Joined: Sun May 31, 2009 1:10 pm
(part 2)King Quindraco wants YOU.
Lord Doch and his Lieutenants
The large, fat man with balding hair waddled up as a duck would, having to almost side-step to get around his tremendous girth's opposition to walking. "King!" He yelled, sweat dripping off his cheeks and onto the floor. Thank goodness every turn wiped away the stains he left behind. "King Quindraco the Iron!"
The King, his head obscured by the extensive size of his obsidian-ironned hat, turned to look at the fat man. "Yes, Chief Warlord?"
"There's been a fire in Dodecapisca's hexes! We've had people in revolt, turning and trying to escape in the forest!" His eyes, black and blank, stared nervously at the king's feet. You never could stare at the King for too long without feeling uncomfortable. "They request a small portion of the treasury to ensure the hex is replanted."
King QuinDraco turned and looked out off the balcony. Despite the immense, tall size of his tower, he was still bothered daily by his Chief Warlord. He sighed, the sound reveberating deeply within the tower from his iron mask, producing a gong-like sound. "Send the aid. Disband a portion of the population to remind them the penalty of disobedience. Increase the amount of.. entertainment supplied."
"Are you sure..?" Chief Warlord Gryphonson asked nervously. Upon being met by the steely eyes from within the darkness of his King's helmet, he nodded quickly and left.
MEANWHILE IN ANOTHER HEX, FAR, FAR AWAY
"What is that?" One of the men asked.
"I'm not sure." Warlord Kitchener replied. "I think it's a bore."
"What's a bore?"
"Anything that's not part of Pentaherp." He replied, simply. "We will croak it upon our turn."Yakkety Sax
"Sir, we seem to have lost the bore... sir, where are we?"
"In unexplored territory. We will continue south, for the glory of Pentaherp."
The men trudged on silently behind the Warlord, afraid to speak their displeasure.
They stopped in a forested hex, surrounded by snow and a deep cover of fog o'war. Looking nervously about, they clutched their weapons tightly. None of them truly wished to be resting in so uncomfortable a hex, each missing the warmth and comfort of an entertained Pentaherp hex.
As the men huddled around a makeshift fire they were attempting to keep going, Warlord Kitchener was deep in thinkamancy, relaying the new geographical information back to his King.
Sir Namegduf and How to Make Friends Orchester was lorded over by Bach, a royal warlord of Toch, sent to look over the workers sent south to found the city. He was paler than the usual Toch, due to his turns spent in the shadows of the capital. He had no love for beaches and the women workers, like the King did. No, he preferred the comfort of silk pillows, silk clothing, and the lovely ladies of the warrior class being dressed in them.
It was a strange perversion of his, he supposed, to enjoy the warrior class like the worker class, but any city he commanded fought harder than all the others, for all the warlords and most of the warriors in them knew him personally. They were his to have, and he was theirs to defend.Toch had the unusual fortitude of being pleasing in both defensive layout and aesthetics, being well protected by the coastal mountain range, and yet ripe with forest, plains, and river.Chief Warlord Clef trudged in silence with the members of his stack. This stretch of forest tucked behind the mountain range ended at a hill overlooking the ocean and an inset sea that spread into the land by river. From here, he could see the head of the river, ripe with gold. He would go around and investigate if it was rich enough for use by his Lord. It was likely Clef would never see use of it, but he had no want for riches.Instead of leading him to gold, the mountain range led to an inset barbarian tribe in the area. His men easily defeated them in combat, taking the contents of their purse and capturing survivors for use as worker class. The inset nature of the hill surrounded by mountains was of strategic value, if it was within range of the gold hex. Further explorations of the mountain range proved fruitless, seeming to extend forever. Warlord Clef decided to sweep south to finish scouting the area, leaving a more extensive search for later.The workers he brought back were put to use in a nearby hex, paving a road to Orchester. The single woman captured was indoctrinated by the end of the turn, but the King did not enjoy her appearance. She did not have the almond eyes or golden skin of a Toch. She was re-stacked with Clef before he set back out again, so the King did not have to see her around the city- he was not foolish enough to waste a good-levelled warrior.
He told Clef to "make good use of her" with his fatherly smile and a wink. Clef supposed he could always make use of another good warrior.
King Sinrus and the Proving Grounds
Sir Namegduf paced back and forth across the halls of his marble capital. Pieces of the city were still woodwork, more popping in with every turn. It was merely a placeholder, but every Imperial needed a proper capital, for the respect of his people, and the respect of his descendants.
Scoutsman Francis was a man who knew his place in the world. For example, if his lord and king told him "Jump", he was the kind of man who build proceed to build hoops to jump through. If his lord told him "Go search for resources", He would trek through desert and barbarians to find them.
He had encountered members of a lost Side, and bargained with them for some of their purse in return for allowing them to join the motherland. That would do well for now, but he'd need more.
Another tribe revealed to him retained secrets. It was excellent treasure, but he would press on. With every barbarian tribe he found, that was more troops for the cause. So many wild ones, wandering after the destruction of their side and the reforming of the world, unlucky enough to have lost their King..
Captain Drake, on the other hand, was near-mutinous. A sailor without a ship, a commander without a crew, the apocalypse had taken from him everything he'd ever had and ever wanted. Now he was ordered through sand and hill, far from his beloved water, to find materials for the ships his King would need.
He bludgeoned to death several feral barbarians before marching to the nearby barbarian tribe, force-pressing them into a scout stack on threat of death, and sending them north.
A stack of well-dressed businessmen stumbled through the hex near them in the opposite direction, looking quite unsettled and tired. Captain Drake was in far too foul a mood to deal with them, and let them pass without issue. He'd rather not be dressed down by the King for being the first diplomatic incident of the new world.
Scoutsman Francis was quite tired of all the mountainous coast, but he was mapping out well the state of the land. It seemed they were just on the cusp of a great desert sundered in two by water by the Reckoning.
It was in this state that he encountered the most unusual stack. A well-armored man, two identical leather-wearing women with twin daggers, a balding man in blue robes with staff, and a white-haired young woman with silver robes. The armored man seemed to be the leader, as he stepped forward.
"LOOKING FOR GROUP?" He bellowed out to Francis. "WANT TO JOIN THE GUILD?" Loi had to say he wasn't, being already part of another side. The balding man was kind enough to refresh his stack with rations, and the white-haired woman cast some strange magic upon them. His move was renewed! "We've put you on our friends list. Is this okay?" The man asked. Francis agreed heartily.
He thanked them politely, and went on his way.
Construction of the Mothership was about to commence.
King Turbler and did I mention large tracts of land?
Khor was but a Spark in the service of his lord, but by thunder, he longed for combat. This scouting duty was beneath him. It was a pity he was the lowliest and freshest popped of the Drakinite; He might have had chance to relax within their new capital. Instead, his heavy legs kept trudging through forest and jungle, removing the fog and plundering any unlucky enough to come into his way.
Scenarios played out in his head. What if he found a great tribe of unsettlers and brought them to Drakinite? Would he earn the Thunder Boon then? What if, by sea and storm, he found that ancient enemy who had laid their world asunder, wandering from hex to hex, searching for a new Side to place down.. and defeated him? Yes, that would give him the fame.
He imagined the feral wildlife was secretly controlled by the Great Doom.
It made the fight more thrilling, though his men questioned his fervor as bloodlust, and applauded his dedication to the Art. It was shortly after this that he encountered something that he knew he had to report back immiedately.
Proving grounds upon which to whet their appetite, the rod to which their storm would strike. A foe! They quickly retreated from the battlespace's edges, drawing into the jungle with anticipation and growing eagerness.
Mal and the Very Slow Turns
King Turbler was hard at work within the Great Hall, expanding the ever-expanding map upon the wall for use and re-detailing it. It pained her no small amount to have to erase what had been on it.. She hadn't the misfortune of suffering through the vast majority of the apocalypse, born into the End Days as she was. Still, it's unnerving. All this immutable, unchangeable, forever restructured.. The world is made of chaos, kept by rules.
Another tribe wanted to rejoin her and form a new city. Another! Her purses would drain ever the faster.. but she once agained relented under the pressure of her compassion. She was born to save people. Though every blue drop of her blood recoiled at the thought, she did it anyways.
She was rewarded with it when they shared a secret of technology they had been struggling to understand again.
Word came to her ears of a most beautiful site. Some of her men wished to spend a while dallying about the hexes, soaking in the sights. Lazy buffoons.
She ordered them to keep moving, having to promise she would look into putting a city down there. She stretched her hands over the weavery of The Map. She would be glad when her city reached Level 2 and she could pop weaver units to do this for her. Her large tracts of land prevented her from making much progress.The man stared down the bald-headed buffoon with narrow, cold eyes. His breath smelled like the cold, his skin seemed seeped with permafrost. He'd introduced himself as The Searcher, a unit of Lord Ragnar, and asked a few questions- about the End, about their Side. The buffoons seemed afraid to respond, but they'd done so, telling him of their three cities and King.
He would relish killing them later- not now, of course, war had rules and honour codes to be followed, but a sizable enemy was at last at hand. He politely shook their hands and marched away.
Upon recieving this news, it was said that King Turbler had to sit down for a very long period of time. The men were restacked as garrison units, never to sent out again.
King Boxer and the Diplomatic Error
Progression came.. slowly. Too slowly for his liking.. he had underestimated just how slowly things went with a Level 1 City. He would need to change this..
His doctors reported finding precious gems.. He would expand there first. Take advantage of the landscape.. use the money to explode outwards with imperfection.
He began with the nearby forest. It was simple.. easy. It was nothing compared to the locust swarms, the black beetles of his heyday, but it was something. The fire reminded him of the great Burnings they'd initiated in his wake.. destroying their own cities to prevent his taking of them.
His men found others.. croaked them. Discovered what they looked like on the inside. The same as before the Renewing. That was good..
They'd met a strong force of men with bloodthirst unstoppable.. fled south to avoid them. Progress would come, but oh, it came so slowly for his liking..