NationStates Jolt Archive

Name: Morrowind “Land of Chill”

Race: Dark Elves/Druchii/Drow

Government:

The society of Morrowind is a hierarchical one, with their Witch King, Malekith (http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b184/Upum/Fantasy/Dark%20Elves/Malekith_by_Bartpoland.jpg), at the top. At his right hand is his mother and consort, Queen Morathi (http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b184/Upum/Fantasy/jalil14.jpg). It has been argued, however, that the Dark Elves are in truth a Machiavellian society, with one man at the top and several powerful underlings in competition with each other, all vying for power but simultaneously preventing others from getting it. Malekith allows this to continue because it keeps all sects strong by culling the weak, but also keeps them under his complete control on his Throne of Iron (http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b184/Upum/Fantasy/Dark%20Elves/IronThrone.jpg).

While the Witch King holds ultimate power in the land of Morrowind, he allowed a great amount of freedom to the heads of the Three Houses. Each of the three houses, Redoran, Hlaalu and Telvanni, all have their own lands, armies, and fortresses but owe fealty when the Witch King calls.

Population:

5.2 million Dark Elves
.8 Million slaves of all races

The Land of Morrowind

Capitals and Fortresses (http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b184/Upum/Morrowind.jpg)

The dark and forbidding land of Morrowind is called "the Land of Chill". The name is an appropriate one, for the unwelcoming home of the Dark Elves is a harsh wilderness of frozen tundra. After exterminating the native barbarian tribes of Morrowind they constructed six heavily fortified cities:

•Nagor the Tower of Cold and Dark Elf capital
•Hardor the North Tower where the sorceresses study the Realm of Magic
•Vark Aun the Tower of Despair and largest slave port of the Dark Elves
•Har Ganeth the City of Executioners and religious capital of Cult of Khaine
•Klar Carond the Tower of Doom and largest Dark Elf shipyard

The Dark Elves also constructed a series of fortified watch towers along their northern border to ensure enemies do not trespass into the domain of the Witch King.

These cities have innumerable black towers rising like pinnacles of ice from the cold, hard rock of Morrowind. Due to the harsh and unforgiving nature of Morrowind, they are some of the densest population centers in the world. All of these cities are dark and evil places. Their black dungeons are crammed with captives whose wailings fill the air and whose moans seep through the thick walls of the high towers, saturating the place with pain, despair and the souls of the dying. At the tips of these towers, the Sorceresses of Morrowind cast their malign magic over the world.

Economy of Morrowind

Dark Elves have one major source of income: plunder. Dark Elves raid all other lands, particularly human colonies, to gain wealth. They take food, treasure, and slaves. Slaves play an important part in Dark Elf society, as they perform the menial chores that an enterprising Druchii deigns to be below him. Slaves also make up the bulk of the ritual sacrifices to the god Khaine.

The Dark Elves take to sea in their Black Arks (http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b184/Upum/Fantasy/Dark%20Elves/Empire_Frigate_by_GeneralVyse.jpg). Massive ships of war, the Black Arks travel far and wide to procure slaves. Each Black Ark is home to a small army of Dark Elf raiders and a small fleet of raiding vessels. These forces can be landed on the coast of an unsuspecting kingdom, perform a lightning raid, and be off before any of the local defense forces are able to react. In this way countless millions of doomed souls have been taken back to Morrowind to a fate worse than death.

Armies of Morrowind

Household Army Average: 10,000 Infantry, 4,000 Light Cavarly, 1,500 Cold One Knights

Army of the Witch King: 30,000 Infantry, 5,000 Light Cavarly, 3,000 Cold One Knights

Household Navy: 300 Ships of the Line, 600 raider frigates, 50 Black Arks

Dark Elf armies are fast and dangerous but potentially fragile. They are fleeter of foot than humans and favour speed and maneuverability over heavy armour. Characteristics of Dark Elven armies include armour forged with all manners of wicked barbs, hooks and blades, and their uniforms tend to be dark somber colours such as purple, indigo or black. Human skin is a highly prized material for durable military garb, and their graceful swords and spearheads (http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b184/Upum/Fantasy/Dark%20Elves/weaponryartlarge.jpg) tend to be hooked and serrated for catching enemy blades and inflicting severe injuries.

Druchii infantry consist of spear phalanxes (http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b184/Upum/Fantasy/Dark%20Elves/Warrior_Unit_by_GhostRecon.jpg) and repeater crossbow regiments which are supported by shock infantry such as Executioners, who wield heavy two-handed blades called Draich, heavily armed Corsair raiders, or scores of Witch Elves that are drugged up into a killing frenzy. The most elite fighters are chosen to join the fanatic bodyguard of the Witch King, the infamous Black Guard (http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b184/Upum/Fantasy/Dark%20Elves/toppic.jpg).

Cavalry often plays a key role in engagements. The elite Druchii cavalry are the Cold One Knights (http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b184/Upum/Fantasy/Dark%20Elves/Mounted_Dark_Elf_by_MikhailD.jpg): Druchii nobility that ride carnivorous reptiles known as Nauglir, or Cold Ones, into battle. Not used by others, they are native to the caves beneath the Blackspine mountains deep in the heart of Morrowind and are a separate breed of dragon-kin. These fearsome beasts are also used to pull heavy Cold One Chariots. They are often deployed alongside Dark Riders (http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b184/Upum/Fantasy/Dark%20Elves/DarkElfCavalry.jpg); fast and highly maneuverable warriors swathed in black robes who ride upon swift Elven steeds.

The Dark Elves use a rather vicious war machine known as the Reaper. Similar to the original design for the Repeater Bolt Thrower, the Reaper is a large, ballista-style torsion weapon. It is capable of hurling either a single harpoon-like projectile with devastating force or a volley of multiple smaller bolts. They are usually found mounted on the bow of Dark Elf raiding ships or on the parapets of a city wall. However, they are also frequently taken into major combat engagements, as they are both lightweight and extremely effective in the hands of a skilled crew.

Dark Elves display a talent for taming and training the gigantic monsters that stalk the mountain ranges of their homeland. It is not uncommon for a Druchii Beastmaster to drive monstrous creatures into battle. Off of the battlefield, these Beastmasters are also responsible for training Cold Ones and Elven steeds, and the subjugation of the endless supply of slaves.

Magical power on the battlefield is supplied by the six Convents of Sorceresses, who refine the inherent magical aptitude of Dark Elf women into a deadly force. Though the Sorceresses are vulnerable in close combat, the sinister power that they wield is potent enough to ensure that almost every significant Dark Elf force will have at least one Sorceress. (It should be noted that Druchii males are not allowed to be trained in magical arts, and renegade Sorcerers are killed without question.)

Overall, the Druchii are devastating on the offensive. Every Dark Elf spends their entire life drilling and training in military maneuvers. Units working together in concert can break or destroy nearly any enemy that dares underestimate them, yet their fragile constitution means they are not able to absorb much damage in return. This forces Dark Elf commanders to rely on sound tactics rather than brute force. Thus Druchii generals are considered some of the best tacticians in the world.

Religion

The Dark Elves primarily worship the Elven god Kaela Mensha Khaine, the Bloody-Handed God and Thousand Faced Lord of Murder. They are wholly devoted to him. Each city has temples and shrines devoted to Khaine where blood sacrifices are made. Dark Elves are required to donate a percentage of the slaves they capture on raids to the temple but most Dark Elves make several additional sacrifices a year.

The most savage sect of Khaine worshippers are known as the Brides of Khaine (http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b184/Upum/Fantasy/Dark%20Elves/WitchElves.jpg), more commonly called Witch Elves (or Maibd in the Dark Elf language). They are an all-female cult of warrior priestesses. Witch Elves consider the battlefield to be a holy place and are suicidally fanatical in proving their worth to Khaine by spilling the blood of their enemies. The cult is lead by high priestesess called hags, who bathe in blood to retain eternal youth. Morathi founded the cult of Khaine, yet it is currently led by Crone Hellebron, eldest of the hags.

The holiest time of the year for Dark Elves is ‘Death Night’. During this night the Witch Elves rule the streets of the Dark Elf cities, capturing anyone they find (whether they are slaves or Dark Elves) and dragging them back to the temples as sacrifice to Khaine. The Witch Elves will even go so far as to break into houses, which has led to Dark Elf families barricading windows and doors during this night. On Death Night the Witch Elves will also steal away a number of children. Girls captured like this will be trained to become Witch Elves. Boys are tossed in a cauldron of boiling blood. Those that survive are trained to be true adepts of Khaine: the feared assassins. As dawn breaks after Death Night it is customary for those who lived though the night to make a sacrifice from their own houshold (usually a favoured slave or elderly relative) as a thanks to the Lord of Murder for sparing their family.

The Great Houses of Morrowind

There are three ‘great’ houses of Dark Elf families. These noble families have spent millennia building their power, making alliances, killing, backstabbing, and becoming the prominent holders of power in their areas by sheer ruthlessness.

House Hlaalu

The House of Hlaalu came to its place of power through sheer force. Of all the great houses the Hlaalu have shown the greatest amount of martial prowess amongst all others, with the exception perhaps being the Witch King’s personal retainers. Through alliances with several minor houses and victories gained through their veteran army the Hlaalu have truly honored Kaine with blood through their path to ruling the northern lands.

The present ruler of the Hlaalu is Marcus Hlaalu, March Count of Morrowind. Marcus Hlaalu was charged by the Witch King to defend the northern border of Morrowind from all intruders and as such the Border Fortresses, the majority, are under his control and are manned by troops loyal to House Hlaalu.

Their main fortress city is Lathuu, purported to be as strong as the Witch King’s own city of Nagor, resides in the center of their lands and is at the center of a life-line of roads that link all the border fortresses and major fortresses, allowing for the swift passage of troops. A noted plus side is that a large amount of trade has sprung up because of this.

House Telvanni

It was as a result of a edict made by Malekith himself that the House Telvanni gained their position as a great house in the land. A long a bloody civil war had been raged in the southern lands for near 100 years, between House Telvanni and House Kor-Wyrm. However the House of Kor-Wyrm broke the rules of the blood feud and thus enacted the judgment of Malekith. The dark army of Nagor descended upon House Kor Wyrm, joined enthusiastically by House Tevlanni, and the rouge house was utterly destroyed. Thus House Telvanni gained ascendancy.

The leader of the Telvanni is Sardet Telvanni, known as the Devious. After his house’s good fortune Sardet made it clear that the house Telvanni would live and act according to the whims of the Witch King in all things. As such you will always find Telvanni side with what seems “in agreement with his dread majesty.”

House Redoran

Long ago when the different noble families along the western coasts of Morrowind competed for the best slave grounds and harbors, a great Sea War erupted. The different houses warred upon each other at sea and on land. The amount of blood shed was enough to rival that of the Southern War. Finally there came a Corsair Lord who led his house to grand victories over his fellows and claimed the entire coast as his personal realms.

The leader of House Redoran is none other than the great Balethek, the Corsair King. No other great or minor house of all Morrowind can match the House Redoran in seamanship or the art of the shipwright. Their corsair crewmen, cutthroats all, are some of the fiercest men outside the lands of the Hlaalu. Every year slaves are brought to the city of Klar Carond, the City of Doom, where millions in gold coin is made from their trafficking.

It is house Redoran that provides Morrowind with its chief naval prowess.

Of Malekith, Witch King of Morrowind

Few living now know how it was that long past Malekith's body was scarred, though by sorcerous flame many believe. Regardless of the cause, it brought the great Dark Elf lord to the edge of death. His life force was near gone. But then his favoured retainers brought him to the great Fortress of Iron where formally Malekith's father had ruled. There, Morathi nursed her son back to health. With the aid of the sorcerers he had trained in the arts of Dark Magic, Hotek, a renegade Priest of Kaine, forged a great suit of black armour which would lend strength to Malekith's withered and fire-blasted body. The suit was fused onto his body while still white hot from the furnace. After his torment on the flames of death, he felt little pain. When the suit was complete, few could look at him without feeling a dread so great as to make them fall into paralysis. With his new abilities the Witch King captured the great Black Dragon Vaulkur who became his great war beast to ride into battle. The power of many a sorcerer became his. From that single, dark day onwards, that Malekith claimed the throne of Morrowind, he was known as the Witch King. He wears the Armor of Midnight, which makes him near invulnerable to physical attacks, and is armed with a sword called the Destroyer and a powerful gauntlet called the Hand of Khaine. He is the embodiment of fear.

OOC: I thought you had that High Empire of Thrashia or what not?

OOC: I thought you had that High Empire of Thrashia or what not?

This is for a separate RP. Not my 'real' fantasy nation.

Oh. In that case, nice job. =P

Incense mixed with the tangible odor of sweat to built a pallor of haze, and foul scent to the air. Swaying arms pushed the smoke in arcane directions, forming nearly visible symbols in the air before being pushed away by the torrent of warm air from an open window. Eight figures stood chanting the Omnian High Mass around a chalked circle on the floor ornamented with the Sacred Bull and as many stars and pentacles as was thought necessary to awe any watchers. Each of the figures wore a pointed hood; a sword and embroidered silk cape, now turning slightly grey with the smoke of magic.

“Does it usually take this long?” A figure in a similarly ornamented chair crossed his legs impatiently and threw an accusing glance at a man hovering behind him.

“Your Imminence,” the hoverer burbled, “They are cross referencing the Divine Matrix, and cross checking the Hymnal, it’s that or explode sire.” He let of a nervous laugh that probably was not the best move for his career, and subsided when he was pushed away with a tiny bolt of magic. An Seraph, invisible to all but the ordained, sat cross legged on the floor, and with a word of command from it’s seated master had lanced the hovering man through with a bolt of magic. He would be up and about in five minutes, and it comforted the Cenobiarch to know that he would have one hell of a headache. It was quite impressive to have a Seraph just for blasting a secretary, but such was the power of the Cenobiarch to slightly invigorate his staff at a moment, through a varying application of lightning.

A crack of lighting and the melodic hymn of singing voices announced the end of the eight’s laborers. Smelling of fresh dew, and baking bread, an angel, clad in shining white robes glowing with holy zeal and the light of God. Long golden hair fell in clumps around glowing eyes and, in every sense of the word, angelic features. Before the angel could do anything one of the men whipped of his hood let out a huge breath and whipped a card from his pocket.

“This!” He yelled as if he had caught the angel out, “What is it? Lemon or a lime, or possibly an orange, citrusy at any rate? Speak quickly we didn’t enhance the binding spells you only have awhile.”

The angel had obviously been planning a speech something on the lines of “Cower Brief Mortals,” but was cut short and surprised by the emphatic sweating Research Theologian in front of it. In a slightly less impressive voice then had been planned the archangel, glistening with power hazarded “Lemon?”

“Wrong!” the hoods shook in sadness, “Neither, it’s obviously a pineapple, Quital!” The man screamed through his speech and ending in dismissing a frowning angel from a glowing circle, it apparently had disappointed the group. “Scratch infallibility for number 14,107, although give him some marks is appearance.” About two meters away a bound man without a nose, and his legs shackled to the table nodded slightly and with quivering hands added a paragraph into an incredibly large book.

“All very fascinating,” the seated man stood allowing his robes to fan out around him, “but perhaps we should be donating out time to something more valuable?”

Eight faces froze with fear, when one’s employer has just seen you dancing around a magic circle there better be a very good explanation. Luckily there was and all men present, excluding the man shackled to the desk curtsied (as they are wearing robes) and removed their hoods. “We must maintain the records, tedious perhaps sire but necessary.” A hugely mat man spoke from the end wiping away a pond of sweat from the ridges of his forehead, summoning archangels was tantamount to running marathons while wearing hoods, and breathing the flaming remains of dead grass.

“As you say.” The Cenobiarch returned with a slight bow from the neck, “However there is a matter of state that needs attending too. Apparently all my messenger imps were killed in some damn strange scuffle with some Ephebeans, not quite sure on the details though they were simply carrying diplomatic overtures. It must be a fairly musical day, for I have some more overtures that need sending. I.” His sentence was cut short as all eight men, wanting to be helpful to the man that could have they flayed alive and nailed upside down by their ankles to any amount of public architecture, summoned eight nearly identical imps.

Imps and their demonic kind, as opposed to angels were vastly disliked by men on the cloth and this was obvious by the way each one appeared with the facial orifices freshly silt, and scars crisscrossing their back. There was a reason the demons were used to power ships, clean stables, and generally perform the tasks that even the lowliest angel would not perform.

With a faint smile that was more frightening then the most avid and zealous holy war the Cenobiarch gave a faint shake of the head and spoke in an amused voice. “If I had wanted imps I could have summoned one in about with the flick of the wrist, however I was thinking something a little more in the bass section.” With an underarm movement that sent, as most Cenobiarch’s went at least partially mad after some time, the eight men flying back from a streaming white object weaving through the air.

“A towel?”

“Oh yes. I was thinking we would be managing an Earl of Hell today; it is perhaps in the spirit of the message. Bathes will be drawn for all of you and I have some men with stretchers. Now if I am correct it is Gordion Seprius Magenta Carium Delificus, in the circle please.

Freedom, freedom the sweet whistling wind of the human world, the every hanging presence of violence that could amuse the demonic mind, like the warm wind the feeling rushed over him. The Research Theologians had done their job well, and even though two of them collapsed because of heat stroke they had achieved a masterwork of Hell’s fury. The Demon Earl Epizor flapped his smoldering wings; usually they would be torrents of fire linked by arcing lighting bolts. Wisely however the priests had cast the Holy Supplication, it was the only way to stop the tight role of paper from being burnt to cinders. As it was the demon’s black pupils scanned the land below, he had been in service in Omnia before, mainly being tortured for public amusement, the marks of the branding iron still showed vividly on his dark skin. Now he was a simple messenger assisting in the passage of these mundane humans, he prayed, in a distant and vague way for savior but not very loudly, the human world had one pleasure, one that outweighed all pain, killing humans.

It seemed a far off possibility as he clutched the letter tighter, he had been given very pointed instructions to fly over the sea and then take various steps, which until needed would be forgotten, devoting all his mind to how the remove human eyes with one wrist movement. The letter however sealed with the great seal of Omnia was headed for a strange place, a foreign place that the demon had never been before. Apparently it was the Fortress of the Redoran, some grand city in the south or was it east?

From: His Imminence Lothar XVIII Cenobiarch of the Omnian Church
To: The Head of the Redoran

You will apologize for my ignorance on such matters that I speak, but I wish to communicate in the one language that is hopefully universal, that being the language of power. There are certain trends, certain aspects of life that despite all our greatest efforts are beyond our control, wild variables that throw off our machinations. While of course I offer a veneer of friendly coercion I seek as you do to finally bring about these factors, to a preferable outcome. Traditionally when writing such overtures of diplomatic pomposity, it is church tradition to generally admonish you for your Godlessness and heap upon condemnations, I could manage should requested but there is something more pressing.

We have noticed a certain power struggle in Morrowind, one, which, we believe, could be used to our advantage. Yes our advantage, perhaps my skills at this diplomacy are far overrated but I digress. If there were certain elements, new elements controllable variables, that suddenly decided that the house of Hlaalu was far to troublesome. I believe I do not need explain such things to you, that is why this letter has made it into your hands and no other. Should such an outside force arrive we know that another house would sure to leap on the advantages offered by such a situation. Should anything happen Morrowind will need a great leader one that is capable of ending this bickering that, has Omnia being raided by three different factions four days a week. Frankly we are loathed to assist even one of your houses but it seems from Kom a feasible course of action. Though our actions will not be too direct you shall know when they come, and should you choose there will be great advantages to the one who receives warning and acts upon it.

Signed:
His Imminence Lothar XVIII Cenobiarch of the Omnian Church


OOC since I don't feel like fumbling through the whole "permission to come aboard. Then I come aboard routine," you may receive this message with a live Demon earl presenting it, or on the corpse of the dead demon, adding slightly more intrigue.