NationStates Jolt Archive

IMPORTANT! One post per person here with their necessary info. Comments/questions here: Mythology International Incident (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=9892741&posted=1#post9892741)

Fantasy Earth Rules

This is an RP game in which players either play as a kingdom and try to control the world, or as a god and try to help your faithful to victory, and smite down the unfaithful. The game will start with early bronze age and end whenever technology becomes difficult to combine with the magic [1850s?].


General

The time scale will start at 1 real day = 1 game year. It will be slowed down when necessary (major wars and similar). If nothing is happening, the gods will be prompted to cause some major event. New players can always be added during the game. Gods are obliged to help noobs so that they have a chance at getting a good start. Each nation has one main god, who is responsible to enforce proper play. A god can be the main god of more than one nation. Good role playing is enforceable, and gods will punish bad Role Players. Battles will be resolved by the concerned parties. If they cannot agree, the main gods of the nations will decide. If they cannot agree, I will decide.


Gods

(Please note that I do not count a normal god in these rules)
When a player creates a new god, he must give himself: A name, a domain (as in what he’s the god of), an alignment (Good/Evil, Chaotic/Lawful), and anything else which my be necessary to describe the god. I will then assign some nations to believe in him and at least one nation to have him as head god. A god must be fair, He may not ignore gifts from a nation and cannot favor a nation which does nothing to worship him. Different gods have different powers and amounts of power. A god’s power will notably depend on how many nations worship him, a god worshiped by a barbaric tribe will have notably less effect on the game as a deity worshiped by 20 world superpowers. I will tell each god what powers he has and how frequently he may use them. If a god wants another power, he may ask me and I might accept. Gods which Role Play badly will have powers removed and I will have worshipers forget him.
Gods may also take a physical form. This can either be as an apparition, in which case he cannot take any major action, like joining a battle (however, you may come down in the form of a bull and rape an innocent maiden). Otherwise a god may be a mortal with god-powers. It will not die of old age but you can be stabbed, poisoned, etc. If it dies the player will continue as a normal god. This is interesting as a major advantage in battle, or a goddess can marry a king and be extremely helpful to one nation.
As gods, you are responsible to ensure good Role Playing. Smite down the bad players with all your wrath.


Kings, Emperors, And Similar

When a new nation is created, it will have one large town and the area around it, or something equivalent. It will be assigned a main god, but it may choose any other gods to worship. They may also be assigned other gods to “believe in” The player will be allowed to decide on the kind of culture his nation has, including language, moral values, religion, and everything else interesting. Remember that nations must not necessarily be human. Each nation will create characters for important roles in their nation, the king obviously, and things like high priests, generals and any other important character. If a player wishes to give a character magic powers, he can ask a god. Gods may also provide you with powerful heroes now and then, or powerful characters opposed to the moral values of your nation. Good Role Playing will of course be enforced by your gods, and a god which you do not “believe in” may not directly affect your nation. If you think a god is being unfair, you may telegram me about it.


Battles

Please note the following is just a suggestion. You can resolve wars any way you agree on.
A nation may send an army out to attack another nation at any time. The player informs that nation of anything it should know about it, and his opponent’s main god about anything he shouldn’t know. The nation being attacked then explains his reaction and says what that player’s main god then tells the result of the battle. No changes can be made from this point. If both nations agree the god’s judgment was unfair, they may agree upon how the battle went and cancel the god’s judgment. Else, the god’s judgment is final. Remember that you can always report an unfair god to me. The defender thus has an advantage because if his god is favorable to him he may give him some info about the enemy before the battle, but the judgment must be 100% unbiased.

All credit to Einhauser for this history of the world

In the beginning there existed only the equal and opposite forces of Life and Death. Eventually these forces changed, taking on divine form until at last the gilded goddess of Life, Garilith, and the dark god of Death, Nasbat, were created. For endless ages these two titans fought an apocalyptic battle, until finally Nasbat managed to land a crushing blow to the top of Garilith’s head. Before she collapsed, a swipe of her hand caved in his windpipe. Dying, Nasbat collapsed on the prone Garilith. Before he departed the material realm, Nasbat raped Garilith in a final act of hatred. Trapped under his body, Garilith was unable to do anything but watch herself grow fat.

After ninety eons of pregnancy, she gave birth at last. Out of her womb marched the fully-grown Spardlakon, god of soldiers and discipline, Arden, god of the hearth and honorable dead, Orichaelchos, god of defenses and smiths, and Nollij, god of wisdom and learning. Behind them ushered forth a great host, containing among its ranks the earth, moon, and stars. Unable to bear the pain any longer, Garilith took her own life. Unwilling to accept defeat, the forces of Life reformed her spirit into Aphelia, goddess of life and nature, and Death reformed into Etrikai, god of death and destruction. None of these immortals were nearly as powerful as their parents had been, so to avoid their folly they split the earth into separate kingdoms, over which one god will rule as sovereign.

Nollij, however, felt that he had been slighted and given a bad kingdom. In revenge he caused thoughts to be heard in the head of an animal of the forest. This animal clung to the newfound understanding, and spread it among its peers. Nollij shielded this new species from the other gods until the animals had become the perfect race, the Cryys. At this point Nollij revealed his project to them, and laughed when they complained of an unfair advantage. In anger, Etrikai plotted to kill Nollij in his sleep, but the other gods found out about it. Strangely, they all decided to help, such was their hatred of Nollij.

The deed was carried out, an Orichalcum blade, furnished by Orichaelchos, blessed by Etrikai, cleaned by Aphelia, inspected by Arden, and wielded by Spardlakon was thrust into Nollij’s spine, killing him instantly. After dumping his body into the ocean, which then swelled with knowledge, they cursed the Cryys to return to their animal state. However, Nollij’s blessings still clung to them, and the curse only partly worked, causing rampant mutation, but not reverting them all the way. Now, however, the Cryys were infuriated. To deal with them, the remaining gods pooled their magic together and created all of the other races, in order to keep the Cryys from going rampant.

Gods, put in your faithful nations.

Spardlakon

General of Gods, The Heavenly Warlord, Father of The Soldiers.

Spardlakon is the god of those who fight with wisdom instead of brute force. Organized armies, battle formations, camps, marches, maneuvers. This is his domain.
Soldiers and generals form the bulk of his followers, especially within the ranks of S'oduas and Skavens of Kettz clan.

Why to Pray Him?
Those who fight under the blessing of Spardlakon rarely lose. When the battle hangs in the balance, when both sides are using every last tip of stamina they still have and fighting with everything they got, in that decisive moment the thunderous laugh can be heard, and the tired soldiers look up to the sky. They see the massive figure of a muscular black charger and their God in the golden saddle, swinging his sword high and the echoing voice, “FORWARD!”, gives them the encouragement they need, new strength fills their tired bodies, and the battle is won.

The physical appearance of The Father of Soldiers is the figure of a massive, two-and-a-half meters tall man wearing a silver armour. His skin is black like that of a demon, but his eyes shine like blue diamonds. His mount is Fargyin, a stunning, black warhorse. “Where the Fargyin has charged will the grass never grow”, like the saying goes. The legs of the Holy Horse are in fire, and it leaves a flaming path wherever it goes.

Worshipping and Rituals
Spardlakon does not require huge temples or sacrificing. He can see straight into the soul of the one that says his name aloud, and knows who are his true followers. It is common though that before the battle the army performs an ancient rite for him. They knee to pray his bless. When the whole army is kneeled, every man seeking for the sign of the acceptance of their god, those who achieve it see his figure in the sky, or just in their mind. This kneeling rite is the oldest of the formal rituals that are used to pray Spardlakon. There aren’t many of them, but this one is the most important of those few.
The symbol that many of the worshippers of Father of The Soldiers use is the pictures of The Sword and The Lightning tattooed in their arms, Lightning to the left and Sword to the right hand. The tattoo is not made of colour, but a scar. Someone with the blessing of the god does it with a dagger as a part of a formal ritual of becoming a true soldier.

Chosen Ones
Spardlakon has no actual priests. Some of his most loyal worshippers, men who are natural born leaders and experts of warfare, are however greeted with special gifts. Their scar tattoos turn to shine like silver and their skin becomes darker, eventually even black. They become physically stronger, their reflexes and speed increases and no disease or poison can touch them. They can be killed by violence, but their wounds heal quickly and due their improved abilities the killing of them becomes quite damn hard. Their influence on those around them is stunning; their words sound like the words of god and are almost impossible to resist. In battlefield, the presence of one of these Sacred Colonels is a great advantage. As individual fighters they are also priceless.

Spardlakon's heavenly Adjutants look much like the Sacred Colonels except being taller and more muscular, and wearing and armour that looks like the one their Master uses. They are sometimes used as messengers, but this is not common as their god usually speaks in the dreams of his mortal servants. In few cases they have taken part in a battle, but this is very, very exceptional.

The Afterlife
Best of hose who pray Spardlakon and fight like good soldiers throughout their lives, join the ranks of the Household Guard of their Father. Rest are given the eternal sleep in the Halls of Lakeidamon, The House of The God.



PS. I don't think there's really use in Bumping after 2 minutes ;)

If I also play as a normal god I'll post myself here.

Name: Spoot Halflings
Pronunciation: Sp-oo-T Har-fli-ins
God: Aphelia
Orientation: Good/ Lawful

A Spoot Halfling stands at around one foot tall fully grown, some have been known to extend as high as two foot and are regarded as giants by fellow Halflings, their small size gives great advantages especially when it comes to food of which the common Halfling needs little, disadvantages however outweigh any advantage, a Spoot Halfling has a brain similar in size to that of a common Sparrow leading to very slow technological progress, it is said that in the time it takes for a Halfling to solve a simple equation a civilization could both rise and fall, a Halfling also has problems when it comes to predators who find the Halfling a tasty snack luckily their goddess Aphelia is most gracious in her gifts, quite a few of the Halflings possess the magical ability of Illusion, some of these go on to become Bards and others become Priests.

Technology

The Halfling technological pinnacles are that of the Barrow and of the flint tipped spear, which, as a peaceful race, is rarely used, there are amongst the sea of intellectually challenged some who have (only minor) a higher IQ and develop the Spootian technology, these Halflings have about the intelligence of the regular man and rely only on their common sense to develop technology.

Religion

The Halflings worship the Goddess Aphelia of the Forests, hence why the Spootian Barrows are built inside densely forested areas, and they rely on Aphelia to supply them with the Berries and supplies needed to survive in the forest and to pass on any other gifts that she may bestow.

Culture

The Halfling race is a peaceful one, they have evolved this way due to their lack of intelligence forcing the Halfling to work together, it is a Halflings greatest mission to make as many friends in it’s short life, a Spootian will often hold a party in order to find others like itself and will also loan out parts of it’s Barrow house to visiting Halflings or other races if need be, you will never find a Halfling with a cold shoulder.

Heroes, Kings and Priests

Hero: The Halfling Hero is not seen in the light of other heroes, other heroes from other nations are seen as tall burly rugged men who travel mysteriously through from town to town, the Spootian hero is a man (or woman) who has made the most of their lives by becoming everyone’s friend and ally, this Halfling is truly a Spootian hero.

King: King Spooty the 126th of the Spooty dynasty (40 generations inbred) rules over the lands of Spoot, he is a gentle king who considers his rule to be only constitutional and that the people should do only as Aphelia wishes, he has rather successfully managed to keep his kingdom relatively happy whilst also managing to control the race.

Priests: a Priest of Aphelia wear the brightest clothes to make sure that Aphelia can see them in such dark forest, they tend to be the corner-stone of all Barrows and will make many thousands of friends in their lives as they are incredibly trusted, their trust is matched only by their outstanding devotion to Aphelia.

Name: Orichaelchos
Pronunciation: Or-ih-chale-kose
Domain: Defenses (walls, armor, shields, defensive magic, anything else one can use to defend oneself), Smiths (jewelry, armor (again), tools, anything else made of metal by hand), and creating in general.
Orientation: Good/ Lawful
Nations: Tocrowkia, Tanthan

Orichaelchos, whose name literally translates to “Of Orichalcum” in a long forgotten language only He speaks, is an incredibly powerful god. Although He despises taking a mortal form, He has chosen to retain a heavenly body. This takes on the resemblance of a powerful Minotaur of mythic proportions. His head is a dirty skull taken from a dead cow, and His godly influence has caused twin horns to arc up out of the temples. His upper body is that of a heavily muscled man, but covered in constantly writhing archaic tattoos, while His lower body is that of a bull, with hooves and a thin tail, as well as short brown fur. A belt of gray feathers adorns His thick waist, and liquid fire drips continuously from His nostril holes.

Orichaelchos is armed with a mighty double-headed warhammer named “Grungr*,” made of the divine metal Orichalcum. Bands of said metal reinforce the oaken shaft, which is as tall as the god himself. Such is His strength that He can wield this gargantuan weapon with one hand if need be, and use the very cliffs of the Earth as His shield.

Orichalcum:

Orichaelchos’ greatest gift is to bestow the gold/copper alloy Orichalcum onto a mortal. This metal is impenetrable because it has been laced with the very essence of Orichaelchos. It can turn aside blades, arrows, bullets, and even magic. The only thing that can harm Orichalcum is another god.

Orichalcum can be reproduced by mortals, but it would lack the magical abilities of the true alloy. It would also incur the wrath of Him, because it is His holy armor.

Worship and invocation of Orichaelchos:

Armor in any form is holy to Orichaelchos. The more of it a person wears, the more His light shines on them. However, if the armor compromises agility too much, then the ability to shield the wearer is nullified, and His love is withdrawn.

Any object that defends anything else automatically has worth in His eyes. As such walls, hills, rivers, and other large barriers are holier than, let’s say, a wooden shield. The one exception to this is armor of any kind, which is doubly blessed by Him.

To ask extra blessings from Orichaelchos, an appropriate sacrifice must be made. This can be any animal with naturally occurring defenses (Armadillos, Rhinoceros, Skunks, etc…) or if the need for blessing is dire, a mortal warrior in full armor. Immolation is the preferred method of sending the sacrifices to Him, but in a pinch a simple stab will usually do the trick.

Orichaelchos should be invoked anytime a worshipper needs extra strength, physical defense, or when a building is being raised.

The afterlife

When a faithful worshipper of Orichaelchos dies, regardless of race or species, their soul is drawn from them and taken to His impregnable heavenly fortress, Casar Dun. There their spirit flesh is girded with Orichalcum, a weapon of the same alloy bequeathed to them, and divine powers bestowed upon their ghostly heads. Then they are placed among the vast ranks of His own legions. In the time of the end this grand host shall sally forth from Casar Dun, with Orichaelchos himself at the fore, and descend to the earth to do battle with all those who oppose Him.

Casar Dun

Casar Dun is Orichaelchos’ home and fortress. The outer walls are granite cliffs that stretch into infinity both below and aboveground. A ten-mile tall gate of solid Orichalcum, called the Gate of Santhirn, is the only way in or out of the castle complex. Inside the walls are great dormitories forged of iron and stone that stretch for as far as the eye can see in all directions, where the innumerable soldiers of His army rest.

In the very center of this fortress resides the gigantic forge, with which Orichaelchos creates the army’s Orichalcum equipment. Said metal is mined from infinite seams running under the surface, and then blessed individually by avatars. The sky is perpetually overcast from the fumes of the forge, and all plant-life has been burned away as fuel. The ground is thick with mud.

Heroes, avatars, and champions:

In time of great need for a protected nation, Orichaelchos may deem it necessary to provide an extra boon to His people. He may do this through magic, or He may do it through a physical form. There are three distinct shapes He can use, each of which will be discussed below:

Avatar: An avatar is a portion of the god Himself transformed into a mortal body. It wields immense powers and is nearly unstoppable. Age does not affect an avatar, but wounds and poison can still kill it. If destroyed, the avatar returns to merge with the rest of Him.

Heroes: A hero is a mortal fathered by Orichaelchos. They are born fully grown, armed, and armored, which is quite the experience for the poor mother. Possessing the knowledge and wisdom of their divine dad, they can either become great kings or mighty warriors; one thing is assured when dealing with heroes: they always make an impact. They do not visibly age either, but usually have a lifespan of 300-700 years. They can, of course, be killed by wounding or poison.

Champions: A champion is a mortal empowered by Orichaelchos for a specific task. The power can range from super strength to the ability to fly and raise force fields, depending on the task the mortal is attempting. This power will stay with the mortal for as long as it takes to complete said objective, but if He finds out that the mortal is purposely delaying finishing the task in order to keep the powers, He will strip the mortal of his soul and condemn him (or her) to an eternity of endless tasks.

* pronounced “Grun-jer”

The Moors description now resides in Moorington (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=9958377#post9958377)'s Fanasty Page.

The Cryys

Children of a dead God, the Cryys are cursed for their fealty to their dead master. The Cryys have roamed the world for centuries in nomadic bands, living off the land and raiding settlements of other races for supplies. While some have attempted to make peace with other societies, their misshapen forms have prevented all attempts.

The Cryys are rudimentarily humanoid, with two arms, two legs, and a head. However, the resemblance ends there. Individual Cryys vary to the extreme, but nearly all are hideous. Animalistic features, tormented flesh, massive claws, and deformed limbs, all are common in the Cryys race. Still, the most disturbing feature is that any part not corrupted is unfailingly perfect. Whether a face worthy of a demi-god, or legs of an Olympic sprinter, the Cryys are still visibly the Children of a God.

Castes
There are several offshoots of the Cryys line, all of which are relatively stable.

The Unworthy: The Unworthy make up the vast majority of the Cryys, being the misshapen masses that act as a labour pool for the Cryys Tribes. The Unworthy tend to pray constantly to their dead Father, even though their prayers remain unanswered.

The Warriors: Hulking monstrosities, the Warriors possess potent natural weaponry. Whether a crocidilian maw or the claws of a bear, the Warriors are potent combatants. Their thick scaly hides protect them from the weapons of their enemies, turning swords and arrows alike.

The Messengers: Lithe and strong, the Messengers are borne aloft on their magnificent wings. How these manifest differs, from bird-like angelic wings springing from their back, to arms reminiscent of that of a bat. The Messengers are used to carry news to and fro between Cryys encampments, and act as go-betweens for the Maagei.

The Maagei: The Maagei are the rulers of the Cryys, and are all alike in a single way: they are free of all mutation. The walking image of perfection, the Maagei are truly Olympian in form. Their beautiful bodies are matched only by their keen intellects, enabling them to rule the Cryys with an iron hand. The Maagei are few in number, with an estimated one Maagei for every thousand Cryys.

History

The Cryys wandered in tribal bands for centuries, acting as raiders and bandits to survive. Slowly, their numbers dwindled from their once proud state, their bodies mutating as they devolved from their favored status. Finally, when the Cryys thought they could fall no more, salvation came in the form of the Maagei. Pure of form and thought, the Maagei brought hope to the Cryys that they could one day regain their divine status. With the Maagei came unrivaled success on the battlefield, and with their newfound wealth, the Cryys founded their one and only city. Its vast walls lead in a spiral around its central spire, and it is there that the Maagei now dwell. This city is simply called "Ka'Mashaal," which, in the Cryys tongue merely means "The City."

Name: Aphelia
Pronunciation: Uh-feel-ee-uh
Domain: Nature (animals, land, harvest, flora/fauna, elements [water, fire, etc…], weather, anything included in nature)
Orientation: Semi-Good

Peoples:
- The Elven Forests (The Elven Forests)
- Spooty (Spoot Halflings)
- Theao (Ne"Fael)

Aphelia is a very powerful God with domain over a vast assortment of things. In her heavenly appearance, Aphelia, is a beautiful goddess with a full figure and long slightly curly hair. She wears a silk pink garb from her chest down to her feet, which is see though along her stomach and over her entire legs. Her body is that of the most beautiful woman in the world and her face is of the heavens.

Aphelia has servants called Arabi’mitore, who are nymphs that attend to her needs. Normally the needs are personal but every so often Aphelia sends them down to earth to do her bidding.

Aphelia also keeps a pet feline called Amber. The kitten is roughly the size of a large SUV (just for reference) but it has the ability to transform into a large lion the size of a cottage. When Amber is in a good and playful mood she will generally be in the kitten form – when she is in a bad mood and/or has been sent by Aphelia to wreak havoc, she is in the lion form.

Worship
Aphelia despises the sacrifice of anything living and instead honors those who pay worship through caring for nature. The more a person or society cares for nature the more Aphelia bestows her gifts and light upon them.

Those who defile nature in anyway from destroying forests, slaughtering animals, or defiling the land in anyway will face the wrath of Aphelia. She may curse the person or society with destructive storms (lightning, snow, hail, hurricanes, tornados, etc.) and natural disasters (blazes, floods, earthquakes, etc.), or by not allowing the earth to yield anything (become barren) and making the animals disappear or become ferocious.

However, she does not oppose the hunting of animals for food – just as long as they aren’t all killed off or tortured.

Blessings
Aphelia’s blessings are numerous. She can multiply the amount of food a society has by making the land yield more or increasing the amount of animals. She can help the towns by providing much needed rain or by preventing fires from happening and destroying buildings. However her greatest blessings can move the land, causing great mountains to form.

Rarely will she bless her people by causing suffering to others… but it does happen occasionally.

Aphelia has an affinity for women and often bestows gifts upon them including beauty and children.

The Afterlife
Aphelia takes all those who she looked favorably upon into the afterlife with her. The people live in the most beautiful land ever conceived and can live peacefully there away from the torments of the world.


Heroes, avatars, and champions:

In time of great need for a protected nation, Aphelia may deem it necessary to provide help to her people in other ways than simple blessings. She can do this through magic, or She may do it through a physical form. There are three distinct shapes She can take:

Avatar: An avatar is a portion of the god herself transformed into a mortal body. It wields immense powers and is nearly unstoppable. Age does not affect an avatar, but wounds and poison can still kill it. If destroyed, the avatar returns to merge with the rest of Her.

Heroes: A hero is a mortal born to the great Aphelia. They can be born from infancy or full grown depending on what Aphelia decides. Possessing the knowledge and wisdom of their divine mother, they can either become great kings or mighty warriors; one thing is assured when dealing with heroes: they always make an impact. They do not visibly age either, but usually have a lifespan of 300-700 years. They can, of course, be killed by wounding or poison.

Champions: A champion is a mortal empowered and favored for one reason or another by Aphelia. She bestows great knowledge, strength, and power to the mortal allowing them to become very influential.

Bump

Name: The S`odua
Pronunciation: Saw-or-do-wah
God: Spardlakon
Alignment: Chaotic/ Evil

A race of humans descended from merfolk. They have a special connection with water and the sea but their main interest lies in the military. Their whole society and history is centred on it. Those who bear The Sword and The Lightning are revered in the community as first among equals. They have a monarchy of sorts, Kings are chosen by the reigning King on the merit of their success in the military.

Technology
Bronze age

Culture
Spardlakon is the primary god of the S`odua. There is a great temple to him in the centre of the capital. Since Spardlakon has no priests, the temple is looked after by retired soldiers. It is considered a great honour to be chosen to do so. Soldiers and Generals kneel to pray to him before every battle, that He may grant them the means to defeat their enemies. Sacrifices are taboo. The S`odua consider them to be gross waste of manpower.
Art is almost completely dominated by reconstructions of famous war scenes and war memorials. Artists either don’t have the inclination or the necessary support to do anything too different.


Heroes
Heroes are chosen at the discretion of Spardlakon. Throughout history many heroes have risen to become king of the S`odua.

Come here, young man, and listen to my tale. It is a story of greed, of power and might, of treachery and noble deeds but most of all it is the story of the Black People, the Caer'no-dein, the Dark Elves and any and every other name you may have for my people. Come and listen and take heed of what this story tells you, or you will all perish as our vast hordes roam the earth searching for sacrifices worthy our mighty god.

To the far east, in the heart of the vast ash deserts of Nagger, on the banks of the river Ael'ver Don, lies the black fortress of Caer'no-dein El'Nochow; the home of the Caer'no-dein, or Dark Elves as they known to outsiders. They are fierce race, a warlike people and the worthy servants of their god. Their delicate features and melodic tongue are misleading, and many a foe has payed dearly for underestimating their strnegth and determination. They retain the fair skin and small statue of the High Elves, but the ashes of their kingdom has covered them in a thin layer of dust. Their eyes glow red with hatred, and they disdain every other species that walk the earth.

The history of the Caer'no-dein begins over a thousand years ago, with the creation of the Caer'al-efey El'Amrar. The Caer, or High Elves, shared a common ancestry with Men but has long been separated from their distant cousins. The Caer, led by their king Aler Mala settled on the banks of Ael'ver Don, in what was then the ancient forests of Calader Al'Amer, and built there the white city of Caer'al-efey Al'Amrar, with high walls of whitest marble, decorated with gold and silver. In the centre stood a single white tower, made out of an ancient mountain, carved out over hundreds of yeras by wind and rain. There they made their temples, from the top of the tower the king ruled over all the land as far as the eye could see. Their valiant troops conquered the petty human tribes in the area, enslaved them and took them to their Elven city to toil for their new masters.
This blessed practice continued for nearly five hundred years, but as the old king Henalen died, his two sons fought over the golden throne of their father. Arwalen was the cunniest one, and through guile and desception he succeeded his father and claimed the throne of Caer'al-efey Al'Amrar as his own while his older brother Eirendil was banished from the lands. But Eirendil was an honourable man, and he would not have his rightful seat taken by an usurper, and so he went into hiding in the mountains from which he unleashed terrible ash storms upon the White City. Legions of demons and dark creatures were spawned within the fiery forges of the burning mountains and army after army of dark shades and lumbering giants were sent forth to smash down the puny walls of the White City. In secrecy he recruited the Free Men as mercenaries, the trolls of the mountains and the goblins of the forests, the beasts of the land and the hawks from the highest peaks in the Shrouded Cliffs. The dark host of Men equipped with swords and armour forged out of the black metals of the mountains, trolls towering above the battle lines and eagle riders armed with bows and jagged javelins, poured down the mountainside, crashed through the forests and marched over the plains. Their ranks stretched to the horizon, their numbers were uncountable and their march made the earth quake and sounded like deafening thunder to the ears of the High Elves.
The host of the High Elves marched to meet them on the field of battle, led by the Arwalen the Deceiver. Their army was vastly outnumbered by the noble followers of Eirendil, but theirs were the allegiance of the many wicked witch elves of the east, the fanatical followers of the pagan gods. Devotees of the god of war, Hernaq, the witches wielded poisoned blades, cruel maces and flails and whips. Their war dance and howling madness strengthened the resolve of the defenders who formed a wall of shields and spears pointed at the warriors of Eirendil. Arrows darkened the sky and the field was coloured red with Elven blood even before the melee began, as the archers on both sides fired volley after volley of arrows and the skirmishers threw their javelins at the enemy ranks. But at last the lines met, Eirendils swordsmen crashed into the lines of the usurper's followers, throwing the men in the shieldwall away as easily as though they were mere dolls. As the righteous forces of Eirendil pushed forward though, the witch elves joined the battle and, wielding sharp daggers and short swords in both hands, the attack slowly grinded to a halt. Eirendil ordered his phalanxes forward, forminga solid battleline that would contain the enemy counter-attack while his swordsmen retreated to safer positions. As the lines clashed once again the eagles swept down from the sky upon the foe, their riders throwing their javelins and firing their arrows. The swordsmen, tired as they were but always loyal to their great and noble ruler, hurried to the flanks to surround the vile foe.
But alas, the noble army of our hero and lord Eirendil was crushed in that very moment. With victory within his reach he was closer to claiming his birthright than ever, the White City and the Elven empire was his for the taking. Oh, but the sorcery and witchcraft of his villainous brother cost us him the battle, as the arrows of the foe catched fire, and flaming arrows raines upon the heads of the brave soldiers of Eirendil. The soldiers couldn't fight sorcery of this kind, and Eirendil ordered the troops to fall back and reatreat from the field of battle.
But inside the White City the wretched humans had seized the moment as their masters were gone, they threw off their encumbering fetters, grabbed whatever weapon they found and marched upon the White Tower itself. And as the elven victors and kinsmen of the usurper Arwalen returned from the field of battle they found their city ablaze and their homes reduced to ashes. The High Elves took vengeance upon the insubordinate slaves, and set out to rebuild their fair home in another country, for they could no longer stay in the dear lands of Nagger while the righteous Eirendil still roamed the countryside with his band of loyal warriors.
Five years later Eirendil once again returned to the site of the White City, prepared for yet another battle. As he found the once oh so beautiful city reduced to smoldering ashes and dust, he fell bitter tears of blood and cried out to the gods a terrible oath: that he and his kin would forever hunt the humans for burning the White City, and forever would they wage war against the High Elves for leaving their slaves unattended. And he commanded his followers that on the site of their beloved home would their be built a monument so terrible that all the folks in all the lands shall tremble with fear, and the very Earth itself shall cry out in despair. Thus was the Black Empire of Caerwar-dein Nomar built out of the burnt marble of their former homes and the ashes of their forests, and the people called themselves the Dark Elves to be ever reminded of that terrible night when their home was wiped from the face of the Earth. And they turned to the worship of Etrikai, the lord of Death, to aid them in this quest, and many were the sacrifices that that day painted the streets of their newly built city red with blood.
To honour their new god, they formed the order of the Witch Elves; taking the name of the devotees of the pagan gods that ensured The Deceiver's victory in the Battle of the White City. The new order however, are loyal subjects to their king and their god, being ruled by six High Priestesses handpicked by the Witch King.
It is the Witch Elves' duty to pick out those to be sacrificed from the scores of slaves and captives that are taken to the Black City, and then to sacrifice them when the moon is full. On that night those chosen are lead up the stairs of the ziggurat Ler Naloch where the High Priestesses waits besides a single block of stone, knife in hand and their faces covered by terrible masks; ready to do their sacred work and cut the still beating heart of the chosen ones.
The High Priestesses answer to none but the Witch King and their god, and woe the man who would defy them for they shall surely suffer a fate worse than death, aye worse yet than anything you can possibly imagine. Each hold different titles and administer one of the seven districts each, the seventh and final being under the direct control of the Witch King himself. They maintain their own police force and militia, and are obliged to supply the Witch King's raiding parties with Witch Elves and conscripts, this is hardly a problem since all Dark Elves bear an eternal hatred for other races and will gladly follow, and those who don't rarely live long enough to cause trouble.

The story of the Dark Elves, as told by a captured warrior

The Dark City itself is divided into seven districts, with the Black Tower and it's surroundings being the central seventh district and ruled directly by the Witch King and his Dark Guard. The six others are governed by the High Priestesses of Etrikai, who are charged with maintaining law and order and to administer monthly sacrifices to the Lord of Death. To find sacrifices the Witch King organizes raids against other folks, and the captives are sent home for slavery and later, when they have tired themselves in the mines and in whatever service the Empire might have of them.
The city is surrounded by the high Walls of Death, as foreigners call them, which reach all the way to the heaven and are manned by the loyal militia of our people. Ne'er has the walls been breached, and ne'er shall the Black City fall as long as any militiaman still draws breath behind the coronations.
Inside the walls are the slums, the quarters of the poor and slaves who live as animals and wild beasts. The milita rarely venture into this part of the city, and the area is runned by local gangs and crime lords, though not even they in their pride would be so foolish as to try and stop the Witch Elves when the moon is full and the sacrifices are made.

OOC: More things to be added later.

Name: Caerwar-dein Nomar
Common name: The Empire of the Dark Elves
God: Etrikai
Alignment: Evil, very evil
Ruler: The Witch King Eirendil
High Priestesses: Nachol, Lashow, Aerbanen, Carwelden, Machwerl and Erlich
Technology: Bronze

Name: Etrikai
Pronunciation: Et-tree-kay
Domain: Death (Necromancy, Sacrifice, Death in battle, Disease, poison, Murder)
Alignment: Chaotic Evil

A Brief History of Death:

It is said, that as Aphelia nurtured and grew nature from seed; that her shadow stirred; and grew to give birth to children; malicious sprites that scorned life and light;p and tore at the fabric of the worlds. One such sprite; was Etrikai; not the power he was; but a cunning little shade; consuming his brothers; growing in strength. He found he had no gift to give to the universe; no divine talent; till he killed; felt life ebb away; and drew power from it. From the first souls that passed to him; he drew knowledge and power and strength...He became more than he had been...

Etrikai forged his realm of madness and death; the land was barren and wasted; flies formed clouds in the skies; sigils of putrescence stains the Earth; and above it all; on a tower of skulls; lies the vast throne of Bone. Blood and souls fill his goblet; rotten flesh is his sweet meat. Only the most skilled of Necromancers have seen his realm; only the darkest souls have lived to tell of it.

The chosen servants of Etrikai are the Liches; malicious wizards who sought life beyond death by consorting with the Lord of the Damned; now enslaved by his power. They gave up their souls; hiding them in objects; phylacteries. Etrikai holds these in his own realm; making his servants virtually immortal. The only way to destroy them truly would be to destroy the phylacteries....beyond them, lie Demi Liches; Liches so infused with power that it grows unstable; some are malicious wraiths; others, floating skulls; or robes, containing only skull and skeletal hands; but their magickal abilities are second to none.

Etrikai demands sacrifice; blood and mutilation; death and damnation. The vast temples run red with the lifesblood of every race; decorate and gilded in bone. His mortal champions are the Black Knights of Death; and the Soverign Order of the Blood Dragons; Undead champions who uphold his laws; their armies are those of the living dead; their passing marks terrible consequence. They are gifted with black magicks; and rune-blades which steal the souls of their foes; feeding them, and their terrible God. Necromancers too are called to his banner; the only one under which such magicks can be tamed...

Blessings of Etrikai are of a double-edged nature; he takes and he gives; siphoning life or soul ,to feed himself; while granting them abilities. Some speak of servants of Etrikai fading into the netherworld; manipulating shadows; summoning the dead; or becoming fiendish twisted versions of themselves...

The Avatar of Etrikai is a great warlord; a warrior clothed in metal and bone; his face hidden by great hoods; eyes blazing with black flames. His visage is thaqt of death itself; his steed a fell beast of bone and fire...When he rides to war; the greatest of all the living and the dead follow with him....

Name: Ne’Fael
Pronunciation: Nee-Fay-El
God(s): Etrikai, Aphelia
Alignment: Chaotic Evil/Neutral/Good, it varies depending who’s on council.
As the council has no set requirement, save being that each member has to be from one of the three different races. Because of that, the overall tone of the council is generally ambivalent, while members can be off evil, neutral or good alignment individually.

Technology: Bone and Bronze
The Elves especially fabricate much of the stuff used in both military and daily life out of the bones of both animals and those of their fallen enemies.

Religion:
While they are notional followers of Etrikai, they are considered followers of him more because of their semi frequent tributes to him in the form of those who either annoy them, or who indulge their hospitality. The majority of Etrikai's followers in Ne'Fael are the Fay, followed by a fair number of Neko and lastly a minute percentage of Elves.

In addition to their notional worship of Etrikai, they are also pay nominal service to Aphelia. This is done primarily as they tend to leave the wilderness alone or keep it from getting in disrepair, unless it directly infringes on them or their personal interests. The majority of Aphelia's followers are Neko, with the Fay a distant second, and with a negligible number of Elves.

The Elves are closer to ambivilant in religion, worshipping no god in general or specific, but tend to maintain a small shrine to every god, out of a sense of cosmopolitism sense of benign dissinterest in religion. They do have a fasinaction with majicks and that is the only real lure religion has to any of them.

Culture:
Neko Culture: The Neko are fairly temperamental. They are also prone to lying in the sun, forming irrational, and dangerous (to the subjects) attachments to just about anyone or anything and chasing dust motes. In terms of dress, the key requirements are if fits the tail, and is cute. When a Neko has to dress up, cute takes priority over anything.

Fay Culture: The Fay are violent, sadomasochistic, and generally considered by normal races as crazy people. They are generally Sapphic in nature, thought they are also quite interested in males. They're clothing tends to leather and those that reveal their bodies to optimal effect. Formal clothes for the Fay are even tighter and more revealing than normal.

Elf Culture: The Elvish people are, if at all possible, worse than the Fay, but are also generally considered less crazy than the Fay. Though they are more prone to killing someone and making stuff out of them. They go for comfort and practicality rather than aiming to make a fashion statement. In formal situations, they tend to wear 'Matrix' type clothing.

Ne’Fael Culture: The overall culture of the three races that are collectively known as the Ne’Fael is generally considered a matriarchy, thought there have been males, both as council members, and dominating the council. The council is made of the three leaders of the three races and deals with anything that can’t be dealt with individually.

Physiology
Fay: Average height: Male:5'7"/1.7m Female: 5'6"/1.65m
Eye colours: Blue, Green, Brown
Hair colours: Brown, Black, Blonde
Unique(non-human)physiology: Ample chest, Large wings
Average Strength: Slightly above human norm.
Poison affliction: Human norm till age 500, then decreases
Disease affliction: Human norm till age 500, then decreases
Average age at death: 433
Diet: Human norm
Fertility/Birth rates(average(under normal conditions)): 3 children/life
Maturation age: 19
Birth/Death ratios: 1.3:1
Male/Female ratios:1:9

Elf: Average height: Male: 5'/1.5m Female: 4'9"/1.45m
Eye colour: Grey, Green, Blue
Hair colour: Brown, Red, Blond
Unique(non-human)physiology: Very long/pointy ears
Average Strength: Above human norm
Poison affliction: Human norm till age 500, then decreases
Disease affliction: Human norm till age 500, then decreases
Average age at death: 569
Diet: Human norm
Fertility/Birth rates(average(under normal conditions)): 2 children/life
Maturation age: 19
Birth/Death ratios: 1.1:1
Male/Female ratios: 2:8

Neko: Average height: Male: 5'8"/1.72m Female: 5'5"/1.65m
Eye colour: Yellow, Green
Hair(fur) colour: White, Yellow/Tan, Black, Spotted/Stripped/Pure variable
Unique(non-human)physiology: Faint fur covering, feline nose, cat ears, tail, elongated nails/claws(fingers/toes), tend to multiple births
Average Strength: Above human norm
Poison affliction: Human norm
Disease affliction: Human norm
Average age at death: 246
Diet: Human norm, small rodents as well as a increased amount of meats preferred
Fertility/Birth rates(average(under normal conditions)): 6 children/life
Maturation age: 25
Birth/Death ratios: 1.6:1
Male/Female rations: 3:7

Heroes:
Present Council Members:
Fay: Sylvania: She is one of the few Fay that prefer masculine companionship to feminine companionship. She is also a former member of the Black Widow Organization, which is made of those Fay who frequently take outsiders as consorts, and those consorts typically end up dead.

Neko: Von Nico: One of the more stable Neko, she is generally fond of lying in the sun, and sleeping. She is the matriarch of one of the larger families.

Elf: Morte Dracul: A renowned artisan, she is responsible for some of the greatest art works in Ne’Fael, including the Rising Death and Setting Sun paintings and the Fallen One statue.

Other: Little Death aka Kamikaze aka Midnight: Reputed to be the oldest Elf, and possibly the oldest non-vegetative creature alive, she is also the indisputability most deadly person of any of the three races that are part of the Ne’Fael nation. Her exact age is anyone’s guess, as is her birth name.

Name: The Boozian Federation
Pronounciation: Phonetical
God: Uncertain
Alignment: Higher up: general warmongering, good or evil. Grunts: The place the pay comes from.

The Boozian Federation is an ideological state based around the consumption of booze and the destruction of people who get in the way. They are a federation of minor nations and species who have united under the flag of Boozia. Pure boozians are humans, covered in self-inflicted scars from various coming of age rituals. Many other ethnicities also exist in the population, most notably the Albese, who have strange lumps and slits that are the evolutionary remnants of fins and gills. The politics are simple and brutal, like most boozian things: the council is law, the army is power.The council consists of four junior members and three seniors, and although nothing is certain, it is probable that one senior has power over the other two. The council cannot move from their subterrainean chamber in the temple/palace/fortress that dominates the city. No-one may see or hear the council, to do so is a crime worthy of death. The only exception is the warmaster. He is the supreme commander of the army and the council’s representative above ground, in the same way that the council are (insert god here)’s representatives on earth. The warmaster is technically elected by all soldiers above regimentmaster, but is actually decided by a board of senior armymasters. The warmaster is a member of this board, and has the veto, but the new warmaster is usually selected when the old one dies in battle. The council have hyper-extended lives, this is what cost them their mobility. Replacing a junior is a major political affair. Replacing a senior is often a civil war.

Technology: Boozia strives to outstrip it’s foes both stratecically and tactically, and technology is a factor of both. Any boozian who presents a device to the army which aids any victories is inducted to the technology organization regiment (the army does everything in regiments). There they are tasked with maintaining a steady flow of advances. Major innovation is rare, but better nails and spearheads appear quite often.

Religion: (Insert a bunch of stuff about (insert god here))

Culture: The army tree: The Warmaster is of course the supreme commander. Below him are are army masters. There number varies depending on the current size of the army. Then there are garrison masters, campaign masters (temporary), forcemasters, castlemasters, and fort masters. These are the higher ranks each commanding a variable number of regiments.

The Regiment: There is a regimentmaster, ten company masters, and five platoonmasters per company, and finally five patrolmasters in each platoon, each commanding ten men, for a total of 2500 men. There are also baggage officers (they ride the baggage train) carpenter, armourer, and provost marshall, and company officers surgeon, commisar, apprentice armourer and apprentice carpenter.

The Gifted People: A very, very rare occurrence is the birth of a Gifted Person, with god –granted power’s and a kind of genetic memory. They are drafted for compulsory service, with one accompaneing every major campaign as advisor, moral booster, and weapon. The greatest may rise to the rank of Candidate, one of the next in line if a council member dies.

The mutilation rituals: A series of “devotional sufferings” to test the mental strenghth of a boozian. They are practiced by pure boozians and boozophiles other ethnic groups. The first is a pair of small slashs on the chest, forming an x. This is done by the father at the moment of birth. With such a strange scar infliced at such an early age, shirtless boozians are instantly recognizable, which aids security but damages espionage prospects. The second are self-inflicted on the seventh birtday, two cuts behind the ears. The third is on the fourteenth birthday, coming of age. Males are slashed on the shoulder blades, femails on the chin, and Gifted People on the forehead.

Language: A faily simple tounge, with one word for peace and water and over twenty for war and ale. It was desighned to be heard in a roaring battle

Gender roles: As females may not join the army, males dominate society. Female gifted people cannot become Candidates.

Albese: The Albese live on ships. Civilians on giant, unkeeled houseboats forming coatal towns on the unorthodox side of the coast, sailors, merchant and military, on their vessels. The Albese captain is the most immediate leader to each community. The justice system is quiet harsh, as it was desighned to, to quote Jack Aubrey, “hold their little wooden worlds together”, and there is no more deadly civil war than one on a country with mega-limited food stores and a tendency to sink.

Heroes: Current Warmaster: Shmalt Hoalcen: A strict disciplinerian, believes in enforcing boozian culture on to conquered people, but has respect for other ethnic groups in the federation. He achieved his post for his efforts at the battle of Krichpen sand in the civil war, during which he remotivated his troops after their general was dead and half of them killed, and inspired them to wade knee dear through a freezing channel as part of his battle plan. Lost his hand in a pike-pushing contest the same day.

Junior Councillers: Kakrog Bitosn is a new age thinker, and believes in opening up new science institutions, assimilating conquered peoples and restructuring the navy to help combined arms operations. Raegh Husvad on the other hand is an ultra traditionalist.
Motr Ghamvas, the most radical, want’s a return to nomadism, and is convinced that an apocalypse is on it’s way for “stagnated people’s”. He has a following among Albese sects who want to turn the great houseships into funcioning vessel and seek the promised land which most Albese think is boozia itself. Finally, Fatehn Taari wants to industrialise, de-centralize military power, and increase the power of the merchants.

Senior Councillers: Veard Dorafn is not particularly active, prefering to observe and stay neutral, as he believes using his vote conservatively gives it more weight. Opposite him is Fkald Dridcun, who is obsesed with conquest and claims that great people’s expand or implode. Finally, Gjard Vamkosc is the head counciller if there is one, most people agree. He is believed to have particularly clear visions fronm the gods, and often gives enigmatic orders which turn out to be precisely what was required.

Name: Nagasa Kumari

Domain: He has none, he roams where he will

Physical Description: 7ft tall, pure blue eyes (no real pupil), black hair, fair light skin, figure and shape of a 'Man.'

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Past History: When thus the stars were born from Garilith after the birthing of the Gods, one star among them saw the glory that was the gods and desired the power and majesty they held. Of each god the star beseech, yet none would answer him. Naming him outcast, the lost star. But in his youth the young god Nollij came upon him and gave him pity. With his power Nollij gave the star a new form, and a name. He formed him in the shape of an idea, an experiment of sorts, and named him Nagasa Kumari (The Wandering Light) and taught him many things. He showed him the power of the Earth and of the Sky, he taught him the magic that was inherent within him, from once being a star, and showed him how to use it.

But after some time Nollij grew bored with Nagasa and passed on, forgetting ever having created Nagasa into the form of 'Man' or that he was the only of his race.

Taking on the mantle of 'Mage' Nagasa wandered the lands and learned many new things and became great in the store of knowledge, which he called what he learned, in remembrance of his master. When the clash of Gods came, and Nollij was killed, Nagasa hid and studied in the far northern mountains.

Now he journery's seeing as the races of Earth, those that the Gods created to control the last creation of Nollij: the Cryys.