NationStates Jolt Archive

Slave trade had been crucial to Khemri economy. Its only one of few places left in the world which still support the slave trade. In a prison for new slaves in the southwest part of Disire. There were several guards that took around a fire. In cell across the fire lying a small bed was Spencer. He was not a normal person for one. He was The Imperial Prince of Ecclesia and he was arcane user. Times in Khemri was dangerous especially in the kingdom of Khemri. The Dark forces invading in the east and Warring bands were fighting all the time. Spencer was planning on to escape tonight with some help of a group of people who wish to be a republic form of government to Khemri Called. Artois the Artois infiltrate the compound using rope ladders they snook 10 militamen. When they made to area that Prince Spencer was be held and They engaged the guards killing all three and losing two people theirself. When they arrived at Spencer cage he begin to talk after two months of silence.

"Thank god it took Artois long enough to send somebody" said Spencer

"Were sorry sir" said Artosis militamean

"It's alright" said Spencer

"Let's get out of here" said Artois militamen

"This way sir we have horses" said Artois militamen 2

"let's go" said Spencer

They ran to the horses on the eastside of the prison and escape to the in the night.

"For many days they walked, a man and a woman, through a wood black as night - where trees grew around them as large as mountains, old as the very earth, and no living thing could be found - for it was a wood claimed by the Horned Archer, who, being of spirit, allowed only spirits such as he to remain in his ghostly haunts." Rochek, the one-eyed storyteller, stalked around the fire and punctuated his words with earnest gestures, drawing the attention of the assembled men around him like threads of horsehair. The night had fallen cold and the moon had risen to its zenith among the stars; it was the time for telling stories of the world of old, and how humans and spirits walked together under the stars in the early days of the earth.

"So, many days they walked through that lifeless wood. And to stay alive, they ate moss from the rocks and lichen from the trees, and sometimes the very dirt from the ground! For they had no food, and had had little for a long time before entering the Horned Archer's forest." Rochek seemingly knew every tale of times ancient, or very nearly all of them, for at every fire he always seemed to pull something new out of some dusty back pocket of his brain; a story, a proverb, some tantalizing spice of wisdom that his fellow warriors could think on when they finally rolled up in their animal skins beside their horses and drifted to sleep.

"Finally the man could stand it no longer, and vowed to his woman that he would take his bow and find something real to eat. He slung his quiver of fine-fletched arrows across his shoulders and struck out through the woods, using his hunter's skill to go swiftly and silently." The storyteller took an ominous tone that struck a chord in those assembled. Every Suendri knew how foolish it was for a mortal man to walk through a spirit-filled wood at night, when wily and capricious ghosts danced under moonbeams.

"He had not wandered long when he suddenly met the Coyote coming around a tree. 'Greetings, Grandfather Coyote,' he bid the spirit, for he knew Coyote to be a well-inclined sort. 'Greetings, grandson,' Coyote replied in turn. 'But tell me, why are you, a mortal man, hunting in the Horned Archer's favored groves? What dire need drives you to such foolishness?' The man told Coyote of his and his woman's predicament, and the spirit was moved to pity. 'I will show you a secret from my Bag of Tricks,' Coyote said. 'Go to a clearing where the moon is bright, and utter the owl call: Hutoolloo! Hutoolloo! And you will call forth one of the Horned Archer's flock to satisfy your need. But be warned: you must use it to acquire only what you need to see yourselves through the wood, and no more!' Having spoken thus, Coyote left the man and traveled on his way." Some of the more perceptive warriors chuckled as they guessed to themselves at what would end up happening.

"The man did as Coyote instructed him; and hiding himself in the bushes, he called out: Hutoolloo! Hutoolloo! Lo! A big, beautiful white owl appeared on a branch overhead. Fitting arrow to string, the man shot the bird and took it back to his woman, who plucked the flesh and prepared it for eating. Once they had devoured the meat, the woman said 'That has satisfied us for now; but we will need more for the journey ahead.' And therefore the man went out again, and hid himself in the bushes, and called out: Hutoolloo! Hutoolloo! Big, beautiful white owl appeared in the tree overhead. The man shot the bird and took it back to his wife, who plucked and cut the meat into strips to be dried. The bird was fat, and there was much meat; but the woman said again, 'Our road is long, and we will need more.' The man was uneasy about Coyote's warning, but the woman insisted and he finally gave in. He went out, hid himself in the bushes, and called out a third time: Hutoolloo! Hutoolloo! A big, beautiful white owl appeared on the branch above him; he fitted arrow to string, and was about to let fly when a second owl appeared right next to the first." Rochek had the warriors all silent, hanging on his every next word, completely enthralled; the story was reaching its climax. "And as he stopped in surprise, a third appeared above them; and a fourth, and a fifth, until all the grove around him was filled with birds! And at once they dove from their perches and drove at him, screaming, beating the air with their wings and tearing it with their talons, and the man ran for his life. He reached his woman safely, and as he finished telling her what had happened he heard hooting among the trees. Far off, an owl appeared in a tree; and closer, another, and another. The man attempted to save his woman's life by hiding her in a basket, and as the owls dove upon him he loosed arrow after arrow at them, and felled many; but his arrows ran out, and he was at last defenseless." Rochek shrank his voice to a terrible whisper at the last words, playing off the horror reflected in his audience's faces. "Neither of them were ever seen again," the storyteller finished solemnly. "And that is why we of the Suendri never abuse the gifts the spirits bestow upon us."

The warriors applauded him, Narakai not least among them. Narakai was the chief and warlord of his clan the Sparkling Fox, named for the spirit that they respected and honored above the rest, and the leader of the warband gathered around the crackling fire. Rochek laughed as he sat down, and Narakai rose to take the place of attention in front of the fire.

"Warriors!" he said, looking down on them from his six foot height. "The snow is thawing, and the season for fighting draws near. The crow and the raven return north with their cousins the hawk and the eagle; they spout news of unrest in their raucous cries, of war, of corruption and death in the land of the Khemri. The empires of the south draw around that land like buzzards to a carcass, they say; they send armies to clash together and pile each other's corpses on the sand.

"It has been our custom to merely watch the Southmen and their wars," he continued. "But this year I have a different vision. It has been long since we have had any meeting with the Southmen, and in recent years they have become bold: their settlements now nestle in the very foothills of the mountains on the southern border of our ancestral lands. As I said, it has been long; and I think it is right that we remind them who they encroach upon." His words were met with nodding and noises of agreement. "Let the Southmen pile themselves high in search of glory elsewhere. We have business with them also, and this season brings a ripe opportunity to make our message clear." More calls of assent came from the assembled warband. The Suendri had no love of the nations to the south, considering them spoiled and decadent and irresponsible with their wars and their magic. Normally they were content to live and let live, but this news of settlements encroaching on their land required a response: a clear message as to what would happen if the Southmen should overstep their bounds again.

"And that is why I have gathered this warband," Narakai explained. "We will make the first probes at the enemy: assess their strength, their location, and watch their response. It has been beyond the lifetime of any of us here since we last fought the Southmen. It is our task to refresh our memories in the best way possible."

Early the next morning, before the sun rose, Narakai's band of 100 Suendri cavalry and as many foot soldiers descended the mountain pass and wound their way down the mountain face by hidden paths towards the dormant foothills.

(OOC: Yeah, big huge roundabout long intro post, I know. I'm just getting myself in the mood and the mindset of the Suendri; plus, you all get a bedtime story out of it! :p

So, I don't really know who gets the villages in the foothills; they could be Ecclesian so Angaor can RP them, or they could be anyone else's; it's up to whoever wants 'em, really.)

OOC: I will Rp them

Lieutenant and Imperial Knight Sir Henry Gates of the Ecclesian Army had gathered 50 Mounted Sergeants and 150 Unarmored Swordsman heading towards the Village of Naitia nestled in the foothills. He was the only force to protect the villagers. A men riding on a horse a poor looking fellow came riding and approached the Ecclessian force.

"Thank god, its the Ecclessians help i think Suendri cavalry are heading towards Naitia and are attacking they passed my farm about four hours ago" said the Man

"Do you know how many" said Sir Henry Gates

"A few hundred at the least if not more" said The man

"Alright lets move out" said Sir Henry Gates


The Force moved out heading towards Naitia ready to engage the enemy

OOC: Now, I'm not gonna say "OMG j00 can't see my guyz cuz they are teh undetectablez!!11" but I would rather it not be as simple as, "We rode past a farm in broad daylight and let all the farmers see us, whoops, now they know we're here." Cuz that's just plain unintelligent. ;) The Suendri are a hunter culture, and they know how to move through their native pine forest terrain without leaving much trace. Second, a farm is a very conspicuous landmark that any hunter worth his salt can see well ahead and steer clear of. That's not to say no-one can find them by accident, but then they would have to be able to outrun horses to get away alive. ;)

So can I skulk around a bit more before joining battle? I'm going for a 13th Warrior isolated farmstead attack kind of vibe here, if you've seen that movie.

yeah i feel u but was just trying to make to where i would just pop up out of nowhere u feel me but its straight whatever

A cool breeze and nothingness, a babel of voices in a foreign language and nothingness, the touch of grass on the neck and nothingness, such was the sensation, until the nothingness then was defeated by shady forms and flames, a blurry vision which did not make any sense, but which seemed to be of despair and grief... dancing flames and shadows of men falling on the ground, but there could not be any way to make a sense, for the visage was blurry and those shadows were undefined to the point it could not be ascertained whether they were humans or not.

A quick shift of vision came then with nothingness. He was not sure of anything, in fact there was only an empty on his mind, and no matter how he tried, this nameless man could not remember anything of his past, not even his name. However there was something bulky pulling his back on the ground and covering his torso, perhaps a clue to his identity, perhaps not. And apparently he could feel something that was holstered on his belt as well, while something uncomfortably pressed his back above in an uniform way. Soon things became clearer, with some struggle he opened his weary eyelids, tears running down from his eyes like if some sort of chemical was irritating them.

Nothing besides a bright, clear sky was what soothed away his emptiness of mind. He immediately raised his head to look at himself. A large breastplate (http://www.gamebanshee.com/arcanum/equipment/images/at-electro-armor-m.JPG) covered his torso, it was peculiarly built like a machine rather than forged on its appearance, which seemed built from joined together parts rather than forged as a whole. Bolts, cranks and corkscrews were distributed around it, melding together several parts of its frame while a strange and small grooved tube twisted a few loops below the chest area of the armor covered by a very light and flexible sheet of steel joined by a couple of bolts. When he breathed it rather than remaining, flexed together with his breath as its more flexible parts gave way to his chest. While several lines of melded wires and trims were visible around it while two light steel shoulder plates filled with wires covered his shoulders, and somehow it seemed the armor had some sort of life within it, being more than a mere construction of steel. He wasn't sure why he was wearing such armor over a brown, long-sleeved shirt (http://www.tridentmilitary.com/New-Photos19/gt1b.jpg), however there was a small hint that perhaps could help this nameless man to rediscover his past, but he could not make any associations about it: A simple red painted symbol over the left breastplate, a sickle meeting with a hammer with two gears at the left and right of the hammer. There was no idea on what that symbol represented coming from the emptiness of his mind. However he could still remember was that a sickle was a farming tool and the hammer a worker tool, while gears served as some sort of very important component for machines, but although he knew the concept of machines, his mind was also blank about what exactly were machines.

Sustaining part of his weight with his hands firmly grounded on the grassy soil, and flexing his legs, this man has pulled himself out of the ground, feeling an impending sensation that remaining such way could be dangerous, but with no properly defined idea of why. The weight of the armor challenged his forces, but soon he was standing again. Observing everything he was wearing and carrying, brown pants, black boots, brown gloves of what seemed to be a light, comfortable padded leather, and a hilt of a blade hanging on his brown belt outside of the leather container of the blade, while a leather strap coming from the lower left to the upper right of his torso and conveniently giving space to the armor was holding what caused him such discomfort, a sort of barrel inside a large, wooden carved device with a stock and a protuding wooden grip which was linked to a rounded metallic frame with a trigger on its center. Instinctively he drew it, pointed to the air and pressed the trigger... only a clicking sound came. Somehow that clicking sound made a quick series of images pass through his mind... it was too fast and undefined, but it seemed to be a strife, he could not ascertain yet and that stressed this man beyond words.

Seeing that the device was currently useless, he putted it back on his shoulder, should it become important later, and took his attention to the melee weapon that was with him. With his right hand he drew the blade slowly, and to his surprise small arcs of electricity momentarily appeared on its surface while only now he had noticed a that its grip was a bit too large, its rear end having some sort of device attached which, logically should be the source of its electricity. Something gave him the feeling that perhaps putting that sword back on its previous place would not be a good idea.

The environment itself was what mattered now to him. Not being able to answer the fundamental question about who he is, hopefully not forever, because in fact the impossibility of seeing his own face also did not help that much, the next priority would be to attempt finding the answer to where he was, it brought no sensations, the only sensation he had was that it was an entirely foreign place. He was in a large plains of grassland and a bit ahead of him a hill went up considerably... the best way to scout that place. He made his way up there, trying his best to remain as discrete as possible considering the limitations of using such a heavy armor, and with his blade, which he held with both hands, always ahead of his direction, fortunately nothing came on his path, and when he finally reached the top of the hill, a sense of direction became possible... but things seemed dread.

Looking to the sun, he managed to determine the overall locations of north and south, in an instinctive way he soon traced mentally the positions of all the interesting locations he could spot. To the south there seemed to be a sort of battlefield, as evidenced by the burnings far ahead, and beyond them a dark... somber city, but somehow he felt impelled to investigate. However first the visage of an apparently safer location to the northwest of a city, which from its looks gave him the impression of primitiveness, but he wasn't sure why, it was his first goal because unless his eyes deceived him, it seemed to be much closer than the far away battlefield. Aware of it he holstered his blade again and trekked through a long journey, using an instinctive knowledge of outdoors to discreetly make his way... until he finally reached that city, it was already late afternoon and now a feeling of hunger started to overwhelm him. At his front a large wall and gates, and some guards. He tried to approach them as friendly and slowly as he could and waved to the guards ahead of him as a greeting.

Hopefully they were friendly...

(OOC: Basically he ended in the east gates of the City of Catrazza, in the Duchy of Slann)

OOC: I do want to have a good battle with Sir Gates and his men-at-arms, don't worry, I just want to sneak around and terrorize some farmers first. :p Makes for a more interesting story.

IC: Below the craggy flanks of the mountains, the land eased down into gentler slopes and rolling foothills, blanketed with thick pine woods. A number of small rivers and streams trickled lazily through deep valleys between the hills, their waters swollen with snowmelt and their banks thick with riparian growth.

Through this terrain, along old narrow trails that were little more than tracks in the pine mulch, Narakai and his column of 200 men descended into the sleepy hills. The Suendri were skilled hunters in addition to being warriors, and they knew how to move quickly and with little trace; horses were difficult to mask, it was true, but the upper hills were seemingly devoid of other people besides two isolated farmsteads they had observed and steered well clear of. By midday they established camp on a ridge that afforded a good view of the land to either side.

Now it was evening, the hour just after the sun had slipped below the horizon and darkness was gathering rapidly. Narakai knelt motionless beside a tree, twenty of his men spread out on either side of him, similarly hidden. In the glen below him lay a farmstead, a tiny clump of house and barn and a few sheds. Candlelight flickered through the windows of the farmhouse, and a solitary lantern made its way across the yard from the barn as the farmer returned from the last of his chores. This was the third such farmstead that Narakai and his band had found and marked, and that was well and good, but the Suendri warlord desired to find a village or sizable settlement of some sort.

Narakai rose to his feet, using a silent hand motion in the last of the day's light to signal his men to retreat. A stick snapped under a man's foot; from the farm below came the barking of a dog, and Narakai saw the black form of the animal running towards them out of the farmyard. The Suendri hurriedly melted back into the woods; it would not do to be discovered so soon.

They returned to camp through the darkness, finding the rest of the bands Narakai had dispatched to scout the hills already returned. "Warlord," Raganar, a senior warrior and the leader of one of the other bands, greeted him. "I expected that you would stay out the longest. See what we have discovered." He beckoned Narakai over near the fire, where the returning bands had scratched a map in the dirt and marked their findings. "There is a village ten miles east. Looks to be several hundred peasants, plus a garrison."

"How large?" Narakai asked.

"We could not tell for sure, but the guardhouse looked to hold about as many as we are," Lorovar, a warrior known for his sneakiness, joined the conversation, walking over from his horse chewing on a strip of dried meat. "I climbed a tree and crawled to a hundred paces from the village palisade, and remained motionless for several hours on a branch, watching. The soldiers patrol the walls in shifts, while the farmers and the trappers go in and out about their business. They are well-equipped, and seem disciplined enough."

"It is the largest settlement in the area?" Narakai asked, looking at the faces of his warriors for confirmation. They all nodded and made sounds of assent. "We found a half-dozen more farms to the west and south," Ibalan, another band leader, said. "And one tiny settlement that is merely a few families that built their houses together. But nothing so established as this."

Narakai nodded, leaning over to mark the farms he and his warriors had found. "It was the same for me and my band. Very well. That village will be our objective, but it would be folly to jump straight for it. I suggest we teach some of these farmers to be afraid of the dark, and see what the response will be." His mouth curled in a grin that was mirrored on the faces of his men. "Tomorrow night then, we will begin."

City of Catrazza

THe guards looked at the man and said

Please state your reasoning for being in the city of Catrazza said One guard

Northern Eclessia

Sir gates continue to through out the Northern Ecclesia when he finally arrived at Niatia everything seemed alright and The guards the city seemed to be well-equipped and had enough food to Survive a one week seige at least. So he thought to himself that he camp he for tonight had back towards his fort to the south.

Alright men we camp here tonight and well continue back towards tomorrow. Said Sir gates

OOC: Sorry for the short post but im pretty busy with basketball but after this weekend they should be longer

Night had fallen once more, and Narakai and a score of his warriors had gone forth to start their campaign of terror. The warlord of the Sparkling Fox took a moment to acknowledge the deja vu. He crouched once again on the slope above the farmhouse in the glen where the dog had noticed them the night before; twenty-odd warriors were scattered to either side, as before, lurking behind trees, bushes, and lying flat on the ground. The difference was that now they held weapons in readiness; and also, of course, what Narakai planned to do next as opposed to what he had done the previous evening.

Narakai flicked a silent hand signal. He, Lorovar, and three other chosen warriors rose from hiding and jogged fox-footed across the open yard, weapons in hand. The dog, as before, began barking fiercely as soon as it heard them; Lorovar bent his bow and gave it an arrow in the mouth for its trouble.

The farmhouse door flew open and the farmer stood in the doorway, no doubt roused by the dog's barking and the piteous yelp it gave as it flopped over and died; the man's expression froze in surprise and sudden fright, but he retained the presence of mind to throw himself back inside and slam the door shut. He was lucky; no sooner had the door banged shut when Narakai's hurled throwing axe slammed into its timbers with a solid whunk where the farmer's face would have been.

"Kraig!" Narakai yelled, no longer concerned with stealth. The Suendri in question was already at Narakai's side as they charged the door, swinging a heavy iron maul in two hands that smashed the deadbolt easily; the door crashed open and the two slipped inside, Narakai pausing only to yank his axe free.

He and Kraig found the family cowering in the bedroom. The farmer threw himself on his knees before the two armored Suendri warriors, babbling in his native tongue and thrusting a wooden box desperately at them. The words meant nothing to Narakai, but the intent was clear: the box probably held what money and valuables the family owned, intended to ransom their lives. But mercy was not in the Suendri plan. Narakai took the box from the father's hands and sunk the axe into his face; his wife and young daughter screamed in terror, while his teenage son yelled some curse and leapt for Narakai with a knife. Kraig's swinging maul sprayed his skull and brain fragments across the wall.

"I know you do not understand my words," Narakai said to the two survivors, in spite of the fact that they had not stopped screaming blue murder and didn't seem likely to stop any time soon, "but I do not intend to murder women and children this night." Kraig and Lorovar stepped forward, the moonlight from the window illuminating their blood-spattered armor and crested war helms in terrible clarity, and each took hold of a screaming female and took them from the house. Narakai stopped in the living room and found the dead farmer's lantern, breaking it on the floor and splashing its oil on the floorboards. A quick strike of his flint on one of his many knives set the mess ablaze, and he hurriedly quit the house as the flames hungrily spread.

The woman and her daughter had already been run off by the dozen warriors standing outside. "Hopefully she will go to the village," Ibalan said. "if we wish to rouse the garrison."

"It doesn't matter where she goes," Narakai answered. "The deed has been done, and the fear will spread now no matter what we do." The fire was licking tongues out of the windows now, questing and spreading towards the roof. At Narakai's order, several warriors snatched flaming brands from the wreckage and set the barn and sheds ablaze. "We will remain here long enough to ensure that the fire does not spread," the warlord decided. "Then move on."

The scene was repeated at two more lonely farmsteads before the sky began to lighten in anticipation of dawn, upon which Narakai and his band returned to camp.

OOC: Bump?