War in the North

[Jona]

+100 for the writing

Gracias.

-98 for the font

Sorry, but old habits die hard. That is how rping was done in the diplomacy threads of ye olden times... so italics = rp, not italics = out of character speaking, like now.

Oh, and -1 for going to war against us

Not so sorry.

[Sharpe]

Sharpe sat in a dimly lit tavern on some splintery oaken benches; he didn’t know whether or not his mood was being affected by the depressing atmosphere of the place or the 8 flagons of mead he had just hastily consumed. Some random Astralis knight came up to him, slapped him on the back, and said “Keldan I’ve been looking all over for you!” Sharpe turned around slowly and summarily punched the man in the face. Thinking to himself just because we wear the same blue gambeson and felt cap doesn’t mean we're the same person. A similar event happened to him in Veluca where a drunken TkoV serf thought he was Malke, except in Veluca he had been chased out of town by some very heavily armed men. He tossed his last few shekels at the bar keep, and walked outside to discover where he was.

Taking a step outside he was greeted by a gigantic gust of wind, which sprayed sand in his face. Well I’m in a desert, he thought. Every place begins to look the same,since he began his grieving process of travelling from tavern to tavern across the Calradian wastelands. Why am I even grieving? Who cares anymore. Sharpe walks back into the tavern to retrieve his finely crafted Yew Longbow and his 8lb Tydeus Bodkins. He turns to leave, but as he does, the tavern keeper throws something heavy and metal on the ground. “You seem to be forgetting this Sir Archer.” Sharpe walks over to pick up his sword and glares into the barkeepers soul, turns around and walks away.

As Sharpe walks around the bazaar to see if he can buy anything to sell at the next city for mead money, he hears his name being cried out through the streets. “ZeSharpe, ZeSharpe!” He wonders who it could be. Maybe it was Brunhilde from the tavern, or Jakov come to collect his debts (Sharpe had spent some time in EU, and found he was able to handle the Druzhina vodka, however he was not the best gambler when he was slightly incapacitated). In the end it was none of the above, but a messenger from the Northern Principalities.

ZeSharpe? The messenger calls out as the blue clad archer walks towards him. Sharpe replies with a very curt response, and grabs the scrolled up paper from the simple courier. He breaks the ink seal and unravels the parchment, noticing both the Valar Star and the Gaelic Hound on the crest, and begins to read the message

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Sharpe,
      
      The time has come for you to stop grieving over the Tydeus nerfs towards archery, and come back up to the North. We could use your marksmanship, and….. mainly just your marksmanship. For many a fool needs to have a 1v1 with your arrows to truly humble them.

Sincerely,

Wardens of the North.

[Jayjrod]

The RP in my first post has been updated.

[Thalion_Menelvagor]

King Bryggan the Magnanimous

Thanks Bryggan for spotting the fact that crime had started to creep up at Ismirala. Very chivalrous and sportsman like of you ole fellow. 

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"Milord," said Albus as he bowed and approached the mighty throne that sat in the great hall within the fortified city of Nova Curaw. "You have summoned me, and I am here. What are your orders?"

The King was silent for a moment, as if lost in thought. "You have heard that a bout of the plague has hit the wardens in their stronghold of Ismirala castle?"

"It seems to be so.  Our spies report that they are doing what they can to minimize casualties, but the plague is always costly whenever it appears." replied Albus.


The King nodded. "I have reached a decision, then, loyal Albus. I want a diplomatic mission sent to Ismirala castle. Send them the notes and treatments our physicians have gathered regarding the plague, and be quick about it."

Albus looked puzzled for a moment. "Shall i send another request for their surrender as well?"

Bryggan only chuckled. "For all the good it would do.  No, just the notes and the treatments. Plague seems a poor way for the likes of the wardens to leave the world." 

Shrugging, but not questioning the wisdom, or more particularly the orders of the High King, Albus made his way out of the throne room to carry out the task he had been set too. 


Meanwhile, back in the throne room, Bryggan was still contemplating the taste of his decision. He could have reveled in the fact that a patch of plague had shown up int he very heartland of his enemies.  Perhaps that is what he should do. Hope that it claimed as many lives as possible and reduced the Warden's ability to wage an offensive war. Leaving only the bloody business of storming Ismirala and Sargoth to finish it.  But no, that really wasn't want he wanted.  The weeks had dragged on, with victories and losses, near victories and near losses. Standing up from the great jewel encrusted throne that had been crafted for him he walked over to look at the table full of maps and plans in his war-room.  Calradia, often refered too now as Chadizia, a land at war, but a land so empty that once was brimming with life and activity.  What would be his fate once the wardens were finished?  Prosperity. Peace. Boredom. It was his destiny to unite all the lands under one rule, one great empire that would bring all peoples together and forge a lasting realm. But perhaps he could delay destiny a little while, and blame it on the stubborn necks of the Wardens.  Still, Finnian, Thalion and all the others. Did he want them to be vanquished by plague? No! But at the onslaught of his armies! He may be a High King now, and as savvy a political strategist as a military strategist, but in his heart he was a warrior.  To meet worthy enemies in battle and defeat them, to forge alliances and wield the power of kingdom as if it were a sword. 


In a few days time, for it was but a small distance that separated the capitals of Curaw and Ismirala from each other, a small party of the King's men arrived barring the flag of truce.  Mainly physicians with a soldier or two for guards while travelling. They were received well and shown into the throne room of Ismirala to call upon the Lord Warden.  "Greetings, travelers. By your flag of truce I expect that you are here to parley. What is your message then?" asked Finnian.

The messageners bowed  respectfully, before the lead physician among them spoke. "Lord Warden. We are here on command of the High King Bryggan to bring valuable medical notes and remedies for the treatment of the great afk-plague. Upon hearing that a touch of it had broken out here at the castle, our King was grieved that he should be deprived of his most vexing yet honorable foes."

There was a long pause in the room and then the Lord Warden smiled.  "Be it so. Though war must be waged at times, to assure a people's right to their own sovereignty, it can, and should be waged with a level of civility that eases the burden on the common man and the common soldier alike. We will accept your notes and treatments.  May you stay in the castle several days and work with our own physicians and herbalists to get this bought of plague underhand. Then you will receive safe conduct out of our lands and back into your own. Now, you have journeyed long in the cold of winter. I will have food and mulled wine sent up to your rooms, where you may dine in comfort and relaxation." The company from Curaw nodded and bowed before being shown to their quarters. 

Thus it was that Bryggan the Conqueror became known as Bryggan the Magnanimous, First of his House. The barbarian king who was never afraid to shed blood towards his cause now proved he could be generous to his enemies as well as his friends.

[Tristan_of_Erzoth]

Go back to war against each other so I can get sick XP again thx

[HardRice]

Hey, I just wanted to interrupt Thalion's yall's cock-stroking to remind him of something:

Fuck James

[Bryggan]

That sorta attitude always pisses me off. Anyone who wants to play can.  If you gotta problem with James, contact me.  And I will tell you are a pussy eating (not in the fun way, but when your tongue aches and yet still she is unsatisfied) low life scoundrel scumbag loser douchebag  cuntwad.

Gentlemen, we are the 13 Knights.  We don't choose our battles by who we like or don't like.   We choose our battles by the map.  We are true ferkin warriors, and we don't give a shit who we fight; friends or enemies, we will fight them all.  Cuz that's Strat's about.

[njames89]

Hey, I just wanted to interrupt Thalion's yall's cock-stroking to remind him of something:

Fuck James

Yes I can feel the anger, let it fester inside you, use it to...

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contribute to the game ayyy

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[Keshian]

Yes I can feel the anger, let it fester inside you, use it to...

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contribute to the game ayyy

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Lol, just checked forums and map after 2 months of ignoring it and playing game where devs actually give even a minute of attention to their games.  James, i just feel sorry for you.  Can't give up his pixel kingship (vassalage to 13K though?) in a  dead game so still keeps going douche-strong.  Maybe i'll check back in another 2 months see if you can stop obsessing over anger.

[njames89]

Lol, just checked forums and map after 2 months of ignoring it and playing game where devs actually give even a minute of attention to their games.  James, i just feel sorry for you.  Can't give up his pixel kingship (vassalage to 13K though?) in a  dead game so still keeps going douche-strong.  Maybe i'll check back in another 2 months see if you can stop obsessing over anger.

lel , kesh your siege of Reyvaddin was terrifying m8.

[UnholyRolyPoly]

Lol, just checked forums and map after 2 months of ignoring it and playing game where devs actually give even a minute of attention to their games.  James, i just feel sorry for you.  Can't give up his pixel kingship (vassalage to 13K though?) in a  dead game so still keeps going douche-strong.  Maybe i'll check back in another 2 months see if you can stop obsessing over anger.

He's just a D-Bag.  That's what D-Bags do. 

[Thalion_Menelvagor]

So, the Kingdoms of the North thought they'd take advantage of a random afk guy attacking one of our fiefs at 4am to make a land grab?

Bryggan, as Nova Rebache village was a contested area in our peace treaty negotiations, and we stated no willingness to surrender it, I must treat this attack as an act of aggression. Our cease fire is now ended. Tell your carpenters to start making coffins, your going to need them.

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http://c-rpg.net/index.php?page=strategusbattlesarchive#!?page=strategusinfobattledetail&id=3615

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http://c-rpg.net/index.php?page=strategusbattlesupcoming#!?page=strategusinfobattledetail&id=3618

[Bryggan]

Hmmm?  Ah, I see.  Well that Camulos cares about the people of New Rebache.  There is no way he would allow his villagers suffer rule from some random viscious AFKer just because the Wardens couldn't defend it.  But I am a generous man, always seeking peaceful ways to prevent bloodshed.  Despite the protestations from the villagers themselves, I, in the hope of peace, offer to trade New Rebache in exchange for New Yruma castle (garrison included).  It hurts me to do so, but I love each and everyone of my ticks as though it were my own child and hate to see their precious lives thrown away.

So I offer a path to peace and prosperity, but if you refuse it we shall have to mobilize our vast, vast forces and once again the land will be rent with massive XP gaining battles.

[WITCHCRAFT]

WITCHCRAFT sits upon an empty hog trough outside the merchant hall of Slezkh Castle... she puffs furiously through the entire length of an herbal cigarillo. A haze lingers in the still air, perfumed with the sacred scent of rosemary and copal.

"I dragged these shitty bolts of silk all the way up here. The northmen know nothing of their value! I can't sell them at the price of shoddy hempcloth! At this rate, we'll never even unload those stone-hewn wayshrines from the steppe."

A smoldering ash from the cigarillo lands upon the vellum describing her 'precious' trade cargo. WITCHCRAFT slowly runs a finger behind the veins of black that spread across the useless scroll as it burns. A muffled laugh escapes her lips, pluming more smoke into the air.

"I should have left the silk to rot in some humid steppe storehouse. Wasted time. If only I could fall back to the o l d   w a y s and bolster my army with shadow and malice..."

The mixed smoke of burning calf-leather and herbs coalesces into a shivering doorway. Shrugging her shoulders, WITCHRAFT steps into the smog and disappears. The sleeping guardsman nearby does not notice, but his body convulses. As he wakes, the last of the smoke is siphoned into nothingness. A chill wind brushes past him to fill the space once occupied by the strange woman.

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The billowing fog clears, leaving WITCHCRAFT at the entrance of an old abode. It is disheveled - the thing hasn't been visited in almost a year. Bits of staircase and rooftop have sunken inward. The shadeguard is long since gone from the doorway. She climbs the twisted stair with caution. Upon entering the hut, WITCHCRAFT notices an old friend. A very old friend. He steps into the light projected from the open doorway and speaks.

"O̻̺͎̮̝ͯͭ͂̎̎H̲̝́ͦͬ̊ͣ̎ ̙͚̪̭͉̞ͫ̔ͩ̃̃ͅM͕̯̿́̂ͩͩA͎͔̲̺͆ͭ͐́͆ͭ̀Ŝ̪̩̬̈́̍̃̇T̙͕͖̏͌̀̒̑Ẽ̪̩̺͕̻ͦR̭̘ͬͩ͋ͥ̃̌͛ ̺͒̿ͪ̅W̭̳̞̥̖͚͖͛E̞͉̼͍ ͉̬̥̿̾ͬ̿̍̊H͕͖̀̔̆ͩAV̯ͩ̔ͥ͐ͥ́E̜̲͇͍͓̟ ̟͍͛͑ͧ̈͒ͩM͔̮̟̲̠̝̞̄̋ͮ͂̿͗̔I̐̚Ś̙͍̺͊S̙ͪ͂E̤̜ͧͯ̑̿D̜͇̖̦ͪͮ̈ ̹͍̇͌̔͒͋̓Y͇̣͖͖ͫ͛ͬ̈́̚O͕̟̩̬̜̖͙Ȕ̟̈͊ͥ̈́ͫͦ! ͇̭̪͋̒̾̄̇́ͣW̺̱̟̰̹͎ͭ̇̈́ͭͅH͙̠̫͐Y͓͇͓̬͊ ͓̜̭͎̤͈̬̇D̯͉̩̻̞̄͊̃̽Ó̞͖̱̮̮̺̅͛̋ ̼̟̰̘̣ͥY͒ͪO̤͚̩̰̜̣ͭͥU͙͆́̐ͣ ̻̟̬̎Ľ͔̹̳̯̮͕͎̓E̦̝̭͔̩ͣA̤̹V̳͕̭͓̭̠ͤ̎ͭ͛ͯͧͤE̜̱̲̹̦ͨ̓̎ͧ̍ͤ̀ ̺̣̻̖̜̯̃͆̓̈̋U̩̬͍̟̦̹̓̃ͬͦͨ̉ͤS͔ ͮ̋͑͛I̞̠̭̳̳̜͚̊̓̄͊ͪ̏N͍̫͇̙͖̞͍͑ ̼̗͇̘̳̥̬Ṯ̗̞̥̩̉̄̐̀ȞͣI̔̎ͣ̊̈́͗̒S̭̬͉̫̮͍ͮ͆͂̓ͣ̐ͅ ̮̫̅Ë̬́̏ͣͩX̫̙̱̼̘̭ͨͪ͒̏̾̌͋Q͈͖͇̼ͪͣ̋̇ͣṴ̖ͤI̋͋̇S͉̗͕̻̣̗̭ͣͣͮ͂͑ͫI͖͇̜͉̳̥ͩ̀͂͋̽̾T͍̪̣̫̤̰̓͆E̥̪͕̟ ̲̗̹̺̰̝̋R̞͕̦̘͉͈ͤO̦̭̪̞͌̚Tͧ͛͗ͅ?͙̙͇̩ͤ̏̀̿͊"

"I am no longer welcome here. I love you as always, but my ways have changed. I cannot dote over you and the others as I once did."

"I̦͔͈̋T͎̤͕̘͇͊̆ ͩH̺̮̃̒Ũ͇͖R̸͍̩̠̰̰̯͑ͧ̽ͪ̌͗T̺̄͑S̼̙̋ ̴͉͚̺̮̉̐̈̑ͨT̖͙͙͈̭͍͕ͦ͛̐̂̿͡Oͫ̈́͐̾͋ͧ̚҉͉͕͓̪͖ ͆͗̍͢B͉̯̫̝̔͋̽̓ͅÊ͎̣̯͙̙̥̮ͭ̍̌̽̇̅ ̠̯̜͇̘̉̌ͧ͟Ȧ̫̫̠͕̋ͦ̚L̷͍͚̞̮̻̪͙̉̑͂ͧͥ̔ͦOͫ̅̈͒ͩ͌N̽ͫͪ̃͡Ễ̪͕̮ͬ̎ͦ͌́"

"I am sorry for your pain, but I... can't. The Light spreads across Calradia, and I am but one of many harbingers. I would take you with me, but the light hurts more than the pain of being alone."

"I̦ͫ̎ ̯͚͙̣͎̜̓ͪ̐ͤͯͦ̂W̞͖͓I̻̞̫̼L̗̭͚͉̻͔̇̈́̃͛̽͆͡Ĺ̯̜͒͊́ ̘ͣ̐ͣ͛̐̌F̦̺͓̘O͓͚̖̳̤̍̋̐L̞̯̪͎̜̂ͥ̒ͭ͒̓̍L͝O̰͙͗͋Ẁ̩̉ͭ"

You can't. It is anathema to your ways, to my old ways. If you follow me, you will be but ash."

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WITCHRAFT annoints the lonely guard in keeping with the o l d   w a y s. Its skeletal face is always twisted into the rictus of a grin, but it seems to relax. A sonorous moan flows from between the creature's teeth.

"Perhaps I shall return to you all. The Light is not providing me the salvation I was offered. I sit in squalor, making no use of myself. Perhaps... I shall find a way to introduce you to my new friends..."

"O̜̙̰͕ͮ̒ͤ͂ͩ̔̐H̢͇͈̺̓̇ ̞̯̺̤̐̐̽M̪̯̪̹̈̈̍̎̄͐̚A̘͂ͦ̏̊͂̀S̭̬̝Tͤ͋Ę͉̲̦͖͚̬͙̍̄̆͌̑͊̿R"

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YO BRYGGAN AND JAMES U INVITED TO A PARTY AT THE ABODE OF SHADOW

I MADE DAQUIRIS

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HURRICANE IKE FINAL ADVISORY NUMBER 666
NWS TPC/NATIONAL HURRICANE CENTER MIAMI FL
0200 AM SUN SEP 14 2008

A MASSIVE HURRICANE, NEY, A TITANIC BLACK MASS OF DESTRUCTION, BORN OF THE COLD, EVIL WOMB OF MOTHER NATURE, WILL RENDER MUCH OF COASTAL AND INLAND TEXAS A BARREN WASTELAND. IKE IS COMING.

SUCH IS THE POWER OF THIS STORM, IF INDEED, ANYTHING DISPENSING THIS AMOUNT OF HUMAN SUFFERING CAN BE CALLED A STORM.

THE STORM SURGE, ONCE PREDICTED AT 17 FEET, WILL NOW REACH UNHEARD OF HEIGHTS. IF WILL BE AS IF THE OCEAN ITSELF HAS VACATED IT'S VAST PRISON, SHAKING LOOSE HER CHAINS, AND LAYING ITSELF PRONE ATOP THE CITIES OF MAN. THE LAST VESTIGES OF IT'S BONDAGE SINKING ALL THAT LIES IN IT'S PATH.

ALL STRUCTURES WITHING A 100 MILE RADIUS WILL SUFFER DEVASTATING EFFECTS. WOOD WILL SPLINTER, CONCRETE WILL BECOME DUST. THE FOUNDATIONS WILL BE THE STARK REMNANTS OF HUMAN EXISTENCE IN THESE AREAS. TREES WILL BECOME UPROOTED AND CARRIED MILES BY WINDS THAT WILL BLAST THE VERY SKIN FROM ANYONE FOOLISH ENOUGH TO REMAIN OUTSIDE. BUT THEY WILL BE THE LUCKY ONES...THE FIRST TO DIE. FOR A MUCH GREATER MISERY AWAITS THOSE THAT SURVIVE.

AMIDST THIS MIRE OF CARNAGE, THE FEW SURVIVORS WILL WALLOW IN A SOUP OF DEATH AND DESPAIR, AS THEY FACE GRIM ODDS. FEW STRUCTURES WILL EXIST, AND FOOD AND WATER WILL BE MORE PRECIOUS THAN GOLD. AS CORPSES OF HUMANS AND ANIMALS ROT, DYSENTERY AND MALARIA WILL BEGIN THEIR MACABRE DANCE AMONG THOSE REMAINING AND MANY WILL BE FORCED TO CONSUME ONE ANOTHER TO LIVE ONE FINAL DAY.

ENTIRE GENERATIONS WILL PERISH, AND THE HURRICANE WILL CREEP INTO LEGEND. IT WILL BE A SIN TO EVEN CALL ITS NAME ALOUD, THE VERY EXISTENCE OF THIS EVENT BEING SPOKEN OF IN HUSHED TONES, AND REVERED BY THOSE WHO SEE IT AS JUDGMENT. IKE IS HERE. IKE IS HERE. IKE IS HERE. IKE IS HERE. IKE IS H
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WITCHRAFT COMIN BACK... soon^tm

[Algarn]

This shit was hilarious, fuck, NA strat got great RP posts at least