SD.Net Kingdoms Story Thread

[Akhlut]

The envoy team rode to Tver, with them a guard of several dozen Iorikid soldiers. There orders were to present the treaty to the Tsar, and should he not agree to the exact wording, work with him until something suitable was presented and signed by both parties. The head diplomat of the Republic was the ruling Amphipole over the Great Court, Andronicus Chrysos. With him rode the very governor of the city of Chersonesos, Dionysus Venizelos. They hoped this would not take too long.

Meanwhile...

The Iorikid envoy rode north to Krakow. Traders from Pogoria and the Tsardom indicated some trepidation toward one another's countries, even if there was nothing official. The Republic's lifeblood was trade, though, and the Republic needed as many goods flowing through it as possible to maintain wealth and power so that it may prosper. True, the Republic could afford Pogoria and the Tsardom going to war, but that would interrupt the flow of goods and the Republic would have to be careful regulating the markets to make sure that it could still buy and sell to the north. The best outcome, though, would be no war and lots of trade flowing down.

Plus, Pogoria's goods took too long to flow to the Crimea. By opening official relations, perhaps more trade could be accommodated between them and the Republic.

And, so, the Iorikid priest, Zeusborn Bjornsson, rode with his Iorikid kith, carrying some of the traditional gifts of the Republic: rubies, otter pelts, caviar, as well as smoked fish and some smoked dolphin.

[Master_Baerne]

OOC: Yay for creepy magics!

Bellenoirceur Sorcerous Academy
Fortress Baerne

There was reason behind everything in the world, or so Master Illmarinen was wont to remark to his Logic classes. There was reason behind the coloring of a rat, behind the movements of the stars in the sky, behind the vagaries of spellcraft.

Also, though this was less well-known, behind the design of the Sorcerous Academy's topmost tower. Specifically, in the design of the iron-walled,symbol-covered room at the top of it, reachable only through an enchanted fire in the Headmaster's office. It was here that the real work of the Academy and the Spellcorps happened, behind the proverbial closed doors and the thankfully-real protective pentacles. This work was not specifically sanctioned by the Duke, but it's results had allowed the Duchy to triumph again and again in it's two hundred year history. And tonight marked a very unusual event: The induction of a new member into the Black Jewels.

On an altar carved of some sort of gray marble, flecked with veins of black and gold, stood three rings and a pendant. Rather, pieces of them, for they lacked the stones which would have completed the finery. Spidery gold fingers grasped at the air, waiting for the completion the ceremony would bring. Or for the fire that would purify them, should it fail.

Isabella Alouette had been named for the Duchess Isabella, James III's wife and mother of the current Duke. Her long, thick mahogany tresses had been the envy of her childhood friends, and her quick wit and magical prowess that of her adult colleagues. Many considered her to be the most likely to succeed Lord Ragnar as Lord Commander of the Spellcorps, once he retired. All of that, the decades of scheming and dedication that had brought her to this point, were meaningless in the face of what was to come, and she knew it. She knew it the instant the torches guttered out, suddenly radiating shadow instead of light. Which was fortunate, as the vague shape she saw moving beneath a heavy robe was best left in the concealing darkness.

It spoke, and the voice was that of a monster or a god, at once a gentle crone's and a raging bear's, infused with the power of lightning and the soft caress of the wind on a summer's day. It spoke, and the words washed over Isabella like the inexorable power of an impassive sea as it disinterestedly drew a drowning sailor down to the depths:

"Know this, child of the Lark and the Thunderbolt: I am the face of Power that says: O grasping Man, make peace with your mortality. For when you call upon Me in such ways, then this too is God."

"W-What do you mean?" Isabella's hands were shaking, and her usually-confident voice quavered.

"The Ethereal is as relevant as the solid, and together they weave the threads of being. I am both and none; the Bright Shadow, the Comforting Assassin; the Silent Song. Mine is the story of the Fall, and therefore yours as well. You may call me Mother Night."

"You are the source of our power?" The energies manipulated by the Spellcorps were not kind in nature, but could be used to save lives: A paradox fit for this paradoxical creature.

"It is as possible as any other thing. It may be that I am the God, or a God, or a messenger of one, or any number of less-understood things. I am the face of Power; I am Mother Night. Take these Blood Gems, Sister Lark, and join your will to mine." A disconcerting rumble shook the room slightly, and the pentacles flared.

"I will not be bent to anyone's purpose but mine own!"

"Nor shall I." And with that it - rather, she was gone, vanishing in a cloud of smoke at once black and shining white, the sound sof screams and sighs faint in the suddenly-still air. On the black-flecked altar, the empty gem settings were filled; One ring each of opal, ebony, and sapphire, while the necklace held a jewel of such blackness that it seemed to darken the chamber by it's very presence.

"Well done, Mistress Isabella. You demonstrated more composure than anyone has before, including myself and the Lord Ragnar." Master Illmarinen stepped from the corner, where he had observed the entire confrontation.

"What..."

"We have no more idea than you. She came to me after the Fall, and impressed upon me the need for magic. For all I know, she is magic personified. She's certainly cryptic enough."

"Mother NI-"

"Stop! Never use that name. Do you want her back again? Always remember that names have power, especially hers." Illmarinen was famous for being unshakable, but a trace of panic crossed his line face.

"I will. These...Blood Gems...what is their function?" Isabella crossed to the altar, running a long finger across the sapphire.

"Your training will begin tomorrow. For now, sleep. And do try not to dream."

RESULTS: More magical plotting. For a limited time only with enigmatic, seemingly-omnipotent beings!

[Siege]

Temple of the Sun, Egypt

Imhotep, high priest of the Egyptian Cult, surveyed all that had been prepared, and was pleased. A dazzling array of arcane machinery occuppied the innermost sanctum of the Temple of the Sun. Gears dripped with oil. Mirrors glinted dimly. Metaclockwork engines were wound up tightly. And above the opening at the very top of the sanctum, the noon sun shone brightly in a perfectly blue skye.

The high priest was pleased. "Now", he spoke. "Let us begin."

At his signal, the priests of Ra spoke the Words that activated the sacred machinery. Buzzing and clicking, the metaclockwork began to spin threads of Power. Imhotep felt the murmur of clockwork in the mirrors, gears uncoiling in discobobulant dimensions, generating a powerful mystical current across the skein of reality.

Spurred on by intricate gearwork the mirrors' reflective surfaces began to move, catching the light of the sun in their dozens of facets. Rays of light scattered through the sanctum, bound and rebound, bouncing through the looking glasses. The recombinant light the reflections made was waxing, nauseating even.

The mystical engines spun faster and now the light was curling, growing around itself. It was something in itself, something real, with dimensions, something that moved. There was a fishing presence in the rebounding rays, a thing roaming out of nothing and made of the hard light, shining like a sun.

Gears ground within gears as the mirrors moved and began to reach critical angles. Strings of light-matter stretched out, curving oddly like mucus, in ways light was not meant to move. It coalesced, fused in the midst of the sanctum into a globe of un-mass, growing more real by the second.

The high priest watched the light cohere, become tangible, pulse in and out of mirrors and reflections, and then he spoke a single Word of Power. The metaclockwork shuddered. Mystical energies surged through the sanctum.

The Sun Elemental was born. It existed. Suddenly. The mirrors of the great temple shook as the thing moved out of the confines of the aligned mirrored surfaces. It stood, out of the foetus of light it had been, a bright figure made of illumination, a figure that was impossible to look at yet did not shed light but seemed to suck in what light there was. It gave off a violent hard glow that impossibly did not spread beyond its own borders. It stood and stepped forward, and was free of the mirrors. A humanoid star, moving with total stillness, melting the very stones upon which it thread.

Imhotep watched the awesome newborn being move, and from his deep chest laughed out a loud applause.

Result: High priest Imhotep is toying around with powerful magicks. He has now created what amounts to a magical walking laser beam .

[Zor]

Newly annexed territory, Red Tsardom

Private Yefim Mendeleev of the Imperial Red army was releived when the work day ended, walking to the mess tent to receive his dinner. He was looking for this meal, the salt port, even after prepation still was of course, still salty and tough, but the Bread was freshly made from flour baked in specially made feild ovens spared him from having to risk his teeth on hardtack and the vegatbles were better than usual as well. The superior quality of food (and access to a constant supply of Vodka) made things bearable. There was more to soldiering than battling savages, much of his military career involved making roads, which his company had been working nonstop since the invasion began in improving transportation in the first stages of consolidation of the Tsardom's power in this area.

As he ate he saw a processtion of prison carts go down from the crude path on which they worked with to a tsardom, each with about a dozen prisonners, undoubtibly more rebels.

He turned to his friend Alexi "sixth today, eight counting weapons"

"Yeah, heard there was a big victory against some warlord 'Seregi the uncoquerable' he went by"

"Warlords" Alexi Chuckled "always having to have there goddamn over the top nicknames. Hope he likes being known as 'Seregi the bullet riddled corpse' or 'inmate six three five nine'."

Yefim raised his cup of Vodka "I'll Drink to that!"

Mikhail Fortress, Neva River Delta

After a week of hard work, the fortress was finally complete. Not the proper structures inside, but the fortress itself was done. It was noting too impressive, just a set of 3 meter wood walls with a deck for strelsi with a makeshift screen over it to made of branches and roots to offer cover against arrows and rain, a single skycleaner gun on an exposed tower, as well as a docking tower and teathers for airships. The Alchemists had left earlier today, returning to the tsardom, however, an additonal fourty Streltsi had come, as well as additional provisions and tools.

The plan was simple, create and man a fortress in this remote part of nowere to solidify the claim the Tsardom had for this peace of land. Soon, this desolate land would be abound with the sounds of labour as the Tsar's new City would rise.

Results-Conquest of three more areas en-route to Novgorod, some 4,500 barbarian warriors killed, many more taken as prisonners for the gulags, some 35 Casualties for the Tsardom.

[PeZook]

Mouth of the Neva river

The single shot rang out when most of the work crews slept, and resulted in a flurry of activity. Officers and soldiers alike ran out of their tents, grasping their weapons, while workers set off alchemical flares and lights to illuminate the area. They found the body soon.

"It's Grigorij, lejtnant", private Mendeleyev reported, "It looks like he shot himself."

The lieutenant examined the body closely. Indeed, it seemed that the poor private shot himself using his own rifle. It was a well-thought out attempt, too - he had to secure the weapon against the wall and tie the trigger to his toe with a piece of string. Not something done on impulse. The lieutenant felt a chill run down his spine, and looked at the runestone, emplaced securely in the fort's citadel.

"He went out on patrol five days ago, didn't he?"

"Yes sir. He...he mentioned he's had trouble sleeping after that.", Mendeleyev responded, looking out into the night nervously.

"See if anybody else does, and make sure they don't leave vicinity of the runestone."

Outside, in the marsh

The zmorha was satisfied. The human's fear would feed it for days, unlike the meager sustenance granted by amber dreamstone. His was a vibrous, young mind full of memories and delicious thoughts.

The malignant spirit stalked the swamp, invisible, navigating the dreamworld's currents. Its brethren circled nearby, hunting like a pack, pouncing on everyone not protected by magical wards. Already, many of the Tsardom's soldiers were on their way to insanity, suicide and violent rampage, driven up the wall with nightmares, lack of sleep and hallucinations.

Calling the zmorhas malicious was not entirely proper, however. They were closer to animals in this respect, in that the suffering and fear of others provided their sustenance. Still, to a human mind, they were viscerally terrifying.

So they stalked the swampland, until one night, something changed.

RETURN

The whisper carried through the dreamworld like an echo. The zmorhas howled in response, voicing their protest, longing for the sweet matter of living minds.

RETURN

The voice echoed louder. The weaker creatures heeded the call, but one zmorha still remained, still opposed the iron will of the forest witch that released it.

RETURN!

The voice called out again, striking the lone straggler like a hammer. The witch found it, and compared to her willpower, the feral beast was like a boat before a storm. It could not escape the call.

South of the Neva river delta

The dreamstones were packed neatly, and proper rituals were observed. Four druids raised the witche's stretcher and carried her towards the shore, disappearing in the morning fog.

A few hours after the Pogorian party left, a lone bear wandered into the clearing. It sniffed around and turned around immediately, disappearing in the forest. Animals would avoid this place for years to come.

Result: Pogoria recalls its zmorhas, but not before they manage to drive one soldier to suicide, and many others to the brink of madness. Tsardom's casualties rise to 36 ( )

[Darkevilme]

Udgart
“Know people of Udgart, that the army of the southerners is nearly upon us. Know also, my brave warriors, that they are large in number and possessed of their twisted magics.”
“But know also you stand united, each man a brother of battle to the one beside him and possessed of a courage that no southern army with their cowardly false gods can withstand our fury. Let our blades drink of their blood, let our battlesong reach the sky as we here stand to draw the line and say no further. Armies of Udgart, we shall not fail this day.”

A ragged cheer went up, weapons thrust aloft as the lord of Udgart rode past his assembled host.
Martk joins in the cheer, yelling powerfully and holding his sword aloft, lost in the moment and looking towards the opposite hill....the cheer fades in his throat as the armies of the south crest the hilltop..a wave of warriors, unified into a solid wall, straight and precise with their spears forming glinting rows above them. How could they stand against so many? But any move backwards would be seen as a sign of weakness, he'd get killed for it for certain.
“Let them taste the death they crave trespassing into our lands, loose arrows!”
the Lord of Udgart canters down his assembled host once more as a disorganized hail of arrows starts to pepper the enemy on the opposite hill. Martk watches, his eyes better than most, as shields lift up amidst the enemy lines...then his eyes widen and he ducks down, the sky behind the enemy line thickening with the southerners response. The impact of arrows jarring his arm as they bury their heads in his shield. When he looks up the enemy are on the move, and wading through their ranks to the front are taller figures, giants with glowing red eyes forming marching steadily towards him and his fellows. It was at this point that he decided it was preferable to take his chances with the rear ranks of the Udgart army.
Martk ducks below his shield again as arrows rain down, the screams of fallen comrades heard close at hand. Then another cry rings out “CHARGE!” and Martk is carried down the slope, pressed helplessly amidst the warriors as they bear down towards the southern army. He catches a glimpse of spears being leveled up ahead, then everything dissolves into chaos as the pressure of the Udgart charge carries him into melee amidst the Southern ranks. A heavy fog of what must be bloodlust filling his mind as he stabs out at the nearest Southerner, burying the blade in his face and kicking to pull it free. The whirl of combat surrounding him, images imprinting themselves on a mind filled moment to moment with the instinctual struggle of kill or be killed. Another warrior skewered from the side as he struck a southerner with his axe, a friend going down bleeding atop a foe and stabbing almost mechanically at his side...a hulking metal giant crushing someone to mush as his friends futilely stab at its armoured legs...the lord of Udgart standing against an iron giant ....screams of pain and fury all around...Then Martk was hit by a horse, his Lord's steed chucked broken and thoughtlessly his way and smashing him to the ground beneath its weight...pain filling him as ribs splinter and crack. So this is how it ends, not in glory or in a bed with grandchildren but here...young and thrown away in a futile fight. Martk coughs and hacks up some bloody and what feels like part of his lung, unable to draw breath again as he feels the horse pressing down on the painful vice of his ribs. Martk's vision starting to red out, focusing waveringly on one of the southerner's metal giants...glowing red eyes filling his vision, then a rune covered foot stamps down. All his thought and brain matter crushed in an instant as he is no more.

The Udgart reacted predictably to the loss of their leader, some trying to surrender as others broke and run, some reacting by fighting with a berserk fury. Another land falls to the armies of the Dominion.

Result: Four additional territories conquered this year. Total 8 and the army cant stretch further for now.
One cohort of Footmen, one cohort of archers+100 wolfguard reinforcements+5 adept reinforcements left by each army in the province they conquered earlier. 5 adepts join each forward province army as well.

[Zor]

Imperial Areodrome

This was a busy time for the Imperial Areodrome, with diplomatic missions, the foundation of the Tsar's foothold in the Neva Region and various reconasiance missions for the army, Markov airships were constantly flying in and out, requiring service and matinence fairly constantly. About an hour ago eight Markovs and a Zhukov left with additional supplies and 150 additional labourers and soldiers, as well to releive the Markov stationed above the Fortress for guard duty. Now three more of the Tsar's Markov Airhsips had left, one for Byzantium, one for Crimea and one for Gurren-Britannia, each with three Streltsi and two specialised figures with a modest chest of Gold. It was their job to collect new

Iosef-I Artillery Foundery, Moscow

The foundry was not a place that was pleasant to be in, it was hot and sweltering even in winter, smelled of oil, smoke and other things and loud as the sounds of machinery, roaring fires and metal, liquid and solid filled the air. However, inside this massive facillity was a critical element to the Tsardom's military, for here came the rockets, munitions and cannons that the Tsardom needed.

Today saw the completion of the first part of a special order. Some fifty cannons 15cm cannons were ordered, the first of which was completed today. The massive weapon was carted out and sent to a carpenter to have its carriage built. Although the factory workers did not know this, the cannon would not be placed on a conventional carriage, rather a specially made one with smaller wheels similar to those in fortresses. However, that was not the location that was planned for this new arsenal either.

Tver Kremlin, Tver

The party was led inside the fortress. While in fuction, the Tver Kremlin was more of a Administrative building with a far greater garrison of clerks and civil servents and a rather ornate interior, it still had a force of Strelsti Stationed in it, as well as cannons and skycleaner guns if worse came to worse.

They were quickly taken to a dining room in the center of the palace with an elegant hard wood table flanked by finely crafted leather padded seats and fine cutlery and porceline dining wear was displayed. At the head of the table was the Tsar, sitting back with a glass of Absinthe in hand.

One of his crimson guardsmen tapped the floor twice with his rifle's butt "His Majesty, Tsar Mikhail-I, Tsar of Moscovy and all the Civilized Russias and Champion of the Crimson Enlightenment"

"Now, be seated, dinner will be ready shortly. We have much to discuss"

RESULTS-The Tsardom prepares for the creation of the invariably superior to whatever the Pogorians can come due to cannons Navy that it will soon be building. Negotiations begin with Crimea.

[Shinn Langley Soryu]

Cardiff Castle, Wales

Gurren-Britannian Forces in Theater

- 2000 dragoons
- 500 heavy cavalry
- 1000 archers
- 500 riflemen
- 50 Gurren Knights
- 25 Knights of Brunestud
- 100 elementalists
- 25 Null Magi
- 25 Tactical Sorcerists
- 4 towed cannons
- 1 Crimson Face
- Lady Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière

The Holy Empire of Gurren-Britannia's continued campaign to reclaim the British Isles resumed not with great fanfare, but with complete and total silence. It might as well have been complete and total silence, for the advance of Gurren-Britannia's armies was so swift that entire villages, towns, and even cities were encircled and suppressed within mere hours.

In the centuries since the Fall, Cardiff Castle and its environs had passed hands from one petty warlord to the next; its current master was a rogue Null Mage named Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi, who had forcibly seized control of the fortification from the previous owner. He hoped it would provide a useful hiding place from Gurren-Britannia's civilian authorities. He was literally dead wrong.

El-Melloi's only warning of the Gurren-Britannian military's advance on Cardiff was the pounding footsteps of a Crimson Face, followed by the sounds of the ancient war golem drilling through the castle walls. The mercenaries that El-Melloi had hired to help defend his castle were of little use. The sounds of the drilling just so happened to mute the faint whistling of a rain of arrows inbound on the castle, which shredded those unfortunate to be caught in the open; several more mercs were crushed when the Crimson Face finally trudged through the hole it had just bored in the wall, either by falling debris or by the golem's own steps. The remaining defenders of Cardiff Castle attempted to assail the construct to little avail; what use were regular swords and bows against a golem designed to withstand the heaviest of weapons and the foulest of magics? The city militia was of little help either; what little morale they had was shattered when they first caught sight of the Crimson Face, and those few foolish enough to resist were swept up when the rest of the Gurren-Britannian army came charging in.

When the Gurren-Britannian dragoons and cavalry finally charged through the breach and overtook the last of the mercs, El-Melloi realized he had no chance. His attempt to escape from the keep, however, was interrupted when none other than the leader of the Null Mages herself, Lady Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière, teleported into his chambers. She was wielding an enchanted whip, and she was most definitely not pleased.

"You know you can't escape now," Louise sneered.

"Get away from me, you pink-haired harlot!" El-Melloi growled as he unsheathed a dagger, only to lose the weapon to a single deft stroke from Louise's whip.

"Just shut up and DIE!" Louise cried out as she cracked the whip once more, causing it to coil around El-Melloi's neck. With another snap of her wrist, she snapped his neck, ending the renegade Null Mage's existence. At that moment, two Gurren Knights and a Knight of Brunestud barged into the room.

"Lady Louise! Is everything all right here?" the Knight of Brunestud, a woman named Sion Eltnam Atlasia, asked.

"Has the rest of Cardiff been suppressed?" Louise replied with a query of her own.

"Yes, milady," one of the Gurren Knights reported matter-of-factly. "Thanks to your decision to deploy the Crimson Face, we suffered only minimal casualties. No deaths, but quite a lot of injuries. Nothing our elementalists can't fix."

"Good, good. I just hope our armies advancing up to Scotland are making similar progress," Louise said. "Anything else?"

"Yes, there is one more thing we have to finish up here before we proceed," Sion said as she produced a small tome from a satchel and handed it to Louise, who proceeded to read it.

"This castle used to be an outpost of the Knights of Brunestud, and two of its members are entombed here?" Louise asked.

"That is correct, milady," Sion replied. "We intend to bring them back to the world of the living."

"I see," Louise mused. "Lead me to these two knights, then."

---------------

London, Gurren-Britannia

"What is this I hear of the Empire of the Seine and the Sovereign Duchy of Baerne making inroads into Ireland?" Arturia Pendragon, the Eternal Empress of Gurren-Britannia, asked one of her many aides as she sat on her throne.

"We can only guess as to what their exact intentions are, Your Highness, but it can be safe to assume that they intend to use it as a staging point for a combined assault on our own territories," the aide replied.

"So it appears," Empress Arturia replied. "Send envoys to those two countries. See if we can negotiate with them."

"As you wish, Your Highness."

---------------

RESULTS: Cardiff and its adjacent provinces fall to Gurren-Britannia. A total of 1,500 mercenaries and militiamen, along with one renegade wizard are killed; an additional 500 mercs and militia are taken prisoner. Total Gurren-Britannian casualties amount to 40 injuries and no fatalities. Lady Louise investigates rumors of two lost Knights of Brunestud entombed in Cardiff Castle.

Meanwhile, Empress Arturia notices the combined Imperial-Baernish assault on Ireland and sends envoys to Baerne and the Empire of the Seine in hopes of negotiating with them.

[Fingolfin_Noldor]

Imperial Chronicles

Nikea

The psykers of the Despotate were often sent to the Inqusitorium Psyker school in Nikea for training. Malcador, chief adviser to the Despot, came there to meet with the head of the psyker school. "You tell me that the psykers have been busy working on new ways at manipulating the warp?" asked Malcador, who was a psyker himself.

"Yes m'lord. Some of us have been.. thinking of summon daemons, then imprisoning them in bodies inscribed with runes and using them for our own ends."

Malcador thought about this for a while. "Imprisoning daemons... that might prove useful. I think the Despot will be interested if you can make these.. things pliant to our demands. You may proceed.

Constantinople

The Chief Fabricator of the Adeptus Mechanicus arrived at the Imperial Palace with his retinue. As master of the machine guild, he and his people were the chief providers of technology in the Despotate. While the University of Constantinople and Nikea often collaborated with them, the Adeptus Mechanicus often kept their greatest trade secrets for themselves. The Munitorium General came to meet the Chief Fabricator and bowed. "I take it you have seen the Despot's requests?"

"Indeed I have. You want a new Battle Barge and 4 cruisers and 8 frigates to be constructed over the next few years?"

"Yes. We also want new equipment for a new Chiliarchy of Adeptus Comitatenses."

"You will have to go the Adeptus Alchemi for the chimeras of course."

"Yes we will."

[Akhlut]

Tver Kremlin, Tver

The party was led inside the fortress. While in fuction, the Tver Kremlin was more of a Administrative building with a far greater garrison of clerks and civil servents and a rather ornate interior, it still had a force of Strelsti Stationed in it, as well as cannons and skycleaner guns if worse came to worse.

They were quickly taken to a dining room in the center of the palace with an elegant hard wood table flanked by finely crafted leather padded seats and fine cutlery and porceline dining wear was displayed. At the head of the table was the Tsar, sitting back with a glass of Absinthe in hand.

One of his crimson guardsmen tapped the floor twice with his rifle's butt "His Majesty, Tsar Mikhail-I, Tsar of Moscovy and all the Civilized Russias and Champion of the Crimson Enlightenment"

"Now, be seated, dinner will be ready shortly. We have much to discuss"

"Hail, your Imperial Majesty. Basileus Iason Constantine wishes for a mutual defense pact between our two glorious nations. As this scroll shows, it is very simple, stating that should either of us be attacked and request aid from one another, that aid shall be granted as needed and as can be provided by the signatories to one another. We hope that your majesty agrees with the truce as written."

As Andronicus spoke, Dionysus wondered where the cocktail shrimp were.

Results: The governor of Chersonesos is disappointed by the lack of appetizers, but does not make it known.

[Akhlut]

Iason Constantine rode with a small guard to the shore, behind them were 365 horses, one for each day of the calender. They also carried with them a chest full of quartz, rubies, and any other precious stone that could be gathered.

It is very unpleasant to do this at night, Iason thought.

Waiting for them was one of the Favored Deep Ones, the shamans of their frightful race. The creature was unspeakably hideous, and was nearly 8 feet tall. It began to speak to the Basileus.

"Hail, Overlord of the Unsunken Earth. The Great Parent of our species comes forth."

Breaking through the waves some giant thing swam until the water became much too shallow, at which point it pushed itself up to two legs. Even though it was still in water that would reach up to Iason's waist, the creature was still mostly out of the water.

It spoke, but the words were not in Greek, nor Russian, Latin, or any other human tongue. The primordial and fearsome speech shook all humans standing their to the bone. The horses were luckily all tied together, so that the ones that did try to bolt were unable to drag off the majority of the ones standing stock still in fear of the giant monstrosity.

"The Great Parent, or Dagon, as it is known to you, says that he is most pleased that the bargain is upheld for another year. We shall again serve the Republic."

Dagon then reached out and picked up a horse and started to eat it alive. Several Deep Ones swam out of the ocean and took the chest of precious stones with them. After finishing his first horse, Dagon chanted, and a terrible light erupted from his hand, covering all the horses meant as tribute. Several of the Favored then swam ashore, and began to lead the horses into the ocean, now that they could breathe water.

The giant turned and swam back into the ocean.

"Know that we shall give aid whenever you require it, Basileus."

[Zor]

Tver Kremlin, Tver

The party was led inside the fortress. While in fuction, the Tver Kremlin was more of a Administrative building with a far greater garrison of clerks and civil servents and a rather ornate interior, it still had a force of Strelsti Stationed in it, as well as cannons and skycleaner guns if worse came to worse.

They were quickly taken to a dining room in the center of the palace with an elegant hard wood table flanked by finely crafted leather padded seats and fine cutlery and porceline dining wear was displayed. At the head of the table was the Tsar, sitting back with a glass of Absinthe in hand.

One of his crimson guardsmen tapped the floor twice with his rifle's butt "His Majesty, Tsar Mikhail-I, Tsar of Moscovy and all the Civilized Russias and Champion of the Crimson Enlightenment"

"Now, be seated, dinner will be ready shortly. We have much to discuss"

"Hail, your Imperial Majesty. Basileus Iason Constantine wishes for a mutual defense pact between our two glorious nations. As this scroll shows, it is very simple, stating that should either of us be attacked and request aid from one another, that aid shall be granted as needed and as can be provided by the signatories to one another. We hope that your majesty agrees with the truce as written."

As Andronicus spoke, Dionysus wondered where the cocktail shrimp were.

Results: The governor of Chersonesos is disappointed by the lack of appetizers, but does not make it known.

The Tsar looked over the treaty, reading it carefully before placing it to the side of the table.

"This is acceptable." He said as an Inkwell and pen was provided for him and he signed the document.

Local Warlord's Hold

Yesterday, the Warlord of this fortress rallied some 6,000 warriors to engage the oncomming armies of the Tsardom, mostly unarmored spear and swordsmed as well as some Noble cavalry, bringing forth this army hoping to gain glory as the man who defeated the ledgendary armies of the Red Tsardom and claiming their ledgendary cannons. He lead his screaming hordes against the pooring out of the forest onto the southern advanced force at dawn, only to have their ambush exposed at the last minute by a pair of Cavalier sentries. From their wagon fort, the Streltsi fired back, but with most of the soldiers just roused from sleep. Nearly a thousand enemy forces managed to close before they faced four cannons firing grapeshot into their ranks at close range, and about hundred even managed to get to the lines before engaging in meelee, although revolver, bayonet and ursiod managed to defeat the oncomming force, although many more broke into retreat, being hunted by cavaliers with shotgun, pistol, lance and sabre and ursiod with claws, teeth and oversized rifle and bayonet until they were too far into the forest to be a threat. In the end the Tsardom's forces managed to kill nearly 4,200 Savages, although taking some 83 casualties in hand to hand and due to hastilly thrown spears and launched arrows. Those that survived were either captured to be sent to the Gulags or fled into the forests, forced into a new life of banditry, or mercenarydom or attempting to make a mad dash for their homes.

Now the gates of his capital layed smashed open while Streltsi marched through the streets as the sounds of trumpets and drums filled the air while against the sky the Tsardom's banner fluttered.

Results-The Tsardom signs the defense treaty, Three additional territories added to the Tsardom as it marches to Novgorod.

[PeZook]

Pogoria

The horses strained and pulled on the machine, its wheels turning the complicated internal mechanism. The demonstrator poured a bag of seeds into the contraption and began steering it across the patch of raked dirt. After about an hour, the presentation was done.

"So...this is all it does?", asked count Chociebor.

"Yes, sire!", the demonstrator responded enthusiastically. His name was Bogumil, and he was a master blacksmith chosen by the Royal Court to create the machine using blueprints supplied by the Red Tsardom. It took him nearly four months to complete and perfect it.

"Not very impressive...", the count remarked stoically

"On the contrary, sire! The machine plants seeds at a specified depth, in precisely controlled rows. This means more seeds will germinate!", Bogumil obviously consulted farmers during his work.

"It is expensive..."

"This much is correct, but the benefits will be bountiful! Not a hundred years ago, after all, plows were expensive, too!"

The discussion continued back and forth, but one man did not participate. Dobrogost, the Druid Speaker, was looking at the machine with suspicion bordering on anger. King Radoslaw noticed this.

"Master druid? What is wrong?"

"I do not like this thing. Nature gives us all we need, we don't need to force it into submission with machines."

"We do use your druidic rituals and magics to increse crop yields, master druid.", the King remarked accurately. Pogorian fields always gave a good harvest thanks to the involvement of the druids.

"These are different. Our power flows form the will of Mother Nature and the Motherwood, and if we anger them, they will take that away. They can't take away machines..."

"It is all for a good cause, though. This - and other - machines will help feed out people...I'm sure the Motherwood and Wit will not mind."

"Perhaps. I will observe their reaction most closely."

Constantinopole

The great city finally rose from the horizon. The small Pogorian party traversed thousands of miles through dangerous lands, navigating bandit and monster infested forests and mountains. While they were never in any danger, thanks to the forest witch that rode with them - even bandits respected the old woman, or maybe feared her - but the journey was still exhausting.

They would take a boat back, though - which certainly made Gromislaw, the King's special envoy, quite happy. His backside did not appreciate so much time spent on horseback.

The party stopped briefly at an inn just outside the city, where they changed from their travel clothes to exquisite, ornamental vestments. They would, after all, be seing an Emperor, even if not formally called that. Constantinopole was always an Imperial city and it would stay like that forever.

While the party prepared for an important meeting of state, two Pogorians walked the streets of Constantinopole. Equipped with amber pendants for translation, they began asking around for respected and well-known gunsmiths.

While Gromislaw spoke to the Despot about traties of non-agression and the possiblity of purchasing firearms, these two men would do one better.

Purchase a gunsmith.

Wawel Castle



"Zeusborn Bjornsson, envoy from the Republic Of Crimea!", the herold announced and thumped his official stick-slash-mark of office against the floor.

The envoy entered the castle's throne room and bowed.

"Your highness, I come from my lord with words of peace and gifts for the great Pogorian people. We wish to open official relations with your mighty Kingdom, to facilitate trade and properity for all."

"Rise, honored envoy. We accept your gifts with gratitude. We are most interested in your offer ; Please, elaborate on it."

Results:

Pogorians think seed drills are awesome, though druids are skeptical. Anyway, crops yields will increase thanks to combining the machines with traditional magicks.

We will buy guns and a gunsmith.

Negotiations begin with Republic of Crimea.

[Fingolfin_Noldor]

Imperial Chronicles

Pogoria

Constantinopole

The great city finally rose from the horizon. The small Pogorian party traversed thousands of miles through dangerous lands, navigating bandit and monster infested forests and mountains. While they were never in any danger, thanks to the forest witch that rode with them - even bandits respected the old woman, or maybe feared her - but the journey was still exhausting.

They would take a boat back, though - which certainly made Gromislaw, the King's special envoy, quite happy. His backside did not appreciate so much time spent on horseback.

The party stopped briefly at an inn just outside the city, where they changed from their travel clothes to exquisite, ornamental vestments. They would, after all, be seing an Emperor, even if not formally called that. Constantinopole was always an Imperial city and it would stay like that forever.

While the party prepared for an important meeting of state, two Pogorians walked the streets of Constantinopole. Equipped with amber pendants for translation, they began asking around for respected and well-known gunsmiths.

While Gromislaw spoke to the Despot about traties of non-agression and the possiblity of purchasing firearms, these two men would do one better.

Purchase a gunsmith.

The Despot of Byzantium had returned briefly to the capital while Macharius solidified Byzantine control in the 20 or so provinces that were captured around Thessaloniki in the rout of the daemons. Belisarius reports able progress, fighting off waves of daemons as he fought his way taking province by province towards Ikonium. Progress was slow and the Despot was tempted to assign Thematic troops. But the shortage of numbers was worrying. More Adeptus Comitatus troops were being trained and raised, if one would used the words, but they would take time to enter the field.

When the emissaries from Pogoria arrived, he told his chief adviser Malcador to escort them in. As they came, he asked, "Well gentlemen, what does Pogoria ask of Byzantium?"

[PeZook]

"We bring salutations and best wishes from our King, who would like to congratulate Byzantium on its succesfull campaign against foul beasts occupying your rightful lands.

We were sent here by King Radoslaw to offer a treaty of non-agression between our two countries, a delineation of influence zones in central Europe, and finally - to inquire if Byzantium would exchange its firearm technology, which we need to protect ourselves, for fine Pogorian wares."

[Fingolfin_Noldor]

"We bring salutations and best wishes from our King, who would like to congratulate Byzantium on its succesfull campaign against foul beasts occupying your rightful lands.

We were sent here by King Radoslaw to offer a treaty of non-agression between our two countries, a delineation of influence zones in central Europe, and finally - to inquire if Byzantium would exchange its firearm technology, which we need to protect ourselves, for fine Pogorian wares."

"A non-aggression treaty and delineation of zones of influence Byzantium is happy to avail ourselves, but what sort of Pogorian wares would you give in exchange for firearm technology?"

[PeZook]

"A non-aggression treaty and delineation of zones of influence Byzantium is happy to avail ourselves, but what sort of Pogorian wares would you give in exchange for firearm technology?"

"Our noble King instructed us to suggest a reactivation of the Amber Trail from Pomerania. Other wares would include honey, natural salt, pelts, expensive woods, iron, coal, copper and of course gold."

[Fingolfin_Noldor]

"A non-aggression treaty and delineation of zones of influence Byzantium is happy to avail ourselves, but what sort of Pogorian wares would you give in exchange for firearm technology?"

"Our noble King instructed us to suggest a reactivation of the Amber Trail from Pomerania. Other wares would include honey, natural salt, pelts, expensive woods, iron, coal, copper and of course gold."

"Would your noble King be kind enough to share... one of his master druids in exchange for a master gunsmith? We would of course trade our goods with you."

[Siege]

Cyprus

Half the Pharaoh’s fleet had remained behind to pacify the last elements of resistance on Crete; the other half had sailed on to the island of Cyprus. When they arrived there, upon the shores they were greeted by jubilant masses of people waving palm leaves and offering treasures. Word of the liberation of Crete had spread fast across the eastern Mediterranean, and the people of Cyprus, forever weary of the dark kingdom to the east, greeted the Pharaoh’s men as the bringers of light and civilization they were.


Summer Palace, Thebe



The splendidly dressed envoys of the Black Kingdoms bowed before the Great King. “Oh great one”, began the most senior ambassador. “For many years, we have sent you tribute, and for many years, our soldiers have served in your armies. Is this not so?”

“It is so”, nodded the Pharaoh.

“We have seen the mighty of your hosts, the splendour of your city, and the power of the Gods that protect your lands. We wish to make our ties to your great kingdom more solid. In return for your protection, your wisdom and your trade, we will swear allegiance to you, the great king of the four quarters of the world.”

A thin smile danced across the lips of Atum-Ra. “Let it be so!”

Results: Egypt claims Cyprus and a bunch of semi-civilized states in dark Africa swear allegiance to the Pharaoh.

[Fingolfin_Noldor]

Imperial Chronicles

Belisarius, Warmaster of the Despotate of Byzantium, fumed over the endless wave of daemons his army had to fight through to Ikonium. They had taken and cleansed 5 or so provinces, but still the bastards kept coming. He requested from the Inquisition some of their best Inquisitors to find out just who sent these daemons and to destroy the warp gate from which they came from. The Ordos Malleus sect of the Inqusition sent three Inquisitors who then set to work on finding the warp gate. True enough, apparently a warp gate existed in Ikonium itself, and destroying it required taking the city. Taking stock of the situation, Belisarius then requested that the Despot sent him a force of Grey Knights to infiltrate the city and destroy the warp gate, allowing his men to fight their way through the city and destroy the menace.

For this, Justicar Kolossus and his team of 9 other Grey Knights arrived. They crept into the city at night, and made their way towards the warp gate. Security was tight in the city, and the Knights crept silently to the gate using their psyker powers to fool the guards as they went to the walls and used their alchemy to open a hole in the wall and entered the city, after closing the hole behind them. From that point on, they suppressed their psyker powers and headed into the deep edge of the city. The plan called for Belisarius staging a feint some kilometers from the city, demolishing one of the small forts that guarded the way to Ikonium, while the Grey Knight took the opportunity to raid the central nexus of the city, seal the gate and hopefully, kill the daemon leader. The leader was said to be some lesser daemon, but clearly had tactical acumen to make up for his lack of power.

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

The Battle Barge Vae Victus together with the cruiser Silent Fist and frigate Komnenus opened fire on the small fortress with such fury that the fortress walls crumpled under the first salvo, sending the daemons fleeing. A second salvo struck the castle keep with such fury that the land itself shook. Within moments, the fortress was reduced, and the daemons fleeing. "They will surely come back with reinforcements," said Narsus, Belisarius' aide.

"Let them come. They know a full army of Adeptus Comitatenses awaits them. Our men will slaughter them like leaves as they did for the last two months. And this will buy time for the Grey Knights to do their work."

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

Kolossus and his men begun infiltrating the palace of the daemon general. Much stealth was required, but eventually, they arrived near the inner sanctum of the daemon general. There were lots of harsh voices heard as they crept silently down the corridor. "It seems Warmaster Belisarius has done his work," said Kolossus.

"Indeed. The daemons appear to be plagued with indecision," said one of his men.

"There aren't many here, strangely enough," pointed out one.

"Something doesn't feel right, doesn't it? Here we are, in the inner sanctum, and yet guards are few. Are they that confident? The army has been beating back horde after horde of the enemy, yet now, we don't see anyone." wondered Kolossus.

"Could they have detected us?"

"What purpose would it have served them? We are merely ten men. Sure we could have taken on a hundred of these daemons and killed them all, but still?"

Then a loud voice shouted. <<Enough! We will summon more men from the Otherworld and we will destroy these impetuous humans!>>

"I think we have our answer." Gesturing, Kolossus led his men into a charge into the throne room, slewing the surprised daemons, Kolossus then faced the Daemon general. <<Damn you Grey Knights of the False God Emperor. I know what you call him, though he eschews that title, but I do not fear him and his filth!>> yelled the Daemon general. He charged but was swiftly dispatched by Kolossus with his Nemesis Force Weapon.

"Well, that was that, but now we must close the gate," Kolossus directed his men and together they performed the procedure...

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

Slowly but surely, the army fighting fought their way into the city. The daemon army was in disarray without their leader, and without fresh reinforcements, they were surely doomed. The army took light casualties, nothing they could not heal. But soon, Ikonium and its surrounding lands were theirs to control. Belisarius met with Justicar Kolossus. "The gate was closed?" asked the Warmaster.

"Yes m'lord, as you requested."

"You have done well, Justicar. You have my thanks."

"No thanks needed. We all do our duty for the Despot."

Result: Ikonium was now under the control of Byzantium, and now much of the lands will fall under the Despotate's control. Total Lands gained thus far: 30-40 provinces. The rest of the year will be spent consolidating.

[PeZook]

"Would your noble King be kind enough to share... one of his master druids in exchange for a master gunsmith? We would of course trade our goods with you."

Upon hearing this, the forest witch accompanying the delegation screeched an unhumanly noise. The Varangian Guards keeping watch upon the throne room immediately raised their weapons, but the screech died down almost as soon as it began. Gromislaw, visibly shaken, looked quizzically at the witch and her druid caretaker. After about a minute, the caretaker nodded slowly.

"By all means, Your Highness, such an arrangement is entirely possible.", he finally told the Despot, and his voice almost didn't shake at all.

[DarthShady]

North of the Empire of Shadows

Upon hearing that the Demon Lords armies were on the move, the Barbarian Warlords of the region gathered their own armies to stand against him. They gathered an army of twenty thousand men, armed with swords,spears, axes, bows and arrows and light armour. Their cavalry numbered few but were the best that they had. Realizing that they were at a disadvantage against the Armies of the Dark, they started an ancient spell, calling upon the power of their gods. They planned to transform the strongest one among them, into a demigod, one that could stand against the Shadow Lord. The field of battle was chosen by the Barbarians, a valley between two mountains. They hoped that they could delay the Daemons long enough for their spell to work, they hoped that their gods would be powerful enough to defeat the Dark Lord, and they hoped that his death would bring them victory. When the Barbarians saw the armies of the Shadow Lord come and turn the day into night, they realized that the evil they were about to face was far more powerful than they expected.

On the ground thousands of human soldiers loyal to the Dark Lord marched, followed by thousands of his Vampires. Amidst them, Giant Golems with fiery red eyes walked. The Demilich wizards flew above them, radiating their evil glow and behind them the enormous Bebiliths shook the earth as they walked. The skies were filled with even more evil and powerful creatures, the Doombringers soared high above the battlefield and Shadow Dragons roared in the dark sky. Other things remained unseen in the dark, but their evil presence could be felt and it sent shivers down the spines of many a warrior. Still what worried the Barbarian leaders most, was not this vast army coming to destroy them, but the creature walking at it's front. The Shadow Lord himself, in his Demonic form. Standing nearly ten meters tall, with huge wings and dark red eyes. The Dark Lords name was appropriate, for it seemed he was made from darkness.

He raised his sword and the Demonic Army came to an immediate stop. He stared across the battlefield, with his might gaze, directly at the Barbarian Wardlords, causing a shiver to go down their spines.

"HEAR ME NOW, MORTALS! YOU WILL BOW BEFORE ME, OR YOU WILL CEASE TO EXIST!"

Hist terrible voice echoed through the night. At the sound of it some warriors tried to run, but were quickly stopped by their comrades. "Death to the cowards.", one of the warlords shouted and his will was done. The same warlord rode out in front of his army and gazed upon the Dark Lord.

"Never! We shall never surrender!", he shouted, "The Gods are with us, and we shall have Victory!"

"YOUR GODS WILL JOIN YOU IN DEATH", The Dark Lord answered and raised his hand towards the Warlord. The man immediately exploded in flames and within a few seconds disintegrated into ashes, along with his horse. The Dark Lord raised his sword and pointed it at the Barbarian Army, his dark hordes responded and charged the enemy.

The Battle was ferocious, the Human Warriors of the Shadow Lord charged the Barbarian hordes while Vampire Archers sent a rain of death upon them. The Demilichs used their powerful magic to slay groups of soldiers in an instant, and Golems tore men apart with their hands or stomped them with their feet, some were even thrown across the battlefield. Tanar'i Deamons dropped into the center of the Barbarian Formations and ripped them to pieces with their fiery whips and Vorpal swords. Doomgivers fired their mighty weapons at the Barbarians, killing hundreds of men in an instant and sending many more flying into their deaths. Shadow Dragons burned through the humans from the skies, and even the Dark Lord himself charged through the enemy formations, killing dozens with one move from his sword. Within minutes the Barbarian Hordes crumbled and began to flee, pursued by the Dark Army. It seemed as if the battle was lost, but then the ancient Barbarian Spell took effect and transformed the Warlord into a mighty warrior of the Gods.

The Barbarians gained new courage from his presence and charged the dark armies anew. The Barbarian Warrior of the Gods raised his axe and charged the Dark Lord, his warriors followed.

The Dark Lord merely laughed and then charged towards him, his dark army following behind. As the two giants collided they sent a massive shock wave of magical energy in all directions. Man and Demon alike were sent flying and tumbling to the ground. The Dark Lord attacked with powerful blows, forcing the Demigod on the defensive. Seeing the mass fighting all around them the Barbarian decided that he needed to end this quickly, he summoned up all the power that his gods could give him and with a lightning quick strike he hurled his axe into the Dark Lord. The axe struck the Dark One into the chest, sending an even more powerful shock wave of energy in all directions. The Barbarian Demigod was repulsed by the energy and he fell on his back. Rising from the ground he scanned his surroundings for the presence of the Dark Lord, only to be shocked with terror upon seeing the Dark Lord standing, apparently unharmed by his most powerful attack.

"How?", the Barbarian shouted in despair.

The Dark Lord laughed, and raised his sword.

"YOUR GODS ARE WEAK, MORTAL!", The Dark Lord said and charged the Barbarian with incredible speed. The Demigod had no time to react and was impaled through the chest by the Dark Ones sword. The Lord of Shadows raised his sword, with the Barbarian still impaled on it, and laughed.

"ALL SHALL FALL BEFORE ME!", he said and with a lightning quick motion of his sword he ripped the Barbarian in half.

With the defeat of their leader the Barbarian hordes crumbled and soon fell before the might of the Dark Armies, none were left alive.
-----------------------------------------

Half an hour later, the Dark Lord stood atop a small hill, surrounded by a mass of flying Demilich Wizards. He began to chant in the Demonic tongue, magical energies filled the air and the ground itself began to shake. He ripped open the fabric of reality and dragged the Barbarian Gods from their Ethereal Realm, forcing them to manifest in front of him. Summoning his dark energies, he unleashed a torrent of Evil Magic upon the Gods, destroying them in an instant.

"IT IS DONE!, he said and transformed into his human form.

One of his Vampire Commanders appeared in front of him, "My lord, I bring news from the south. Your army is victorious, the Barbarians fall before your might."

"Good. Inform the army commanders to continue forward, I have some business to take care of.", he said and vanished in a vortex of flames.

Result: The Dark Lords armies conquer many provinces in the North and in the South, The Dark Lord Himself defeats a Barbarian Demigod and then kills the Gods that empowered him.

Map of conquered territories:

[Fingolfin_Noldor]

"Would your noble King be kind enough to share... one of his master druids in exchange for a master gunsmith? We would of course trade our goods with you."

Upon hearing this, the forest witch accompanying the delegation screeched an unhumanly noise. The Varangian Guards keeping watch upon the throne room immediately raised their weapons, but the screech died down almost as soon as it began. Gromislaw, visibly shaken, looked quizzically at the witch and her druid caretaker. After about a minute, the caretaker nodded slowly.

"By all means, Your Highness, such an arrangement is entirely possible.", he finally told the Despot, and his voice almost didn't shake at all.

"In that case, we have a deal. Come, let's enjoy some refreshment and food." Gesturing to the servants, who promptly brought out some wines and food for all to share and eat. "No meat, of course." The Despot assured.

[The Romulan Republic]

General Alonzo stood atop the hill, peering through his spyglass at the forces laid out in front of him. A few days before the army had left the border fortress in the still semi-ruined city of Naples. From their they had moved north along the coast, supported by a small fleet of supply ships. An entire division had been allocated to this task, several legions including companies of infantry, archers, and supporting cavalry. But it was Alonzo's presence that instilled confidence in his men. Finishing his observations, he turned to the assembled commanders of the legions.

"This battle should not be overly difficult. The barbarians still remember our last encounter, and the advantage of fear is on our side. They are rank with it. They intend to remain under cover in the woods and hills, and impede our advance. Our role, therefore, must be to lure them out into a decisive field engagement. In the open, our discipline and courage will easily crush there numbers. Send out the cavalry. Use scouts and light cavalry to raid and harry there villages. Attack them on their own terrain, and force them to defend themselves in open battle."


The wind whipped through the rigging as the spray sprung up over the bow of the caravel. The design was a new innovation in shipbuilding, but an effective one. A ship built to sail far beyond established borders, to explore new lands. A ship fitting for its captain.

Marcus Verda was an anomaly in the Kingdom. Nothing definite was known about his past save that six years before he had returned from an unusually far reaching voyage to strange new lands, bearing all manner of magical artifacts. The Crown had put this daring explorer under their control, and he was no longer a private merchant captain, but rather an emissary of the Crown. Beyond that, their were rumors that he was the illigitimate son of a nobleman, or perhaps he had simply been born to some commoner in the ruins of some city. What was known was that he was the finest navigator, seaman, and duelist in the service of the Crown, and Captain Verda was nothing if not adept at promoting his own image.

This voyage was intended to take him south, across the mediterranean to Egypt, then along North Africa to rendezvous with a pair of troop ships at Gibralter. Thence, his travels would take him north, up the coast as far France or Britain, seldom visited by the emissaries of the Crown in such dark times. The same thrill ran through him as it did at the start of every voyage: the thrill of the unknown, of daring deeds and strange lands, and a chance to prove his worth. Still resting his hand on the tiller, he turned to the man beside him.

"What do you see, master? Fair sailing and great profit, or storms and hostile shores?"

The mage never lowered his hood, or turned to face the captain.

"Calm seas and a fine wind ahead, captain. I scry the seas in all directions, and there is naught else I can see."

Verda nodded. He preffered on the whole to trust to his own luck and strength, but he had to admit the royal Council of Mages knew what it was doing. Having one onboard had proved useful before, and he wasn't complaining now. He turned back to face into the wind, losing himself for a moment in the cool breeze, the hot Sun, the spray of the water, and the creaking of the deck. No matter where he went, the sea would always be where he was most at home.

(To make things clear, my army is moving up the west coast of the Italian peninsula from Naples, invading barbarian territory. My explorer is sailing from my port in Sicily, heading south-east to Egypt on a diplomatic mission).

[Akhlut]

Wawel Castle

"Zeusborn Bjornsson, envoy from the Republic Of Crimea!", the herold announced and thumped his official stick-slash-mark of office against the floor.

The envoy entered the castle's throne room and bowed.

"Your highness, I come from my lord with words of peace and gifts for the great Pogorian people. We wish to open official relations with your mighty Kingdom, to facilitate trade and properity for all."

"Rise, honored envoy. We accept your gifts with gratitude. We are most interested in your offer ; Please, elaborate on it."

"Your highness, the Republic thrives on trade, as you know, and we feel that all who engage in trade with us prosper as well. Thus, we would like to open formal trade routes between Pogoria and the Republic for the benefit of both our lands. As you can see from our gifts, the Republic has much to offer to your kingdom, as the wealth of the Black Sea is vast and we our generous. However, as your highness knows, trade goes both ways, and thus we would like to trade with the Pogorians officially, instead of the few merchants travelling through your lands and bringing the Republic but a taste of the goods of your lands. We think that once Kiev joins the Republic, we shall have eliminated the stranglehold the boyars have on the Dneiper, and trade between us shall flourish, instead of keeping merchants from passing to the Republic."

"My elected lord also wishes for both our nations to invest in trade roads and river craft so that our nations might trade with much more ease. Does your majesty agree?"