Our Terrible Purpose

[TheMeanestGuest]

Hey everyone! Below you'll find a few details on Our Terrible Purpose, a post-apocalyptic fantasy forum game I hope to run. Feel free to ask questions, discuss, and critique after reading. Shout out to Salacious Angel for the word zirraf, and shout out to Steerpike for the ever-influential Cadaverous Earth.

[ic=The Khthonion]An Algid Earth hung suspended in the void, its star long dim and cold. On thrones of ice and steel sat the Khthonic Lords, who held that frigid orb in thrall. For an eon none had dared contest their will, and so their most terrible weapons lay beneath the grinding ice and drifting snows, as even those Lords had forgotten their use. Yet upon that Earth remained some few souls, free, or bound in slavery; to be exalted or to be destroyed upon a whim. Perhaps it was the errant prayer of such a soul - cast out to the stars - that precipitated what was to come, or perhaps it was long in design.

That dim and distant star was kindled to life, bright and blazing in its newborn glory. Its light pierced through the void as a knife, and it struck the Algid Earth. As one the khthonim groaned a wailing groan, and their calls echoed upon that Earth and into the now-furious sky. They shook themselves from the strange sleep of frozen ages, and looked out upon the world. The new sun was occluded in the blur of a thousand-thousand wings, and a black rain poured upon the earth, striking it as fire. The zirrafim had come. The Star of the Morning, Heosë herself, and all the Golden Host with her. Apollyon-Kotet threw himself from the earth on coruscating wings of colour, and the very fabric of reality trembled and melted with his passing. He stood before Heosë, and looked upon her with his great and staring eye. "You are loud, and have woken me from well-deserved rest." he said, and he called up from the bowels of the netherhell a pillar of night with which to strike her. But an eon of cold had made him slower than once he was, and Heosë stood not where he struck, and it was Apollyon-Kotet who fell from the sky, his body pierced with seventy-seven solar lances. Slowly were the khthonim driven back upon the field. The zirraf Mammoun wrestled down thousand-armed Nivial and drowned him in a thawing sea even as it was boiled with the rage of his dying, his army wailing upon the shore. Laan, who burned swollen with grotesque and cursed might, who fell apart in Heosë's hands. Cunning Sprezychish, who was driven from his thrice-encircled palace with but a tattered fragment of his soul. And so the old tyranny gave way to one new, and so the choirs sang in Golden Dis.[/ic]

[ic=Her Earthly Dominion]It was that Heosë looked out upon her conquest, and decreed that it must change. It was impure, corrupted with wickedness and sin. Again the Golden Host took wing, and again fire poured down across the land; those few peoples of the world who remained were long-broken, and could not resist the zirrafim. Some men turned upon their fellows, seeing in this their salvation, and Heosë granted them her favour, and the right to rule in her name.

On the banks of the river Alph the zirrafim built the city Dis. Towers as tall as mountains, palaces resplendent with otherworldly glory. The choirs sang upon a marbled square before a marbled hall, where Heosë sat her throne. Their song nurtured the land, and its many scars were slowly healed. A supernal wood grew up about that city, and it was the apotheosis of all woods, sublime in its natural beauty and tranquility, and filled with creatures wonderful and rare. Heosë came to love this wood, and she named it Rem, and could often be found upon its paths.

Far from Rem and Dis and the river Alph the world was a crueler place. The people cried out, now great in number, as they lay prostrate before looming cathedrals. The priest-magi glowered down, indifferent to any suffering. Toil brings purity, they said, and so the people toiled on the earth and below it to serve a distant city they would never see.

For an age were the zirrafim thus contented, but it was that one day a call was heard upon the aether, though it was so very far away. The choirs grew restless and discordant. Heosë stood before her folk, and she knew that she could not long keep them. She said that she had come to love this world too much, and could not depart, and so to her sister Inan-Ishtar she passed her scepter and her crown. The host was gathered, and departed with festival and song. They took Silver for their banner, for Gold would always remain to Dis. Some few of the zirrafim chose to linger, those who loved the world as Heosë did, or who could not bear to leave her. Things were much as they had been before, though Dis seemed not to shine as brightly, and the choir's song was not so loud as it had been once, now long ago, and it bore a note of melancholy.

True vengeance bides its time, waiting for that perfect moment. The khthonim had sown their progeny upon the Algid Earth, only for that legacy to be expunged in fire and light. Ere he was drowned, it was that the dread prince Nivial saw his fate written upon the stars. He called his sons to him, and he threw each and every one into the deepest pit of that ancient and nether realm from which his people came. He who should possess the strength to climb back out should be one worthy to avenge him, he decreed. It was Nivias the Rozier who swam the Acheron, who slew twelve of his brothers upon the gloaming plain, who won his life in a game of chess against cunning Sprezychish, and who survived his father's trial. He returned to the world of his birth, his power grown great.

He shook the ground beneath those grim cathedrals, and their foundations splintered and cracked, and their towers fell in upon themselves. He lashed the priest-magi with whips of infernal fire, and filled their lungs with cold water, and called the spirits of the restless dead to drag them down to the nether, and all their spells availed them not. It was Arram the Sorcerer who ruled in Heosë's stead in the far lands of the earth, and so the Rozier came in fury to stand before him. Their duel was long, and their spells gouged the earth and cracked the sky, but at last did Arram submit. Seized with a fear greater than the one he held for the zirrafim unmanfully did he beg for mercy. The Rozier grinned, and said the skill he had shown was fine, and for its display was Arram bound as slave and apprentice. An army grew about Nivias the Rozier, and so he found his father's ancient forges locked deep beneath the earth, and he opened them with the key written in his blood. Belching smoke the furnaces warmed, and soon the flumes ran with white-hot metal, and the air was filled with the cacophony of hammer upon steel, and great titans were risen up as in elder days. Her nations fell, and at last Heosë was roused to action.

The generals Semmias and Valiel went forth, riding upon the backs of crystal dragons, and they marshaled all the power that then remained to Dis. The sky was black with storm when the armies met upon the plain of Sermet. Zirrafim wheeled in the sky, great and golden phalanxes beneath them, lines of proud centaurs upon the flanks, and strange creatures or machines like gossamer spiders towering above. Nivias the Rozier stood in company with all his witches and magi before his army. He had dug up the skeletons of vanquished khthonim from the earth, or plucked them from the depths of the sea, hatred still burning in empty eyes. He had called upon giants, and they came to him bearing wicked axes, or trees plucked from the earth as clubs. He was master to a screaming and seething horde, all the slaves of Dis now freed, armed with demon swords and mail. He had built many machines of war, and his titans strode forth clad in ornate armour plating - enormous machines bathed in steam and festooned with cannon - and buzzing things like metal wasps circled about them.

The armies met. Violence incomprehensible, and millions dead, swallowed up by the earth beneath them, crushed beneath some roaring beast, souls unraveled by arcane fog, or bodies blasted with black fire or searing light. Semmias came down upon Nivias, and the dragon Anendrein took him up in its jaws and swallowed him down in one instant, and a moan of utter sorrow went up from his army. But Anendrein seemed to flutter - as the wings of a hummingbird do - and its crystal scales began to melt and drip, and Semmias leaped free just as his dragon vanished in a swirling column of eldritch numina. There stood Nivias the Rozier, whole and unharmed, and Semias screamed in rage and dove at Nivias, solar lance poised before him. He faltered in the air, some spell upon him, and fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Nivias stepped forward, and spat upon his face, and drove a dagger through his eye. Valiel could not be found, and the army of Dis began to falter, and slowly a keening went up from the zirrafim, one to the other, and of a sudden they made to flee. Near all were ridden down, or shot from the sky, or dragged from where they hid. The way to Dis lay open.

Nivias rode at the front of his army upon a cloud, and at last he was before the gate. Heosë awaited him. She sat languidly in the shallows of the river Alph, nine zirrafim about her bearing lance and shield. Heosë laughed as she spoke: "I am undone! The scion of my foe has come to me, but it is not his hand that sees me fall." and she held up her wrists, and all saw that golden blood poured from ragged slits. Nivias looked upon the water then, and he howled with rage as he saw the design Heosë drew upon its surface. He threw a spell upon her, but the zirrafim locked their shields together, the spell shrieked and sparked before them, but it fell spent upon the ground. A moment more, and Heosë sighed, and her golden form fell into the water with a splash, her life at last spent into the river.

Mammoun stepped from the shadow of the gate as if peeled from the stone itself, skin black as pitch, the great sphinx Anyais at his side, his starry cloak upon his back. He spoke then: "Does your revenge satisfy you, princeling? Your burden is lifted, and the haze clears from your mind, but you will not  desecrate this sacred place." Nivias only snarled, and he bade his giants forward. They roared and swung their axes fiercely, but Mammoun simply danced aside, and he killed each one with a single strike of his palm. Nivias shook with rage, and he screamed at his magi and his witches, and each flung their killing spells upon Mammoun, but they dripped from his starry cloak like water. Mammoun stepped forward, and the army gathered before him flinched back. Nivias was still, a look of utter fury upon his face, and it seemed then that surely Mammoun would be destroyed. But nothing happened. And so Mammoun took one more step forward, and gently he placed his hand upon Nivias, and he spoke again: "Your father's power slips from your grasp, and your victory turns to ash in your mouth. The zirrafim are not beyond a petty revenge." and he laughed softly and bitterly. Mammoun seized Nivias by the throat, and hoisted him aloft, and crushed him in his hands. The army the Rozier had gathered for his terrible purpose fled as his body was tossed upon the shore.

The zirrafim there gathered bowed their heads in respect, and each departed. It was that Mammoun sighed then, and turned, and swept his gaze across Golden Dis one final time, beholding its fine gardens and palaces, its domes and its towers. He took up the pallid body of Heosë - her wrists slashed, golden blood still dripping, and he left that place.[/ic]

[ooc=An Understanding of Anomalies]Anomes - or, magic, to the uncouth and uneducated - is the practice of imbuing a symbol with aetherial power. The aether - the numinous energy which flows between worlds and realms - cannot be directly accessed. The minds of men possess neither the strength or technique. Rather, this power must be interpreted through analogy and symbolism, be that symbol a phrase, a gesture, a rune, or simple ideation. Such symbols have no power in and of themselves. A practitioner must empower or infuse his symbols with aetherial potency. For the most part, propensity towards this ability is inborn in some few individuals, though with the proper mind, and with rigorous dedication, it may be taught to a willing pupil.

Orthodox

Developed in the cathedral-colleges of the Dominion, the orthodox tradition emphasizes detachment and understanding - a calculated and severe application of anomes. Through the elimination of emotional pollution, and through the inculcation of deeper understanding, the potential power of a practitioners symbol is substantially increased. The development of such skill requires years of intensive schooling.

Heterodox

A term applied primarily by the orthodox to those they view as lesser practitioners of anomes, to those who lack that essential purity of resolve. A living, ever-changing hodge-podge of a thousand magical traditions. The charm of a gutter witch, the potion of a country wizard, the ritual of a tribal shaman. Such techniques vary wildly in method and and potency, but all allow for that key ability to access the energies of the aether.

Plenipotent

To mold the raw power of the aether is true sorcery, and this is beyond the ken of mortal men.[/ooc]

It is my intention that each player will come to control a state entity or nation in the aftermath of the events described above. You may choose to play as one of the magi of the Rozier's army as each vies to establish his or her own faction from the fragments of the army that won its victory upon Sermet. Or you might choose to play as one of the remaining zirrafim, gathering those loyal to you in some hidden place that you might make bid to restore Rem to rightfulness. Or you could play as an entirely different people with entirely different goals. Feel free to create as you please, though I will necessitate some adherence to the present themes, and try not to go overboard. I won't allow the creation of a new moon.. or a drowning of the entire world, or things on that kind of scale. You'll have to earn those privileges! This is not a wargame, and the goal is not (necessarily) to destroy your fellow players.

Turn zero has no mechanical rules. Turn zero will span a period of roughly one-hundred years following the dissolution of Her Earthly Dominion. You will simply describe your character and/or people and the goals or objectives you might have. These goals and objectives will naturally collide with those of other players and of the NPCs I (and you! feel free) will be creating, and thus we will establish our game world. I will endeavour to be as fair as I can be. Though resource distribution is certainly not going to be equal, each player will end up with their own advantages.

You will all be punished equally for your hubris.

[TheMeanestGuest]

Rules

This game is not going to be crazily detailed or necessarily strict in its rules. Trust that I will be considerate and fair.

This is what your nation's stats will look like:

[ic=Country - Player]
Influence - How much the burgeoning culture of your nation influences its neighbours, and how disinclined your people are to imitate their neighbours.
Income - An approximation of the material resources available to you each turn. (Treasury: saved money) (Debt: owed money)
Anomes - An approximation of the magical resources available to you each turn.
Military - The forces of war available to you. (Upkeep - the cost to maintain them each turn)[/ic]

Military Costs: 10 levy soldiers per measure of income, 5 professional infantry soldiers per measure of income, 1 cavalry soldier per measure of income, 1 ship per 50 measures of income. (2 centaurs per measure of income, 1 giant per 5 measures of income, 1 blackship per 40 measures of income.)

As the game proceeds various unique military forces will become available to you, or your particular levies, professionals and elites may become differentiated. Such information will be listed above.

Military forces cost as much to maintain each turn as they do to recruit.

You will generally need to spend additional money to support troops outside of your own borders. This represents upkeep on equipment over the course of a campaign, which tends to destroy it at a faster rate than sitting around does. You will also need to feed your men to keep an army in being. For a given campaign, a good rule of thumb is that you'll need to spend roughly one extra measure of income for every ten soldiers you're bringing along. Venturing farther and farther afield raises this price. Ask me what an appropriate amount is if you're not sure.

The following costs are just examples for your convenience.

Civil Costs: 1000 establishes a small colony or fort (add money for distance and difficulty), 1000-5000 for a smaller project (building a fortress, city walls, palace complex, harbour, etc.), 5000+ for a large project (an extensive network of roads, irrigating a large swathe of arid land, building a wonder of the world).

Magical costs will be less clear-cut and, at first, on a functionally case-by-case basis. We'll work this out as we go.

[TheMeanestGuest]

        Countries

[spoiler=the Weald - Baeln]Grenning: NPC
Culture: Lakeish Baelning, influential
Income: 1300
Anomes: 10
Military: 750 infantry, 10 blackships (Upkeep: 150 + 400 = 550)

Habel: NPC
Culture: Lakeish Baelning, uninfluential
Income: 800
Anomes: 4
Military: 500 infantry, 6 blackships (Upkeep: 100 + 240 = 340)

Imm: NPC
Culture: Lakeish Baelning, less influential
Income: 900
Anomes: 5
Military: 600 infantry, 8 blackships (Upkeep: 120 + 320 = 440)

Sorm: NPC
Culture: Lakeish Baelning, uninfluential
Income: 525
Anomes: 3
Military: 500 infantry, 5 blackships (Upkeep: 100 + 200 = 300)

Grist: NPC
Culture: Lakeish Baelning, influential
Income: 1500
Anomes: 12
Military: 1000 infantry, 15 blackships (Upkeep: 200 + 600 = 800)

Rugh: NPC
Culture: Riverine Baelning, less influential
Income: 950
Anomes: 5
Military: 600 infantry, 10 blackships (Upkeep: 120 + 400 = 520)

Cruscus: NPC
Culture: Riverine Baelning, uninfluential and imitative
Income: 500
Anomes: 3
Military: 400 infantry, 5 blackships (Upkeep: 80 + 200 = 280)[/spoiler]

[spoiler= the Weald - Rem]Nai Remmis: NPC
Culture: Zirren, Centaur, regionally dominant
Income: 3000
Anomes: 45 (the Bounteous Glades: -20)
Military: 2000 infantry, 1000 centaurs (Upkeep: 400 + 500 = 900)

Karkeron: NPC
Culture: Rozierey, vestigial
Income: 900
Anomes: 20
Military: 1500 infantry, 100 cavalry, 50 giants (Upkeep: 300 + 100 + 250 = 650)[/spoiler]

[spoiler=the Fugue Coasts]The Iridescent Empire
Culture: Sensilian, Dominant and Irresistible.
Income: 5200
Anomes: 100 (the Shuddering Palace: -50)
Military: 5000 infantry, 500 cavalry, 30 ships (Upkeep: 1000 + 500 + 1500 = 3000)

Athica
Culture: Rozierey, Refined and Compelling.
Income: 4700
Anomes: 120 (the Nivian College: -50)
Military: 3000 infantry, 3000 levies, 300 cavalry, 40 ships (600 + 300 + 300 + 2000 = 3200)

Nethrast
Culture: Phoadrim, influential.
Income: 2200
Anomes: 20
Military: 2000 levies, 20 ships (Upkeep: 200 + 1000 = 1200)

Hayne
Culture: Phoadrim, somewhat influential.
Income: 2000
Anomes: 17
Military: 2500 levies, 15 ships (Upkeep: 250 + 750 = 1000)

Amasque
Culture: Phoadrim, somewhat influential.
Income: 1800
Anomes: 15
Military: 1000 infantry, 15 ships (Upkeep: 200 + 750 = 950)[/spoiler]

[SA]

Zirraf is a very cool word and you have put it to very cool use.

And your setting name! Ohhhhhh. I wish I played forum games.

[Ghostman]

That is a wonderful intro text, and a fine background for a setting to be built over. You've got me interested in playing a seafaring nation based on one of those islands. (Nice map, BTW)

[Steerpike]

Holy crap, I just realized this could be a version of the Cadaverous Earth even further into the future.

[Magnus Pym]

You're dropping Mandate of Heaven? It looked like it could have been a blast!

In any case, I'd be interested in joining this one. However, I'm not sure what kind of nation/people I'd be playing just yet.

[TheMeanestGuest]

Update Zero: Rest for the Wicked

c. 150 Years

Political Map

[ic=the zirraf, Mammoun]"Does your revenge satisfy you, princeling?"[/ic]

And the Rozier's body had fallen upon the ground, and oily black smoke poured out from it. His cabal saw Wrath writ plain upon the face of Mammoun, and they were filled with a terrible fear, and with the craft of their spells each strove then to flee. Word of the death of the Prince Nivias spread as a wildfire through the gathered army of Rozierey, and they despaired.

In many directions the greatest number of that army fled, heedless: deep into the Country of Rem, or back across the burned and ravaged Field of Sermet, or onto the turbulent Fugue Sea. As they ran their fear turned to exhaustion, and slowly they forgot the cause of their flight until it troubled them no more. At last they took their rest, and found new lands to live in. But the Generals and Magi of the Rozier's army had not been so rash, and they had ran hardly far at all when they knew that Mammoun had not set himself to hound their trails. Each among them thought then of the wealth of Dis, of its thousand thousand treasures. They gathered to confer among themselves, and with harsh words that boomed across the sky they called out to the army that it return. Many did. Those who felt some loyalty to these masters, or those wise enough to fear the lashes of their Lords over the absent lances of the Zirrafim.

As the army gathered anew - far lesser than it had been - a Council was called among the greatest Talents. At once two were placed above the rest in the esteem of their fellows, for they had been the Hands of the Rozier, and had won much glory for the craft of their art and the fury of their spells. Arram the Sorcerer stood upon one side, and the magi who followed him were many, for the raw powers that he commanded stood now beyond compare, and those present remembered well his long duel with the Rozier. Opposed to him stood Breah Corine, who would later be Empress, but was known then as the Fair, for her beauty could bewitch any man or woman - should she will it - and with her stood the Rozier's witches, for they knew that Arram loved them not. Each upon the other flung accusing words, calling the other cowardly and feeble and responsible for the death of their Prince, and each claimed the greater share of the treasure that awaited. Some among that Council were filled with dread, for they knew that a pernicious violence hung upon the air. They rebuked the authority of both claimants, and they took the magician Nale as their leader, and they went into the North. There they built a fine city of a dozen towers against a clear blue sky, and they raised up walls of white stone tall and strong to gird it, and they named that place Ath. A Nivian College there was made for the study of Talent and Anomaly, so that those magi who studied there should never forget their power, and indeed should increase it. In its halls and beneath them were made many wonderful things, and many horrible things.

At last Arram and Breah had been roused to the very height of their anger, and each knew that from the other they would receive no blessing or allowance. They repaired to their respective camps to plot and brood, and they called their Captains to them to plan for war. Each emerged on the morrow with the vigours of many spells upon them, and with armies marshaled. They met before the walls of Dis, empty houses looking on in silence. Pike phalanxes a hundred thousand strong stood opposed, and their ranks stretched from the wall to the horizon. On some unseen signal each moved forward taking up fighting chants to unnerve their foe, and they ground one into the other, and the screams of dying men were heard upon the air. Amidst and above them mage and witch danced the dance of spells, and many fell burning from the sky, or were pulped upon the ground, or stood drooling as idiots amongst the churning mass of soldiery, minds emptied by a poem. Arram the Sorcerer and Breah Corine stood before each other on the field, and any who drew near were turned to drifting ash or pooling sludge, for the curses they heaped upon each other were no longer simple words, but bestowed with deadly power. The Fair Witch raised her hands up to the heavens, and with a song she called the ghost of the Moon down from the sky, and she set its gnashing teeth and rending claws upon the Sorcerer. But Arram held secreted within his palm an ember of Laan's ancient fire, and with a flick of his wrist he threw it on the Moon's ghost as he leaped aside. With an echoing boom a plume of blue flame a mile high blossomed amidst the fighting armies, and many were consumed by its heat, or driven mad by its whispering dust.

Quiescence reigned as the men and women still alive picked themselves up from where they had fallen, and each was shaken by the terror of that spell. It was Arram who arose first, and in the hearts of his giants he placed a burning courage, and they strode out upon the field and where the soldiers of the Witch had rallied they crushed them on their clubs or beneath their feet. With a scream of rage Breah  renewed her attack, and she cast a sticking net of grief upon the Sorcerer, who parted it with his hand and a laugh. The Fair Witch summoned all the killing spells she had left, but they did not avail her, for Arram's power was too great. As the Sorcerer sat upon a cloud and circled her with ten thousand blades of frozen air she howled her despair, and she drew a cloak of night about herself and ran from that place as the dregs of her army were destroyed. So the city of Dis passed to Arram the Sorcerer, as he had long desired, and he made himself its Lord.

---

Nine zirrafim stood about their sovereign as she bled her life into the Alph, each one burdened by sorrow and duty. When at last she died, they went before Mammoun and bowed, and gave to him parting words, for they knew he would refuse Heosë's mantle. They left him to his solemn task, and went their separate ways. Perhaps some went beyond the Earth to seek out the Silver Host and Inan-Ishtar and so bind themselves to her, or perhaps some sought out solitude and peace amidst the stars, or beneath the sea, or perhaps they desired only to find some small joy in a forgotten place, whatever that joy might be. But three at least remained, for they loved Rem too well to stray far from that country. Usas, whose touch had nurtured the greatest trees of the wood, and had made them strong and tall beyond the reckoning of any other tree. Hounn, who had driven the fell creatures of the elder dark before him with lance in hand when they sought to defile the wood with their passing. And Aeia, who was handmaiden to Heosë, and who danced on fields of flowers. These three made between them a Covenant that they should not abandon Rem, and that they would protect it from the evils of the world.

They watched with trepidation as the Sorcerer ensconced himself within their city, and they grew afraid as his power waxed full and he came to rule that country, and to shape it to his will. The wood grew hot and twisted in his thrall, and he sent his men into its depths on the backs of furious steeds to drive out any who yet dwelt there in defiance of his rule. The Covenant would not then face him, but for many years they worked in secret to resist him, and they kept glades within the wood where those who still loved the memory of Heosë could take respite. But the Sorcerer carved strong castles from the mountains to guard the borders of his realm, and from their battlements his armies espied all who came and went, and any who sought to pass were hunted without mercy. He built a looming grey tower in the city of Dis and tore down all others so that his should stand the tallest, and from it he sent out his many flying eyes to spy upon the country, so that he should know all that transpired within it. The Covenant knew that soon it would be that they could hide themselves and their folk no longer, and so they resolved to cast him down.

A call went out to those few who had survived the horrors of the Field of Sermet, and without hesitation they came to take up their old duty. Again one final time they girded themselves in golden plate, and again one final time did they take up their swords. A call went out to the Centaurs of the wood, and they too answered, and were led by their King, Rhomes, who was the son of fallen Semmias. By the secret ways of the twisting Weald they come upon the city, and with gentle word and caress did Aeia coax favour from the walls of Dis, and for her they opened passage. The soldiers of the Covenant charged through, for no longer could they restrain themselves, and the city awoke to their cries of vengeance. They tore the Rozierey from stolen homes and slew them in the streets. They mounted the great stairs, and the Sorcerer's men who dared stand before them were thrown from the walls. The gates were opened, and the herds of the Centaurs galloped through the streets. But Arram had awoken, and he stood upon the height of his tower and called lightning down upon the invaders to kill them were they stood, and he summoned a bitter wind to lash them to the bone, and the Covenant was shaken by his fury. The Sorcerer espied the zirrafim as they did battle with his acolytes, and he leaped from his tower to land softly upon the ground. Hounn dove at him from the air, solar lance before him, but he was struck by a searing column of flame and fell, his wings burned. He strove forward to duel the Sorcerer, and he swatted the men of Roziery to the ground before him. Arram merely smiled, and he whispered a single word, and a pillar of night was in his hand, and then it was through Hounn's heart. Usas cried out, and he called upon the memory of the wood that was, and roots burst from the ground. They grappled the Sorcerer, and sought to strangle him, and Usas drew near with his lance. But the Sorcerer would not be undone, and the roots grew sick and died ere Usas reached him, and Arram flayed the zirraf with knives of burning stone. The battle raged, but of the three zirrafim only Aeia still stood, and if she should fall the army of the Covenant knew they would then be lost. It fell to Heosë's maiden to end it, and she danced her flowered dance, and the spells of the Sorcerer and his acolytes could not reach her. She was before him then, suddenly, and she struck at him with the deathblow of her palm, and nearly did she succeed. But golden blood trickled down upon the stones, for Arram's live sword had jumped into his hand, and it had skewered her through the belly. She fell, and the Sorcerer laughed once more, for he knew that he had won. It was then that Rhomes, the King of the Centaurs, was filled with a powerful rage. A solar lance formed in his hands. He reared high upon his legs, and with a mighty throw he tossed his lance, and its flight was so sudden that the Sorcerer saw it not. It pierced him through his mouth, and so he fell, stone dead.

Quiet fell upon the city, and the battle stood still. The King Rhomes spoke then: "You men of Rozierey, your Lord is fallen, and for what now do you fight? Fly from this place, and I shall be merciful." And so those who yet remained threw down their weapons, and they fled. Rhomes looked out upon the carnage, upon the still bodies of the zirrafim, and he knew only sorrow. With great chains he tore down the grey tower of the Sorcerer, and he set the city to a blaze, for it was not the place it once was. In a secret grove did he bury the three zirrafim, and three great trees were planted to mark their place of rest. He took his people into the West, and amidst the forest they made a beautiful city of wooden boughs and leaves of emerald green, and they named it Nai Remmis in memory of the beauteous country that had been. There they knew peace, for a time.

---

Filled with bitterness, Breah set out alone into the North, for her kin and her servants alike had passed from the world. Her power was diminished, for she had been wounded in the fight, and her greatest spells - years in the making - had been exhausted in a single day. She cast off her name, then, and placed a mask upon her face, for she found herself beautiful no longer. She walked the dull sands of the Fugue Coast until she found a stillness within her heart, and on that spot she planted a golden seed. She lay atop it, and nursed it with her warmth, and she whispered to it the words of her desire. The seed knew nothing of her deeds, and it had never heard her name. It was moved by gratitude and love, and so it strove to grant her wish. It bloomed then in fullness, and rose well-formed as a wonderful and soaring house of countless spires and domes, and it pulsed with heat and life, and jewels grew upon it. The folk of that land were drawn to it by a silent song, and they prostrated themselves before it. A masked woman stood alone atop that house, and upon to herself she bestowed the lofty title of Empress, and the people willingly and with joy set themselves to her service. A city grew about that Shuddering Palace, and it sought to do with stone and metal what had already been done with shell and flesh. Few could resist the allure of Bejeweled Sensinsal, and its people spread across the land. So grew the enmity between the Sensileans and the Athicans, and the land between them was made a desert by their ire. The Magi of the College argue and debate, and they wonder who should dare possess the power to oppose them. They know her not, though a familiar note is carried on the silent song of her house.  

But the wars of old are over and done, and slowly peace nurtures the return of civilization. Along the River Blackest and the Lake of Baeln cities grow as weeds amidst the shallows, haphazard stacks of mildewed wood and mossy stones. The Baelnings ply their trade upon the water, and the pearls of their lake and the fine lacquers of Nai Remmis are traded along the river, until they should reach the sea and the waiting hands of the Phoadrim. Mariners and traders, their cities grow fat on the prices they extract in Ath and Sensinsal alike. The Fugue is calm, but its placidity seems somehow brittle, and woe to him whose careless deeds should break it.

[ooc]Yes! I am still hoping to run this. I have posted this small update to better establish the world, and perhaps as a bit of a morsel to hopefully entice players. You are still free to develop your own country - there's lots of empty space on the map! - and I will give any idea in keeping with the setting due consideration. You are also free, of course, to play an existing polity. Basic statistics can be found in the third post. I'm often on #thecbg on irc.otherworlders.org if you would like to discuss a proposal. There is currently no due date for orders.[/ooc]