Grand Voice Myra, a series of religious tools ((+++) temp Mag), several donations of silver ((++) temp Econ), an old divine potion ((+) temp Adv), two pieces of a powerful magical artifact that seems to be a broken sapling radiating nature energy, a powerful headband dedicated to locating the precious metals dedicated to an ancient god (+1 Econ magic item), and ancient religious dogma ((++) temp Rep). Both of the Grand Voices are injured fighting ancient corrupted Devas, Dawn for 1 turn and Myra for 2.

Forest Artifact: Seems to summon powerful aid to guard nations from aggressors but needs to be completed and panted in an area with lots of free land.

Silvermist
Mor 7

Spoiler: Results

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Silvermist sent Grock with his Flametongue into the Feral Troll Den with three companions and cleared 6 floors. They came back with rare alchemical reagents ((++) temp Mag), A powerful Warhammer of Thundering (+1 Mil Item), an ancient painting dedicated to an ancient forest full of lights ((++) temp Rep), and what seems to be the heavily armored legs and lower body of an ancient Warforged warrior that shut down when it lost the top half. No event.

Sentient Construct VIP 2/2: You now have the second piece to this artifact. When pieced together the construct comes back to life pledging loyalty to you for saving it and informing you it is the explorer of a long dead nation that explored Hanrui in years past. During an age of war it was outfitted with powerful defensive armors. Tier 2 VIP (Mil 1/Adv 1) with +1 Mil Item permanently attached. It can only gain experience/level if items are sacrificed to it, gaining more the better the item. Any items attached, and not sacrificed, are permanently part of it and unable to be taken off. Still obeys normal item limits until higher level.

Templar's of our Burning Savior
Mor 6

Spoiler: Results

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The Templars sent High Master Aeth of House Veaneth and 6 Adv to the Necromancer's lair, they cleared 10 floors. They also sent 4 Adv to the Caves of the Stone Giants, they cleared 4 floors. The adventurers came out with several powerful potions ((++++) temp Adv), an ancient manual of monster in Hanrui to aid the High Masters skills (xp for VIP), ancient history texts ((++++) temp Rep), a small chest of rough uncut gems ((+++) temp Econ), an ancient magical marvel crafted by a captured demigod and kept in a bottle, and a piece of an ancient long dead tree radiating nature energy. High Master Aeth was injured by the swing of a Death Knight, injured for 1 turn.

Forest Artifact: Seems to summon powerful aid to guard nations from aggressors but needs to be completed and panted in an area with lots of free land.

Wonder in a Bottle: A one use magic artifact that summons powerful magics to effect your lands for better or worse. When used it activates a seasonal event that only effects you each turn for two turns. Could be beneficial or a detriment.

Ironfang Republic
Mor 7

Spoiler: Results

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The Ironfang Republic sent 2 Adv into the Crystalforge and cleared 2 floors. The came out with a rare piece of crystal ((+) temp Econ), and some potions made by ancient craftsmen ((++) temp Adv).

Dwarves of Kazn Durn
Mor 9

Spoiler: Results

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The Dwarves send 1 Adv into the Mines, they clear 1 floor. They make it out with an ancient Dwarven text ((++) temp Rep).

[Hamste]

City of Wraith's Morale 10

Chemosh frowns as he continues to write out notes. It was so annoying having to write everything out but it was going to take awhile to get Salazar back into working condition. Complete vaporization was notoriously hard to come back from. In the very least he definitely wasn't getting a body. Probably a wraith but a ghost is good for diversity and then Salazar could at least keep his looks.

Spoiler: The City of Khasal

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Sounds good to us, we will head out from Heet and meet you there in 10 days.

I'm assuming you will want to keep using the military forces for now? We can trade back when ever you want now but you clearly can use those forces more than we can.

Hopefully, we can talk about the Pillar again after the devils are dealt with or are sufficiently weakened. They vaporized Salazar but hopefully our defenses are high enough they won't be able to do any serious damage in the coming times. Though if we could borrow that staff you got recently just for the a little while, we would be very grateful but we understand if it is needed for your efforts.

[St.Just]

Free People of Khasal

Spoiler: City of Wraiths

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To the Grand Duke of Death,

I’m afraid that we need everything we can possibly lay our hands on at the moment, though you have my solemn oath that they shall be repatriated as soon as the war seems to be over. I do apologize profusely for the annoyance, I’m certain you could make fine use of them yourself.

I look forward to a new subject as well, I doubt it will take more than a few seasons for one to present itself.

Until I see you in person, then.

Best regards,
The People’s Friend, and Yours,
The Esteemed Corin Letarra, Ambassador-in-Exile of Khasal

Spoiler: Silvermist

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To the impressively unpopular Captain Goldfinder,

Just, you know, a point of clarification. While we are cooperating with and very appreciative of dwarven aid against the literal legions of hell, we haven’t actually signed any treaties with them. So not that I don’t hope and pray you choke on a chicken bone, but the People of Khasal do not consider themselves to be at war with the Silvermist Company, at the moment. If you’d like that to change, please do just go ahead and properly kneel to the Pit Fiend.

[The page is signed with a barely legible ‘Atena’, and below that a somewhat grandiose looking stamp reading ‘The Intrepid Atena Nalar, Ruby-Eyed and Ruin-Seeker, Cartographer of the Perfected Map, Elected Captain of Khasal-in-Quepta]

Spoiler: Brotherhood of Sin

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The message is not ‘delivered’ so much as ‘broadcast’. A howling wind blowing from the South, the words constantly echoing but perfectly understandable if exposed for long enough or if a moment’s effort is taken to listen

Your Masters are doomed, but you need not be! Traitors and deserters will be welcomed with open arms, and any who bring the head of the Unchained slaver will be rewarded beyond their dreams. Else, stand fast, and you shall envy the souls you once tormented, for as long as you are able.

[3SecondCultist]

The Ironfang Republic
Morale 7
Reputation 7

Public Message to Silvermist

When the reply comes back from the Cinder Spire, it does so through a multitude of letters and intermediaries. By the time that it reaches the shores of the dominion of Silvermist, it is clear that just about every other nation has or is currently perusing a copy.

Dear Captain Goldfinder and associates,

Allow me to begin by setting the record straight. The Council of Clans and I would once more like to point out that nearly a year ago, our General made you a fair offer for our help. When we were approached by the Free City of Khasal, we rejected their initial proposal - which was far more generous than your own - due to the friendship that we held with your people. When General Azaersi did decide to take Khasal's coin, the demands of the job had changed. No longer were the Republic's forces to stand in for their client's armies and attack a neighbor; instead they were asked to train up militia and serve as a peacekeeping force. The goblin armies of the Republic were not in Kyrsull to conquer or to fight, but rather to protect.

Therefore, when a fiendish attack enabled by your forces caused the death of over a thousand of our countrymen, the Republic took the action personally. What Khasal does behind its doors is its own business; they attended our peace summit, signed a non-aggression and non-interference pact, and kept their word when it came time to pay for our services. As far as the Republic is concerned, the Free City is the most reliable nation in western Kyrsull. All the same, if the Brotherhood of Sin had simply attacked the Free City and left our soldiers out of it, there would be less cause for umbrage to be taken. Our stance towards the armies of the lower planes is that beyond being 'evil', they are actively dangerous and unpredictable. Should they invade Khasal's borders - or your own - there will be no regulations to protect civilians or noncombatants. Your people will eventually taste lash and hellfire alongside the rest. Consider the costs of aligning yourself further with the Brotherhood, as you will make yourself true enemies while winning no favor in return, no matter what promises they might offer you.

I would also like to take the time to reply to a second missive that you sent to the people of Hanrui. In it, you speak in one breath of war being the 'natural state' of nations, and yet decry the Republic and its allies as aggressive colonizers in the other. While your logic is contradictory, your position also lacks distinction. War and military aggression can be considered just when fought honorably, with proper cause and method. The Articles of Iron - the foundational texts upon which our entire enterprise is built - contain several chapters on how to wage war responsibly. For the sake of brevity, I will end with one of its key conclusions: the just causes of war should be either survival or as a secondary alternative to peaceful discourse. It is a necessary tool in any diplomat's arsenal, and yet it should be measured carefully for its risks and benefits. The Ironfang Republic does not believe in war for its own sake, nor do any of our allies in Rivaness. Instead, the Council of Clans continues to strive for peace with Silvermist, while making safe the world of demonic and infernal threats such as the Brotherhood of Sin. We hope that you will accept our final offer of friendship.

Sincerely,

Bruthazmus the Even-Tongued, Secretary General of the Republic

Spoiler: OOC

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That part about 'protecting' actually has some mechanical basis, by the way. Because my MIL for Turn 2 only went towards fortifying the Free City's MIL, I didn't have to spend any ADV setting up supply lines or anything like that.

Also, a point of order: when EoT came around, the 5 temp MIL I sent for them to boost their stats resulted in me taking permanent MIL damage. I fluffed that as an outright assault on my troops, which the GM allowed. Hence my declaration of war on the Brotherhood this turn.

[Zweanslord]

Theocracy of Shemesh

The travelling devout of Shemesh take heed to any news regarding a response from the Legion of Darkness to the Church of the Truth Speaker’s message, relaying what is possible to the Theocracy.

Meanwhile, at Medju, Capital of Light, two merchants gather at a large plaza, in bright dalying. Around them, a busy market is busy, but in that place, there is a larger opening. They look up and pray to Shemesh. Soon enough, their words are joined by that of the merchants on that plaza and treasure flows to the center of the plaza, to fill the chests of caravans.

“The Light of Shemesh reflects off gold for those who carry their weapon in protection.”

“The Light of Shemesh radiates the beauty of art for those who carry their influence in protection.”

Together they speak.

“The Light of Shemesh illuminates gold and art for those who carry their chorus to join ours.”

[OOC: Offering 2 Economy for 2 Military, 2 Reputation or 3 Morale. Bid ends in 48 hours of when this psot was made. Military or Reputation are prefered.]

Public message to the Church of the Truth Speaker

The followers of Shemesh at the fringes are quick to accept any aid the angels offer, very alerted as they see them and immediately assuming they are under attacking by the Legion of Balance. When this does not immediately appear to be the case, they assume it is bound to attack soon. As the angels find priests, they find they are informed of the angel’s arrivals, and they ask to confirm the angels are from the Church of the Truth Speaker. The priests heed well the words spoken and deliberate on it.

“The statement of conversion by the Church of the Truth Speaker was loud and has shaken many in the Theocracy of Shemesh. That a guardian spirit would say that..” The priest shakes his head for a moment and sighs.

“I thank you for bringing word, here in the lands bright in the Light of Shemesh. An illuminating message that the Light and the Sound can work together. Naturally, we can tell you of the ways of Shemesh as you can show us the ways of the Voice. However, the Light is assaulted by the Legion of Darkness, which draws away attention. Together I hope we can silence the call of Darkness.”

“Should you still desire the aid of the torchbearers carrying the Light across the lands and waters, the Theocracy is Shemesh is happy to see the sound of your chorus join us in our stand against the Legion of Darkness.”

“The Church of the Truth Speaker has spoken a public claim on the shores (territory 4) beyond Permedj Beach (territory 55). I have heard of an interest in Permedj Beach this season as well. Is this correct, or is it other shores you seek?”

[OOC: Willing to go through with the earlier trade of adventurers for morale if you’re still up for it.]

[Writtensanity]

MOR 9 for all.

Spoiler: To the Theocracy

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The angels stay in Shemesh for some time after accepting the offer from the torch bearers. In a short while loads in incense and prayer tools arrive to help restock the temples of Shemesh [4 MOR]

Though we have laid claim to [4] we had not officially expressed interest in [55] though spreading the Voice is our main concern. Seeing as this is the case, we would like to ask your permission to settle those lands as well, we have not made a decision but we would prefer to ask permission than forgiveness.

Spoiler: To the Templars

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Dearest High Master Aeth of House Veaneth

Maybe you are right about us splitting ourselves down too many lines. Sadly no matter how many fronts we settle on battling, it seems like the forces of evil are intent on attacking from another. Such is the eternal plight of a calling, and it is good to hear that we won’t need to fear the same thing happening over the strait from Kyrsull to Rivaness

Based off of some information we have heard over the past season, it seems that your people have come in contact with a piece of an artifact, a dead tree in fact. We here at the Church have one of the other pieces and would be happy to make the object’s completion a personal quest. We would be willing to offer a similar artifact we found that locates precious metals. We were going to use it to stimulate our economy but the curiosity is killing both Grand Voice Jeleva and Grand Voice Hybert about this strange object

1/3 Parts of the Artifact you found for the +1 Econ item I found is the offer I am making.

Spoiler: Silvermist

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To the Silverist

It seems like the Legion isn’t replying to our mail, unfortunate. As such we maintain our position of ‘they started it’.

Have a lovely day, if you get those there.

Grand Voice Hybert

[LimSindull]

Silvermist

Spoiler: Templars of our Burning Savior: Mor 7

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Allow us to offer you the same advice. Do not move to Balam. We still keep with allies there and taking it is in their interest. If you decide that you wish to move in, we will see it as an act of war. Allow me to provide another solution.

Treaty of Balam: We, the Templars of our Burning Savior, and the Goldfinder Company and the Nation of Silvermist, hereby swear to defend old Balam from dangers and invaders. We pledge to keep the territory neutral and free from outside influence. Furthermore, we pledge that in three turns time if the territory remains neutral, we, The Goldfinder Company and the Nation of Silvermist, will assist in helping the Templars of our Burning Savior secure old Balam through peaceful, diplomatic measures. Furthermore, during that time which Balam remains neutral, both nations will put aside a small portion of their economic prowess to allow for the completed construction of trade routes and defenses throughout both of their territories. With this agreement, we shall secure not only the capital of Old Balam, but the safety of each of our People, Nations, and Kyrsull.

___________________________________________ Representative of Templars of Our Burning Savior

Tuskfang Bodyripper Feardriver Meateater Onegem Representative of Silvermist

Spoiler: The Church of the Voice and Truth Seeker: MOR 0

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It's a rather wide assumption that we deny all truths. Strive to prove them false? Sure, sometimes. I do apologize for the lack of fair postal service in the Legion of Balance's territories. Perhaps you and your ICK could give them a few lessons in the art of message delivery. Then again, perhaps leave Ironfang out of it. While effective, I cannot imagine the economic burden that they must go through for their blanket propaganda pamphlets. Even here, I cannot walk into a tent and without seeing a few being used to start supper fires.

Spoiler: The Republic of Fangs: MOR 0

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The Brotherhood declared that it was going to launch and attack on The Burned City and you sent troops to the area anyway. You sent Military combatants into a Warzone and are upset that they fought in the war.

Either one of three things happened. You knew of the attack and through greed, decided to send your troops anyways. You are incompetent and did not understand that an attack on the Free City of Khasal would be the same Free City of Khasal that you were sending your troops. Or, Your allies failed to inform you when they learned of the attack.

The first, I understand, but you must be willing to accept the consequences of your actions. I believe that even with your loss, you still made a profit. The second, I refuse to believe at all. The third however...

Both the Astral collective, who have stated that they despise The Brotherhood, and The City of Wraiths, who are in an alliance (so they claim) with the Free city of Khasal, both knew of the attack (as they know of almost everything) and did not inform you. They both stand to help their ally by letting your men be slaughtered in a known attack. Then there's the Free City itself. They also knew of the attack and said as much before hand. They used your soldiers as meat shields and now beg for your help.

Spoiler: The Light of the World, Shemesh: Mor 7

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We understand that you are offering economic profit for some reputation. We can assist you in that manner. We are willing to take 2 trade, or perhaps some whispers for this help. If no one else takes your offer, come back to us, and we will supply you with more. ((ooc))Offering 2 Rep for either 2 economy or 2 esp (or both for an additional 2)((ooc))

[GameOfChampions]

Pillar of Wisdom
Public

Spoiler: To: Theocracy of Shemesh

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One of the tower mages in charge of handling entry and mail wipes of the spittle on his face from the screaming pilgrim. "Sir we do not deal with the insane or those needing mental help. If you are here as a representative of a nation we require a proper written message from a person of importance delivered by an approved courier or with an unbroken recognized seal. I can direct you to a medical facility with several prominent healers if needed.

This is the Pillar we do not allow in any random crazy people off the street."

[n0ble]

Spoiler: Church of Truth (Morale 7)

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Do not come here. The only truth you will find is annihilation.

[Zweanslord]

Theocracy of Shemesh

Public message to the Church of the Truth Speaker

“Should you decide to seek other shores this season, may the Light of Shemesh guide you there, by torch or luminant ray. Please tell us of your decision, to ensure our seekers may guide you where you seek to go, as well to know that we do not carry lanterns to where you carry sound. We look forward to our borders meeting, not just so the Light of Shemesh and the Voice of Truth may be close to one other in presence and faithful, but for lantern and sound to work together against the Legion of Darkness in the seasons to come.”

Public message to Silvermist

A grimy, dust and dirt covered female pilgrim arrives. “Greetings, I am Besentnay from the Theocracy of Shemesh. Great is our gratitude for the music and mirth the gnomes of Silvermist brought last season, able to speak of truth of darkness coming forth from the Legion. Regrettable, the Theocracy of Shemesh cannot accept your offer, for an agreement has been made with the Church of the Truth Speaker not to trade with you. I hope Silvermist can come to more agreeable terms to them in the future, so that they will once again seek to trade with you, upon which the Theocracy of Shemesh will be open for trade as well.” The female pilgrim offers prayers to this end following the conversation, quite entranced in ritual and prayer to Shemesh afterwards, until eventually mumbling and falling asleep.

At the Pillar of Wisdom

The pilgrim sent to the Pillar of Wisdom weeps as he returns home...

[LimSindull]

Silvermist

Spoiler: Shemesh: Mor 7

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Well, that is a pity. No worries, there are other countries at war that will happily pay for our services.

[Let'sGetKraken]

The Astral Collective

Reputation 6

Spoiler: To All (though nominally to Silvermist): Morale 0

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Copies of the letter rain for hours in Silvermist’s capital. In taverns and town halls, castles and churches, warcamps and watering holes, stacks and stacks of the letter are delivered, to be distributed to all who care to read of the spat between the Astral Collective and Silvermist.

To us, you wrote:

“You say that you do not sell your services, but given the choice between striking the Brotherhood of your own accord and profiting from us, you chose profit.”

You lie. Our deal would have not seen us profit. We choice to aid you in turn for equal repayment, a favour you have thrown in our face. We ask only that our mistake in aiding those who would lie to the world and throw their lot in with the Nine Hells be rectified, and that our investment be immediately returned.

To us, you wrote:

“If I recall, you didn't join the Non aggression agreement because you were too concerned with brainwashing a dragon.”

You lie. It is true that we swayed Zeilrae to our side, as we felt that he could be a powerful force for good. That decision was unrelated to our decision to vet our potential allies – a decision that you have shown to be very wise, given your willful deception. But as the Astral Collective keeps its promises – and is willing to honour its word – the Astral Collective would like to publicly announce a two-year commitment to non-aggression with the Ironfang Republic, the Church of the Truth Speaker, the City of Wraiths, and the Free City of Khasal. Those of you who stayed at the Summit – and did not storm out the moment it was clear that it could not be directly twisted to your advantage – you have our word that we shall not act against you, so long as you show us the same courtesy. In eight seasons’ time, we shall re-evaluate based on your actions.

To us, you wrote:

“Let me kindly explain what the free city would do to those who imbue their collective hive-mind onto their citizens. They would come for you and rip out every ounce of your psionic power. They would cast you back into whatever reality you popped forth from.”

Perhaps that is true. But given that they have not led a horde of demons and devils across the mountains to attack a neighbor that had done nothing but inconvenience them – after publicly professing enmity against said legion of the damned, no less – we still find them to be more trustworthy than you. Consider that.

To us, you wrote:

“You are nothing more than a bully and have changed our agreement.”

You broke our agreement, Captain Goldfinder. Our aid was conditional on you working towards the destruction of the Brotherhood of Sin. Instead, you have conspired with them after publicly declaring your enmity towards them – and continue to conspire, judging from your offer to the Templars. We demand compensation for your intentional and willing deceit.

In summary: you lie. You obfuscate. You accuse. You do everything but take responsibility for your actions. Your every word shows the world that Silvermist cannot be trusted. The Council of Speakers of the Astral Collective denounces you, and would let the world know that any who work Silvermist will find no friends among us.

Spoiler: OOC

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OOC: To everyone who was at the Summit on Turn 1 besides Silvermist, the Astral Collective is declaring non-aggression against you. Until you act against the Collective – or until the start of Turn 11 – the Collective won’t attack you with any stat or willingly contribute to your demise.

Spoiler: To the City of Wraiths: Morale 11

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The ashes of the braziers in Chemosh’s luxurious dining hall swirl together, transforming into a letter written with exquisite penmanship.

To the esteemed Chemosh,

We simply wished to express our admiration for your necromantic abilities. Why, here you were in discussions with Captain Goldfinder to return his son, Grock, to the living – in a matter of speaking – which is a matter that we do not entirely oppose. We simply wish to say that you have done a marvelous job. It is as if he never died at all.

On a more serious note, I wished to deliver a message on behalf of the Council. Though we were initially quite sceptical, you have earned a remarkable amount of goodwill through your actions. Do not throw it away by providing assistance to the duplicitous Silvermist. Should you agree to work with us against the Fungal Combine in a year’s time – and to do not conduct dealings with Captain Goldfinder and his ilk - we are prepared intercede with the Pillar of Wisdom on your behalf, so that you both may turn your attention to the greater evils of this world.

Respectfully,

Kalira, Spymistress of the Astral Collective

Spoiler: To the Denizens of Rivaness: Morale 0

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The letter is bound in silver-twine, and hand-delivered by Yonren himself.

I am pleased to see such cooperation amongst the nations of Hanrui. Though we have already professed non-aggression against the Ironfang and the Church, I would like to formally extend it to the Dwarf Hold of Khazn Durn. We wish no ill-will on your nations, and sincerely hope that it is reciprocated.

In the highest of esteems,

Yonren, Twelfth Speaker of the Astral Collective

Spoiler: To the Theocracy of Shemesh: Morale 11

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The message is delivered by hand. Nothing about the message delivery is in any way unusual.

The Council of Speakers wishes to profess sympathy for your plight. We wish you and the Church of the Truth Speaker luck in your conflict against the Legion of Balance, and regret that we cannot offer you aid.

-The Council of Speakers of the Astral Collective

[Lord Athos]

The Templars of Our Burning Saviour

Spoiler: To the Church of the Truth Speaker (Mor 6)

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To the most esteemed Grand Voice Jeleva,

My apologies, but you will have to continue to conduct correspondence with this humble representative of the Templars of Our Burning Saviour, as the High Master is rather indisposed currently.

Thank you for your consideration of and elaboration on my words, for courage shall never be confused with lack of wisdom, and that we respect.

Your offer of trade is reasonable, and I accept in the name of His Templars. An artifact split in parts is use to noone if all hold on to it. If the Crusade is fortunate enough to find the last part, we will keep the Church of the Truth Speaker in mind for a similar trade.

Glory to the Flame,
Vestis of House Ionlar, High Priestess of the Cult of Our Burning Saviour

Spoiler: To the Silvermist(MOR 6)

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To the Silvermist,

We already made a reasonable offer. Your treaty is of no use to us.

We Oracai know a carcass if we smell one, and yours is the stench of death.

Glory to the Flame,
High Master Aeth of House Veaneth, Representative in Hanrui of the Grand Master of the Knights of the Holy Temple of Our Burning Saviour and the City of Golden Flames

[Zweanslord]

Theocracy of Shemesh

The economic offer the Theocracy of Shemesh made concludes without trade.

Public message to the Church of the Truth Seeker

The priest waits patiently. “With no definitive answer as to what you decide, we will leave the shores free this season, so that sound may reach them, preventing a possible clash and truthfully we hope Light and Sound may meet and come to share a border in the season to come.”

Public message to the Astral Collective

A pilgrim arrives, sweaty and unused to the damp and wetness of a jungle. “Greetings, I am Menheru from the Theocracy of Shemesh. The Theocracy of Shemesh is thankful of your sympathy. The pilgrim then starts asking how it can be so… not-dry!