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-   -   Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (Finished: Dojango/Mictlan Wins!) (http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/showthread.php?t=48161)

Dogged57 February 7th, 2012 11:44 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
Quote:
Originally Posted by Immaculate (Post 793932)
It would be nice to get an RP after-action-report from you and the Maverni player.
I'll get an RP ending for you guys soon. Had some RL issues crop up that distracted me from writing.

Immaculate February 8th, 2012 10:16 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
Helheim is desperate for the light of stellar lights, condensed into delicious pearls. We pay cash or gems.

Immaculate February 10th, 2012 10:36 AM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
OOC:

We're still looking for astral pearls if anyone wants to trade. We give better than 1:1 trade ratios (but not better than 1.5:1) and can provide probably any other gem type.


Anyone up for writing some more RP stories? I think we are due. I'll try to write one about the death of "Ulrich, big and ugly" to pathetic giant spiders- a true moment of shame in the history of Helheim's wars.

dojango February 10th, 2012 04:08 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
A cold wind blew out of the Rim Mountains. Dante pulled his cloak closer around his shoulders. He watched quietly as the man on horseback approached. A few of his soldiers looked up from the field, but most were concentrating on looting the dead. The militia had not put up much of a fight, and their pathetic arms and armor reflected their poor lot in life, so the pickings were meager. The man on horseback pulled up a few paces away from Dante and gave him a lazy salute.
"Report," grunted Dante.
"Went about a dozen miles south, sir. Not much there. A small village or two, very poor. Not much plunder, I reckon. Some small farms if we need food." The scout paused.
"Any sign of our reinforcements?" asked Dante.
"No. Didn't see anyone. Friendly or enemy."
Dante thought for a moment. His orders had been to keep marching south, to meet up with the main Pangaean army. Once reunited, they would hopefully be able to defeat the Mictlanese armies in detail. To turn the tide of the war. A fool's plan, perhaps, but a few of the scouts sent to the north reported an army bearing down upon them. The rest didn't return at all.
"Form up!" he shouted. The men finished their plunder and assembled in the rough parody of a formation that mercenaries used. A fool's plan, perhaps, but their only plan.

...

Nightfall found them camped about ten miles south, next to a small village. The villagers had made no trouble, and had reluctantly turned over their stash of weak beer to the mercenaries. In exchange for that, Dante agreed to have his men leave them alone.
Suddenly one of the sentries cried out. Men rushed to his position and returned moments later with a prisoner. The man was clearly one of the enemy nobles; his robe was made of fine cotton weave, and bright plumes adorned his headdress. He bowed to Dante with all the courtly arrogance only a noble could muster.
"My lord," said the prisoner, "I come as an emissary under a flag of truce. My master Xtapolapoc sends to you an offer. May I?"
Dante gave a curt nod. The prisoner set his back on the ground. From it, he placed a heavy gold coin in the ground. It glittered enticingly in the torchlight. Then he drew a large object from the pack and placed it at his feet. There was a gasp from the greener recruits as they realized that it was a severed head.
Dante looked at the head closely. It was not quite human. Probably from one of those strange satyr women, the dryads. Perhaps even the same one that had given Dante his orders so many months ago.
The choice was easy, of course. The Pangaeans had hired Dante to fight for them, not to die for them. Dante examined the coin again. He didn't recognize the king on the face, nor the symbol on the obverse, but the dents from his teeth spoke for its purity. These Mictlanese were no less alien than the beast-men he had served, but their gold was still the same.

Excist February 10th, 2012 05:34 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
Nice one dojango!

Immaculate February 10th, 2012 05:57 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
yes- agreed. good story.

Immaculate February 12th, 2012 12:01 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
I’m involved in a fantasy-based Never Ending Story (NES) on another forum and decided to base my faction on the Helheim I am playing in this game. I’ve written a few stories about them and since they basically describe the Helheim as I’ve adapted them to this particular game, I thought I would share with you.

So, warning, this has nothing to do with the game we are playing here except that it shares an RP element and that its based on the nation I am playing here.

Also note that if you are interested in other fantasy-short stories, the entire NES can be found here.

Quote:
I stole a lot of this from Dominions Three and Norse Mythology (also LDi's interpretation for an aborted NES)

Race: Vanir:

The Vanir are a race not too unlike men or elves, though taller and broader in stature. They are related to the elves in that they, like them, have fey blood and possess long lifespans (though theirs is not as long as the elves). They are resistant to cold and sensitive to heat, making their homes amongst the cold northern winds and disdaining the southern temperate climes. They are naturally adept in illusion and instinctually cloak themselves in glamour such that other races might look upon an army of vanir and see only a field shimmering and glinting with obfuscated and confusing shadows of soldiers. They are also natural sailors, having a natural affinity for ships, sailing and navigation, and horsemen, making use of a unique breed of fey horses only they are known to ride. Most Vanir villages are along coasts and feed themselves through fishing and hunting making only limited use of agriculture (though slaves of other nations do provide agriculture for them)

The Vanir are a proud race, their competence as warriors and warrior-sorcerers as well as their innate sense of entitlement means they often look upon other races, with the exception of the elves or other fey races, as lesser beings and they actively raid and conquer the lands of men, dwarves and others for slaves better suited to the role of miner or farmer. They only rarely trade with non-fey races and tend towards isolationism.

While the Vanir tend to have an absolute sense of loyalty to a central monarch, the monarchy’s influence in day to day life tends to be limited as the Vanir value their independence and freedom. A Vanir village chieftain may lead a ship or three of raiders to a human settlement without informing the monarchy but is ultimately responsible for any implications incurred. Despite this, the monarchy is the absolute authority in matters of war or major central projects and his or often her word is absolute law.

While illusion is a natural and innate skill of the Vanir, their magicians tend to focus on the paths of wind and death, and magic is understood to come from Helheim, where the fey pass through the gate stone to reach the other side. It is said that the greatest of Vanir sorcerers in ages past would hang themselves from an ash tree so that they might ride to Helheim and return masters of the arts of magic. Other Vanir mages focus on the path of air, learning to summon spirits of the winds to power their sails, serve in battle or as messengers as well as to conjure lightning and chill northern winds.

In war the Vanir call upon their natural glamour to travel unseen and to make battle with them difficult. Even in a desperate melee, the enemy may perceive only shimmering blades and confusing shadows and their raiders tend to travel unseen far and wide upon their magical fey horses. The Vanir have a love for cavalry but disdain archery, preferring to make use of javelins, spears and swords. Their steelwork is fine and their blades heavy but they tend to use lighter chainmail than investing in the heavy plate used by many other races. Their magicians are often warrior-magicians, also riding upon their magical fey horses and wielding primarily illusion and through their involvement with Helheim, necromancy.

The Vanir worship a goddess they say has passed on to Helheim and who now communicates with the Vanir through spirits, often taking the form of a raven. As such they hold ravens as sacred creatures and many will leave morsels for them or attempt to domesticate them. Most Vanir longhouses are home to a least one semi-domesticated raven. Their priests are always women and practice blood sacrifice, usually upon human or other mortal slaves captured in raids. These priestesses are called ‘Desir’ or ‘Dis’ and many are said to speak with the dead. Desir warrior sorceresses are said to have been able, in times past, to fly and command storms but the majority serve more as witches and diviners in modern times.

The Vanir are led by a king who is served by nobility from which the stocks of elite cavalry and cavalry sorcerers are drawn. Individual villages are led by a village headmen, who is often a competent war chieftain, sailor, and often commands air magic. They also maintain their own minor nobility as well. These are called Jarls. Below the jarls are the nobles and below these are the freemen. There is little social mobility amongst the Vanir, their adherence to tradition and long lifespans ensuring that most will serve the race as their parents did. Vanir freemen are often sailors or fishermen, as well as skilled hunters and craftsmen, especially competent in silver and iron smithy. Below them are the serfs who serve the nobles and below them are the slaves, often of other races who work the fields, quarries and mines.


Vanir:
Combat: 30% (skill and ferocity, a strong cavalry led by the nobility, disdains archery)
Magecraft: 20% (focuses on illusion, air and death)
Charisma: 5% (proud and isolationist, they often see other races as potential slaves rather than potential trading partners)
Stealth: 45% (innately skilled in glamour, even Vanir children can hide themselves from the eyes of man without willing it- elders can extend their glamour to entire ships or divisions of slave militia)


Civilization: Helvan

Civilization Name: Helvan
Dominant Race: Vanir
Government: Monarchy
Leader Name: King Hermóðr
Leader Trait: Fertile
Leader Backrgound: The King rules by tradition and ancient law, adhering to the advice of the Desir witches.
Starting Location: Northern edge of the western coast of the north-western continent. Near fishbanks and iron and silver mines. Amongst the cold moor, silent mountains and grey seas, a land of shadows and strange glamours (this assumes that we are in the norhtern hemisphere- if not, please place on southern coast of southern island- if both are equally chilled, then go for southern island, near forests, south coast)
Map Color: Grey, White, Black, Dark Purple
Preferred Leader Names: Anything norse.
Preferrred City Names: The capital is Éljúðnir. You can name other cities and settlements using norse ones as examples.
background:
The Vanir were created by a titaness who fell before the cataclysm, and now serves as a dead goddess to which the Helvan turn in worship. They are led by a king, Hermóðr, who, in a younger age, was once dead, hung from an ash tree. He has returned to the Helvan after receiving the blessings of the dead goddess and assumed the silver crown from his father who understood that he was Hangadrott, chosen from the dead to lead the living. Under his guidance the Helheim have spread their influence, and his many children serve as nobles and Jarls, commanding villages, ships and armies.

The Helvan have domesticated a breed of magical fey horses who, like the Vanir, hide themselves innately in glamour and leave no hoofprint in the wake of their passing. It is said that the Vanjarls, the greatest of the Vanir nobles-warriors, are the greatest cavalry force the Citana have yet to see.

The Desir continue to provide their support and guidance and it is prophetized that from their ranks will rise an army of sacred female warriors who will ride the wings of the wind and strike with the fury of lightning and thunder.



Okay, so admintingly a major rip-off but I really like the mythology and description of the Vanir/Helheim and wanted to play something similar. Hopefully this is acceptable.

and

Quote:
[b]Tales from the Lands of Winter Fay: Part 1: A Message from Beyond[b]

Poorly tanned hides, half-rotten and speckled grey hung before the entrance to the cave. They were decorated with strange runes and someone had sewn animal and even Vanir bones into them. At the top, where they were haphazardly attached to the low frame of the cave with resin, sweet scented smoke poured lazily into the bright winter air.

Stooping low and placing one hand upon the low ceiling of the cave entrance, the prince pulled the poorly tanned hides aside, careful not to disturb the runes or bones. His day-bright eyes could only barely perceive the shifting shadows of the glamoured Vanir huddled around a small fire deep inside the darkened cave. He signaled his retinue to wait and stepped into the shadows.

The cave was a humble structure; even Vanir serfs would rather live in a warmer, cleaner longhouse or, on the land, but these, the Desir witches, most honored mystics of the Vanir, choose to meet in this wretched stinking cave. Sven, son of King Hermóðr, known as Whitemane, or as Prince Regent, or as commander depending on who you asked bowed low to the shifting glamoured shadows flickering throughout the cave like moonlight in falling snow. These were ancient creatures, chosen by the messenger, and even for Vanir eyes their glamour was strong; the prince, though only fifteen paces from them, and of ancient and noble blood himself, was unsure how many of the crones were before him, what they were doing or even if they were armed. Blinking the sun-blindness out of his eyes he waited, catching the aroma of several woodland herbs he could not identify, rotting carcasses, and incense coming from the fire.

Finally one of the wretched crones spoke, “You come seeking our wisdom and that of the dead. You want to know how to bring death to the wolves that walk as men. Come. Sit.”

Sven’s tall frame made him have to bend to avoid scraping his head on the low rock ceiling and he lumbered forward without much of his usual warrior’s grace. A silver cup, dirty with greasy animal fat and other things he did not recognize slid towards him as shadowy glamoured figures danced around it. The same voice spoke again, “You know, prince, of the power of blood. Especially your fay blood. Bleed for the raven’s master and we might bring you wisdom.” Sven obediently opened his palm with a short wickedly sharp knife watching his sparkling red and golden fay blood drop into the cup. The crone retrieved the cup and for a moment the prince’s gaze pierced the glamour long enough to glimpse a gnarled and clawed hand tortured by centuries of primitive living.

Slowly at first but accelerating rapidly, the cave began to fill with the commanding chant of the Desir coven. Their voices were ancient and harsh, the language intimidatingly unknown, and yet the warrior-prince felt some sense of reassurance. Finally now there would be a tool to deal with the problem of the men-wolf and he might keep his people safe and perhaps more importantly rise to the glory and honor that was befitting of his bloodline and station.

Suddenly the chant ceased and some otherworldly wind began to whip about the cave sending embers from the fire into the air and forcing him to brush them quickly from his armor and fine bear-fur cloak. The Desir spoke, one or two at a time to the wind as it raced around them, again in a language only they seemed to know, occasionally softly and occasionally as a command. Finally, as Sven sat anxiously, occasionally batting at the strange wind when it strayed too close, the strange wind suddenly died away and the cup was overturned over the fire, releasing a hiss of steam and a strange odor.

The leader of the coven spoke, “Sven, son of King Hermóðr, who is called the Whitemane, commander of the Vanjir and Herdling alike, we have spoken to the spirits of the dead, messengers of the goddess, and we share with you now our wisdom. The creatures will rise again if slain by spear or sword, their animal fury too great to be slowed by the wound to their animal form. No. You must strike them where their mortality lies; you must strike at their soul and cleave the thread that links the spirit to the form. We will send with you the youngest of our order, acolytes accomplished in the magicks of the messenger, of death and shadow. Once your serf warriors have slain the wolves who would walk as men, the Desir acolytes shall provide the holy blessing of the goddess upon their fallen forms. This will steal away their spirit and their forms shall have peace until the goddess has need of them again. Do this and the Vanir of Helvan shall be saved and great glory shall come to you.”

Sven nodded, happy with the ritual and eager to leave but as he did, parting the rotting leathers to pass back into the sun he heard a voice speak from the cave, “But know this prince, the blessings of the Desir are not without their price. You shall bring us the hides of those creatures you slay and your debt shall be paid.”

As the prince stepped from the fire-warmed cave into the cold winter winds of the sea-side hills, despite the fall in temperature, he felt as if he had stepped from winter into summer and he shook a lingering cold from his spine with a tremor.

and

Quote:
Tales from the Lands of Winter Fay: Part 2: The Beating Heart and the Raven Carcass


Sven, who was called Whitemane or Prince Regent or Commander strode through the cheering serfs, his aura of noble glamour parting the crowd of sword and spear-waving militia, like a ship through a sea. Though to them he might appear as a shimmering god of gold and silver, his noble fay blood easily pierced their glamour and he saw them for what they were, low-born serfs, many of them fishermen or hunters, who had flocked to the warrior’s banner in hopes of riches and stable pay, their furs dirty, often bloody, their eyes, though wide with victory, sunken and tired from many nights hunting.

The lowborn warriors were gathered around a fallen foe, its crimson red blood spreading across thin snow. The prince sneered. Like many Vanir, he held fay blood, and Vanir bood in particular, gold, red and sparkling, sacred. The plain crimson blood of humans and other name-givers he found vile or lowly and a brief grimace of distaste quickly crossed his features as he looked upon the creature. One of the serfs had slain the creature, which took the form of a tall half-man, half-wolf hybrid by opening its throat with a broadsword and its head now hung at an odd angle. A Desir acolyte, her glamour thick and flickering wide like so much moon-light upon the snow kneeled by the creature, holding her ear to its mouth and mouthing powerful incantations taught to her order by the dead goddess.

Suddenly there was a sort of gurgling sound from the creature and despite the fatal wound to its jugular, it lunged for the witch and, like one of the traps the serfs used to catch bears snapping shut, it bit into her face. With a sudden tug, it wrenched skin, muscle and tendon from bone. Despite the unexpected ferocity of the creature thought dead, Sven acted quickly, drawing upon instincts formed during several decades of hunting and war, plunging a spear deep into the creatures chest, parting its ribs, and sinking the point into its heart. The Desir witch fell back, her screams of agony quickly overcome by the merciful silence of shock and death. The creature lay limp again and the prince leaned hard on the spear, feeling it slide through its dorsal ribs and into the hard cold ground. He motioned for his herald to call for another of the Desir witches to come.

In only a few short moments the crowd parted again and this time a young blond-haired Vanir, her glamour lesser to the last acolyte who had died so recently, entered the clear space around the creature. She had known what she was being called for and in one thin hand held the carcass of a raven, its feathers ruffled and dirty from long travel in a saddle-bag. The young witch glanced, open-mouthed at her sister acolyte who lay twitching spasmodically in the snow nearby, her entire face a gruesome image of horror and violence, her bloody distorted tongue protruding from open wounds where only minutes earlier winter’s touch had bloomed on delicate youthful skin.

Still leaning upon the spear, the prince felt a strange stirring within the weapon, a sort of shudder, then through the length of the weapon the ‘thump, thump’ of the creatures heart could be felt, dim but rhythmic and gaining strength rapidly. Lest this acolyte witch join her sister, the prince raised the weapon and speared it again, again cleaving clean through the creature, feeling the creature’s beating heart cease once more, “Quickly now witch, lest it does to though what it did to thine coven-sister.”

The young Desir acolyte leaned close to the creatures maw, more careful than her sister had been and quickly spoke words of power while waving the raven’s shrunken and stinking carcass over its face. As she spoke the creature seemed to deflate somewhat, a final stale breath escaping from a bloody maw that still clung to the face of the first witch. As it did, the raven stirred, one shriveled claw clenching and unclenching spasmodically. The acolyte smiled and stood, ignoring the wolf-creature completely now. She smiled at the prince, a sort of pride evident in her face, “My liege, we have what we have come for.”

The crowd of serf warriors began to disperse, sensing that the creature would not strike again and as they did, Sven bent low, drawing his skinning knife. The high coven had asked that he bring them the creature’s pelt as payment and this he would do himself.

and

Quote:
Tales from the Lands of Winter Fay: Part 3: Hall of the King Returned


The Vanir were slow to age, and indeed Prince Sven, who was called the Whitemane, or Prince Reagent, or Commander, depending on who was speaking, wore his two century and one score years with the light-stepping grace of youth. But as Sven walked side by side with his father, who was called Hermóðr, or King, or The Hanged One, or He Who Has Returned From Death, or The Hangadrott, he could not help but notice that in appearance, his years were beginning to overtake those of his father. The king had not aged since his return from beyond the death’s curtain and except for the hanging scars left upon his neck, there was no indication of his great ordeal.

Sven had returned from the cave of the Desir’s high coven after speaking with the witches there. He had watched as they called upon the spirit trapped by the Desir acolyte from the corpse of the dying wolf-creature and had learned much regarding its rage and a man they spoke of with the most wicked curses who went by the name of Emperor Vral. The dead generally, and this raging spirit, who was caught by some sort of mysterious curse, in particular, were often difficult to speak with or make sense of, the Desir had said and so there was relatively little they could tell him otherwise. Now he was sharing these details with his father as they walked along the wooden ramparts of the walls of Éljúðnir. They spoke not only of the attacks of the wolf-men but of more day-to-day affairs. The king’s visit to the other side made it much easier for him to keep the affairs of man and mortals in perspective and to appreciate the need for patience, or so he said; he was prone to act quickly and decisively when the mood took him. They spoke of the Jarls and the nobility, of the scouts reports and of the Hirdling training. They spoke of Ulfric, Sven’s brother, and his son, the first of the king’s grandsons and Sven’s only nephew, who was now learning to throw a spear with uncanny precision befitting his noble lineage.

As they walked, the warriors who manned the walls parted around them, shielding their eyes with their hands at the brightness of the King and Prince’s glamour. The two were so thoroughly similar in features, especially with the King’s unnatural youth, that very few who could not pierce the glamour with noble blood of their own would have been able to tell one from the other if it were not for the king’s silver crown. Both were tall men, with the width of shoulders and ease of gait of men used to hunting and war. They both had long nearly white blonde hair and shining silver and yellow eyes like those of cats and both wore polished steel hauberks, broadsword and dagger at the hip. No… as they made their way along the walls, few could tell them apart. Except for the Tuatha princess. She parted the warriors and the royal entourage with the strength of her own glamour while her own noble blood easily pierced the prince’s glamour and did much to uncover the king’s. Her name was Eochaid Indai, amd she was daughter of Lugh, champion of King Nuada, of the Tuatha Dé Danann who came from a distant island called the emerald but which was known to the Tuatha and the Vanir as T*r na nÓg. Sven thought her beautiful, a flowing creature, who like most Tuatha, were of the same height of men, but who like the Vanir, cloaked herself in glamour. The Tuatha were the ever-young and she was no exception, her age being known only to greatly exceed that of the king but her beauty to rival any of the royal court. While the Vanir had a glamour that suggested moonlight, winter and silver, hers suggested sun, spring, and gold and so too did her dress and modest smile. She strode towards the pair and with a lack of difference that Sven thought strange but which the king apparently did not, she took hold of both the king’s hands and leaned close to kiss him gently on the cheek. Turning to the prince with a smile she spoke to the king in a conspiratorial tone ripe with the musical tones of a Tuatha princess, “Have you told him yet?”

The king appeared apprehensive as he faced his oldest son, “You know that I loved your mother very much and when we cross, I will love her again. But… I have fallen for another, one with a beating heart and warm breath, who will love me in my eternal youth and for as long as my lungs draw breath and my heart beats, one with whom I can spend all my long long years with and bring me happiness and to whom I can also bring happiness. Son, I have decided to marry this Tuatha princess.”

His words were not completely unexpected. The prince had heard the rumors. His own memories of his mother were modest, fuzzy, golden-covered with the gentle fuzz of childhood recollection. He knew that his mother had been sacrificed on the alter to the dead goddess on the winter solstice of the last year of the silver comet, the greatest honor that could be awarded by the messengers and a death he and all his people were extremely proud of, and so, for most of his life, the queen had waited in the next life, sacred and distant and never really seen, at least to him, as partner to his father. He also knew that his father was a man, like him, and handsome and noble and that there had been dalliances, but nothing with any seriousness. Despite his lack of objection, he did not know what to say. Extending a hand beyond the wall, he watched a snowflake land and slowly melt in his palm before he spoke again.

This time he turned to the Tuatha princess, “Welcome to the family… Queen Eochaid Indai.”

The king beamed uncharacteristically and placed a hand gently on the stomach of his wife to be, stroking the thick ermine robes no Vanir would have need of, “Son… there is something else I must tell you,” he said with a glance at him, his wife, and at her waist where his half-brother or sister grew.

Immaculate February 12th, 2012 12:02 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
I’m involved in a fantasy-based Never Ending Story (NES) on another forum and decided to base my faction on the Helheim I am playing in this game. I’ve written a few stories about them and since they basically describe the Helheim as I’ve adapted them to this particular game, I thought I would share with you.

So, warning, this has nothing to do with the game we are playing here except that it shares an RP element and that its based on the nation I am playing here.

Also note that if you are interested in other fantasy-short stories, the entire NES can be found here.

Quote:
I stole a lot of this from Dominions Three and Norse Mythology (also LDi's interpretation for an aborted NES)

Race: Vanir:

The Vanir are a race not too unlike men or elves, though taller and broader in stature. They are related to the elves in that they, like them, have fey blood and possess long lifespans (though theirs is not as long as the elves). They are resistant to cold and sensitive to heat, making their homes amongst the cold northern winds and disdaining the southern temperate climes. They are naturally adept in illusion and instinctually cloak themselves in glamour such that other races might look upon an army of vanir and see only a field shimmering and glinting with obfuscated and confusing shadows of soldiers. They are also natural sailors, having a natural affinity for ships, sailing and navigation, and horsemen, making use of a unique breed of fey horses only they are known to ride. Most Vanir villages are along coasts and feed themselves through fishing and hunting making only limited use of agriculture (though slaves of other nations do provide agriculture for them)

The Vanir are a proud race, their competence as warriors and warrior-sorcerers as well as their innate sense of entitlement means they often look upon other races, with the exception of the elves or other fey races, as lesser beings and they actively raid and conquer the lands of men, dwarves and others for slaves better suited to the role of miner or farmer. They only rarely trade with non-fey races and tend towards isolationism.

While the Vanir tend to have an absolute sense of loyalty to a central monarch, the monarchy’s influence in day to day life tends to be limited as the Vanir value their independence and freedom. A Vanir village chieftain may lead a ship or three of raiders to a human settlement without informing the monarchy but is ultimately responsible for any implications incurred. Despite this, the monarchy is the absolute authority in matters of war or major central projects and his or often her word is absolute law.

While illusion is a natural and innate skill of the Vanir, their magicians tend to focus on the paths of wind and death, and magic is understood to come from Helheim, where the fey pass through the gate stone to reach the other side. It is said that the greatest of Vanir sorcerers in ages past would hang themselves from an ash tree so that they might ride to Helheim and return masters of the arts of magic. Other Vanir mages focus on the path of air, learning to summon spirits of the winds to power their sails, serve in battle or as messengers as well as to conjure lightning and chill northern winds.

In war the Vanir call upon their natural glamour to travel unseen and to make battle with them difficult. Even in a desperate melee, the enemy may perceive only shimmering blades and confusing shadows and their raiders tend to travel unseen far and wide upon their magical fey horses. The Vanir have a love for cavalry but disdain archery, preferring to make use of javelins, spears and swords. Their steelwork is fine and their blades heavy but they tend to use lighter chainmail than investing in the heavy plate used by many other races. Their magicians are often warrior-magicians, also riding upon their magical fey horses and wielding primarily illusion and through their involvement with Helheim, necromancy.

The Vanir worship a goddess they say has passed on to Helheim and who now communicates with the Vanir through spirits, often taking the form of a raven. As such they hold ravens as sacred creatures and many will leave morsels for them or attempt to domesticate them. Most Vanir longhouses are home to a least one semi-domesticated raven. Their priests are always women and practice blood sacrifice, usually upon human or other mortal slaves captured in raids. These priestesses are called ‘Desir’ or ‘Dis’ and many are said to speak with the dead. Desir warrior sorceresses are said to have been able, in times past, to fly and command storms but the majority serve more as witches and diviners in modern times.

The Vanir are led by a king who is served by nobility from which the stocks of elite cavalry and cavalry sorcerers are drawn. Individual villages are led by a village headmen, who is often a competent war chieftain, sailor, and often commands air magic. They also maintain their own minor nobility as well. These are called Jarls. Below the jarls are the nobles and below these are the freemen. There is little social mobility amongst the Vanir, their adherence to tradition and long lifespans ensuring that most will serve the race as their parents did. Vanir freemen are often sailors or fishermen, as well as skilled hunters and craftsmen, especially competent in silver and iron smithy. Below them are the serfs who serve the nobles and below them are the slaves, often of other races who work the fields, quarries and mines.


Vanir:
Combat: 30% (skill and ferocity, a strong cavalry led by the nobility, disdains archery)
Magecraft: 20% (focuses on illusion, air and death)
Charisma: 5% (proud and isolationist, they often see other races as potential slaves rather than potential trading partners)
Stealth: 45% (innately skilled in glamour, even Vanir children can hide themselves from the eyes of man without willing it- elders can extend their glamour to entire ships or divisions of slave militia)


Civilization: Helvan

Civilization Name: Helvan
Dominant Race: Vanir
Government: Monarchy
Leader Name: King Hermóðr
Leader Trait: Fertile
Leader Backrgound: The King rules by tradition and ancient law, adhering to the advice of the Desir witches.
Starting Location: Northern edge of the western coast of the north-western continent. Near fishbanks and iron and silver mines. Amongst the cold moor, silent mountains and grey seas, a land of shadows and strange glamours (this assumes that we are in the norhtern hemisphere- if not, please place on southern coast of southern island- if both are equally chilled, then go for southern island, near forests, south coast)
Map Color: Grey, White, Black, Dark Purple
Preferred Leader Names: Anything norse.
Preferrred City Names: The capital is Éljúðnir. You can name other cities and settlements using norse ones as examples.
background:
The Vanir were created by a titaness who fell before the cataclysm, and now serves as a dead goddess to which the Helvan turn in worship. They are led by a king, Hermóðr, who, in a younger age, was once dead, hung from an ash tree. He has returned to the Helvan after receiving the blessings of the dead goddess and assumed the silver crown from his father who understood that he was Hangadrott, chosen from the dead to lead the living. Under his guidance the Helheim have spread their influence, and his many children serve as nobles and Jarls, commanding villages, ships and armies.

The Helvan have domesticated a breed of magical fey horses who, like the Vanir, hide themselves innately in glamour and leave no hoofprint in the wake of their passing. It is said that the Vanjarls, the greatest of the Vanir nobles-warriors, are the greatest cavalry force the Citana have yet to see.

The Desir continue to provide their support and guidance and it is prophetized that from their ranks will rise an army of sacred female warriors who will ride the wings of the wind and strike with the fury of lightning and thunder.



Okay, so admintingly a major rip-off but I really like the mythology and description of the Vanir/Helheim and wanted to play something similar. Hopefully this is acceptable.

and

Quote:
[b]Tales from the Lands of Winter Fay: Part 1: A Message from Beyond[b]

Poorly tanned hides, half-rotten and speckled grey hung before the entrance to the cave. They were decorated with strange runes and someone had sewn animal and even Vanir bones into them. At the top, where they were haphazardly attached to the low frame of the cave with resin, sweet scented smoke poured lazily into the bright winter air.

Stooping low and placing one hand upon the low ceiling of the cave entrance, the prince pulled the poorly tanned hides aside, careful not to disturb the runes or bones. His day-bright eyes could only barely perceive the shifting shadows of the glamoured Vanir huddled around a small fire deep inside the darkened cave. He signaled his retinue to wait and stepped into the shadows.

The cave was a humble structure; even Vanir serfs would rather live in a warmer, cleaner longhouse or, on the land, but these, the Desir witches, most honored mystics of the Vanir, choose to meet in this wretched stinking cave. Sven, son of King Hermóðr, known as Whitemane, or as Prince Regent, or as commander depending on who you asked bowed low to the shifting glamoured shadows flickering throughout the cave like moonlight in falling snow. These were ancient creatures, chosen by the messenger, and even for Vanir eyes their glamour was strong; the prince, though only fifteen paces from them, and of ancient and noble blood himself, was unsure how many of the crones were before him, what they were doing or even if they were armed. Blinking the sun-blindness out of his eyes he waited, catching the aroma of several woodland herbs he could not identify, rotting carcasses, and incense coming from the fire.

Finally one of the wretched crones spoke, “You come seeking our wisdom and that of the dead. You want to know how to bring death to the wolves that walk as men. Come. Sit.”

Sven’s tall frame made him have to bend to avoid scraping his head on the low rock ceiling and he lumbered forward without much of his usual warrior’s grace. A silver cup, dirty with greasy animal fat and other things he did not recognize slid towards him as shadowy glamoured figures danced around it. The same voice spoke again, “You know, prince, of the power of blood. Especially your fay blood. Bleed for the raven’s master and we might bring you wisdom.” Sven obediently opened his palm with a short wickedly sharp knife watching his sparkling red and golden fay blood drop into the cup. The crone retrieved the cup and for a moment the prince’s gaze pierced the glamour long enough to glimpse a gnarled and clawed hand tortured by centuries of primitive living.

Slowly at first but accelerating rapidly, the cave began to fill with the commanding chant of the Desir coven. Their voices were ancient and harsh, the language intimidatingly unknown, and yet the warrior-prince felt some sense of reassurance. Finally now there would be a tool to deal with the problem of the men-wolf and he might keep his people safe and perhaps more importantly rise to the glory and honor that was befitting of his bloodline and station.

Suddenly the chant ceased and some otherworldly wind began to whip about the cave sending embers from the fire into the air and forcing him to brush them quickly from his armor and fine bear-fur cloak. The Desir spoke, one or two at a time to the wind as it raced around them, again in a language only they seemed to know, occasionally softly and occasionally as a command. Finally, as Sven sat anxiously, occasionally batting at the strange wind when it strayed too close, the strange wind suddenly died away and the cup was overturned over the fire, releasing a hiss of steam and a strange odor.

The leader of the coven spoke, “Sven, son of King Hermóðr, who is called the Whitemane, commander of the Vanjir and Herdling alike, we have spoken to the spirits of the dead, messengers of the goddess, and we share with you now our wisdom. The creatures will rise again if slain by spear or sword, their animal fury too great to be slowed by the wound to their animal form. No. You must strike them where their mortality lies; you must strike at their soul and cleave the thread that links the spirit to the form. We will send with you the youngest of our order, acolytes accomplished in the magicks of the messenger, of death and shadow. Once your serf warriors have slain the wolves who would walk as men, the Desir acolytes shall provide the holy blessing of the goddess upon their fallen forms. This will steal away their spirit and their forms shall have peace until the goddess has need of them again. Do this and the Vanir of Helvan shall be saved and great glory shall come to you.”

Sven nodded, happy with the ritual and eager to leave but as he did, parting the rotting leathers to pass back into the sun he heard a voice speak from the cave, “But know this prince, the blessings of the Desir are not without their price. You shall bring us the hides of those creatures you slay and your debt shall be paid.”

As the prince stepped from the fire-warmed cave into the cold winter winds of the sea-side hills, despite the fall in temperature, he felt as if he had stepped from winter into summer and he shook a lingering cold from his spine with a tremor.

and

Quote:
Tales from the Lands of Winter Fay: Part 2: The Beating Heart and the Raven Carcass


Sven, who was called Whitemane or Prince Regent or Commander strode through the cheering serfs, his aura of noble glamour parting the crowd of sword and spear-waving militia, like a ship through a sea. Though to them he might appear as a shimmering god of gold and silver, his noble fay blood easily pierced their glamour and he saw them for what they were, low-born serfs, many of them fishermen or hunters, who had flocked to the warrior’s banner in hopes of riches and stable pay, their furs dirty, often bloody, their eyes, though wide with victory, sunken and tired from many nights hunting.

The lowborn warriors were gathered around a fallen foe, its crimson red blood spreading across thin snow. The prince sneered. Like many Vanir, he held fay blood, and Vanir bood in particular, gold, red and sparkling, sacred. The plain crimson blood of humans and other name-givers he found vile or lowly and a brief grimace of distaste quickly crossed his features as he looked upon the creature. One of the serfs had slain the creature, which took the form of a tall half-man, half-wolf hybrid by opening its throat with a broadsword and its head now hung at an odd angle. A Desir acolyte, her glamour thick and flickering wide like so much moon-light upon the snow kneeled by the creature, holding her ear to its mouth and mouthing powerful incantations taught to her order by the dead goddess.

Suddenly there was a sort of gurgling sound from the creature and despite the fatal wound to its jugular, it lunged for the witch and, like one of the traps the serfs used to catch bears snapping shut, it bit into her face. With a sudden tug, it wrenched skin, muscle and tendon from bone. Despite the unexpected ferocity of the creature thought dead, Sven acted quickly, drawing upon instincts formed during several decades of hunting and war, plunging a spear deep into the creatures chest, parting its ribs, and sinking the point into its heart. The Desir witch fell back, her screams of agony quickly overcome by the merciful silence of shock and death. The creature lay limp again and the prince leaned hard on the spear, feeling it slide through its dorsal ribs and into the hard cold ground. He motioned for his herald to call for another of the Desir witches to come.

In only a few short moments the crowd parted again and this time a young blond-haired Vanir, her glamour lesser to the last acolyte who had died so recently, entered the clear space around the creature. She had known what she was being called for and in one thin hand held the carcass of a raven, its feathers ruffled and dirty from long travel in a saddle-bag. The young witch glanced, open-mouthed at her sister acolyte who lay twitching spasmodically in the snow nearby, her entire face a gruesome image of horror and violence, her bloody distorted tongue protruding from open wounds where only minutes earlier winter’s touch had bloomed on delicate youthful skin.

Still leaning upon the spear, the prince felt a strange stirring within the weapon, a sort of shudder, then through the length of the weapon the ‘thump, thump’ of the creatures heart could be felt, dim but rhythmic and gaining strength rapidly. Lest this acolyte witch join her sister, the prince raised the weapon and speared it again, again cleaving clean through the creature, feeling the creature’s beating heart cease once more, “Quickly now witch, lest it does to though what it did to thine coven-sister.”

The young Desir acolyte leaned close to the creatures maw, more careful than her sister had been and quickly spoke words of power while waving the raven’s shrunken and stinking carcass over its face. As she spoke the creature seemed to deflate somewhat, a final stale breath escaping from a bloody maw that still clung to the face of the first witch. As it did, the raven stirred, one shriveled claw clenching and unclenching spasmodically. The acolyte smiled and stood, ignoring the wolf-creature completely now. She smiled at the prince, a sort of pride evident in her face, “My liege, we have what we have come for.”

The crowd of serf warriors began to disperse, sensing that the creature would not strike again and as they did, Sven bent low, drawing his skinning knife. The high coven had asked that he bring them the creature’s pelt as payment and this he would do himself.

and

Quote:
Tales from the Lands of Winter Fay: Part 3: Hall of the King Returned


The Vanir were slow to age, and indeed Prince Sven, who was called the Whitemane, or Prince Reagent, or Commander, depending on who was speaking, wore his two century and one score years with the light-stepping grace of youth. But as Sven walked side by side with his father, who was called Hermóðr, or King, or The Hanged One, or He Who Has Returned From Death, or The Hangadrott, he could not help but notice that in appearance, his years were beginning to overtake those of his father. The king had not aged since his return from beyond the death’s curtain and except for the hanging scars left upon his neck, there was no indication of his great ordeal.

Sven had returned from the cave of the Desir’s high coven after speaking with the witches there. He had watched as they called upon the spirit trapped by the Desir acolyte from the corpse of the dying wolf-creature and had learned much regarding its rage and a man they spoke of with the most wicked curses who went by the name of Emperor Vral. The dead generally, and this raging spirit, who was caught by some sort of mysterious curse, in particular, were often difficult to speak with or make sense of, the Desir had said and so there was relatively little they could tell him otherwise. Now he was sharing these details with his father as they walked along the wooden ramparts of the walls of Éljúðnir. They spoke not only of the attacks of the wolf-men but of more day-to-day affairs. The king’s visit to the other side made it much easier for him to keep the affairs of man and mortals in perspective and to appreciate the need for patience, or so he said; he was prone to act quickly and decisively when the mood took him. They spoke of the Jarls and the nobility, of the scouts reports and of the Hirdling training. They spoke of Ulfric, Sven’s brother, and his son, the first of the king’s grandsons and Sven’s only nephew, who was now learning to throw a spear with uncanny precision befitting his noble lineage.

As they walked, the warriors who manned the walls parted around them, shielding their eyes with their hands at the brightness of the King and Prince’s glamour. The two were so thoroughly similar in features, especially with the King’s unnatural youth, that very few who could not pierce the glamour with noble blood of their own would have been able to tell one from the other if it were not for the king’s silver crown. Both were tall men, with the width of shoulders and ease of gait of men used to hunting and war. They both had long nearly white blonde hair and shining silver and yellow eyes like those of cats and both wore polished steel hauberks, broadsword and dagger at the hip. No… as they made their way along the walls, few could tell them apart. Except for the Tuatha princess. She parted the warriors and the royal entourage with the strength of her own glamour while her own noble blood easily pierced the prince’s glamour and did much to uncover the king’s. Her name was Eochaid Indai, amd she was daughter of Lugh, champion of King Nuada, of the Tuatha Dé Danann who came from a distant island called the emerald but which was known to the Tuatha and the Vanir as T�*r na nÓg. Sven thought her beautiful, a flowing creature, who like most Tuatha, were of the same height of men, but who like the Vanir, cloaked herself in glamour. The Tuatha were the ever-young and she was no exception, her age being known only to greatly exceed that of the king but her beauty to rival any of the royal court. While the Vanir had a glamour that suggested moonlight, winter and silver, hers suggested sun, spring, and gold and so too did her dress and modest smile. She strode towards the pair and with a lack of difference that Sven thought strange but which the king apparently did not, she took hold of both the king’s hands and leaned close to kiss him gently on the cheek. Turning to the prince with a smile she spoke to the king in a conspiratorial tone ripe with the musical tones of a Tuatha princess, “Have you told him yet?”

The king appeared apprehensive as he faced his oldest son, “You know that I loved your mother very much and when we cross, I will love her again. But… I have fallen for another, one with a beating heart and warm breath, who will love me in my eternal youth and for as long as my lungs draw breath and my heart beats, one with whom I can spend all my long long years with and bring me happiness and to whom I can also bring happiness. Son, I have decided to marry this Tuatha princess.”

His words were not completely unexpected. The prince had heard the rumors. His own memories of his mother were modest, fuzzy, golden-covered with the gentle fuzz of childhood recollection. He knew that his mother had been sacrificed on the alter to the dead goddess on the winter solstice of the last year of the silver comet, the greatest honor that could be awarded by the messengers and a death he and all his people were extremely proud of, and so, for most of his life, the queen had waited in the next life, sacred and distant and never really seen, at least to him, as partner to his father. He also knew that his father was a man, like him, and handsome and noble and that there had been dalliances, but nothing with any seriousness. Despite his lack of objection, he did not know what to say. Extending a hand beyond the wall, he watched a snowflake land and slowly melt in his palm before he spoke again.

This time he turned to the Tuatha princess, “Welcome to the family… Queen Eochaid Indai.”

The king beamed uncharacteristically and placed a hand gently on the stomach of his wife to be, stroking the thick ermine robes no Vanir would have need of, “Son… there is something else I must tell you,” he said with a glance at him, his wife, and at her waist where his half-brother or sister grew.

Immaculate February 12th, 2012 12:02 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
and

Quote:
Tales from the Lands of Winter Fay: Part 4: Royal Court and an Attempt at Diplomacy

It seemed never to stop snowing this winter and though it was but December trackers and trappers already wore the long narrow snowshoes they normally saved for the later depths of winter. But that did not stop King Hermóðr from holding court outside this evening. Like all Vanir, he had a natural affinity for cold and snow and he greatly enjoyed the way Vanir glamour of his courtesans and family interplayed aesthetically with the moonlight on the gently falling snowflakes. His features were calm as he enjoyed the brisk winter evening air. He wore an iron hauberk and a broadsword lay leaning against the throne upon which he sat. Ever-young and proudly bearing the scars of his hanging, he appeared every bit the role of the noble hangadrott, sacred warrior-knight and king of the Vanir people. At his side, perched serenely on a wooden throne delicately carved and inlaid with silver sat his new wife, Queen Eochaid Indai. Of Tuatha Dé Danann blood, she did not share the Vanir resistance to cold and her thin frame was wrapped in finely tailored ermine fur robes. Those with the most noble of blood might penetrate the royal glamour to make out a girl-child, the newborn princess, Delbáeth (a tuatha name) squirming beneath her robes. Standing near them was the youngest of the princes, Ulfric,who had inherited the king’s first wife’s black hair and thinner build. Never the natural warrior that his older brother, Sven, was, Ulfric was gifted with a calculating mind and interest in politics and diplomacy that served him well in court. The court itself was made up of many warrior-jarls and leaders of the guilds. The Desir witches were not in attendance. If the royals or nobles had need of them, they would go to their caves deep in the mountains for the Desir did not come to court often.

Across from the royals stood four Vanir who’s stature and width was greater than any other in court. Taller by half a foot than any others present and probably nearing four to five hundred pounds each, they were the embodiment of Vanir elite warrior-hood. Despite their build, they moved with an uncanny, almost supernatural, grace. Their strength, grace and especially the black wolf-fur pelt they wore marked them as the most elite of the Helvan warriors; these were known as the skin-shifters and there were only four. The men were known as Steinvor, Ulfeid, Gudrik, and Raudebjorn. The frist three had only just returned from the southern woods where their scouting expedition had led them to violent confrontation with the scouts of the Empire of Barslov. Raudebjorn, for his part, had returned from a sailing expedition into warmer waters searching for a site blessed by the dead goddess with natural fish banks, timber, ore and fertile soil. In rough growly voices suggestive of the wolf-form they would assume in battle, they were finishing their tale that the king, the noble jarls, and the scribes might know what befell them in the southern woods.

Throughout all of Éljúðnir, many a serf or freeman’s tongue spoke of the Barslov ship and its sudden unexpected appearance at the wharves. Naturally isolationists, the majority of the population were glad they had left but a vocal minority, especially those in the guilds were critical of the reception that had been provided to the southerners. These argued that the King or even the nobility should have greeted them to try and establish ties and good-will. But they hadn’t, reasoning that foreign sailors of mortal blood were beneath them and any effort by Vral’s court to speak with them should have been spearheaded by a royal, a prince or some other high-ranking noble.

At court, the skin-shifters had similar feelings, though their reasoning was different. The king asked them why, “Ulfeid, you speak of the Barslov serfs with obvious sympathy but as soon as you mention the soldiers or gentry you are obviously hostile and refer to their king as ‘Vral the Bloody’. Why?”

The warrior’s yellow eyes shone with an unconcealed excitement he didn’t bother to hide, “The Wolven Mantle has changed me; its changed all of us, of that there is no doubt. The Desir witches who imbued them with the essence of the wolven curse did not just pass on the wolven shape, strength and speed that has made us what we are today, it also passed on some of the finer points of the curse. The curse hates the one known as Vral, his soldiers, and his bloodline. It pities the weak and those who, unarmed, might be slaughtered. Those feelings are mine now, for the curse is part of me now and I am a part of it. I cannot help but hate the man who is responsible for the massacre and if you ask me what massacre, I cannot tell you- I only know that the curse is one of vengeance, for the blood of innocents spilled. You ask, my king, why I call him ‘Vral the Bloody’ and I can only answer that truly, the name is not one I give, but that the curse gives. No- there should be no peace with these people as long as that man is their emperor; slay Vral, and bring peace to his people and to the spirits trapped by the curse he called.”

Behind the king, Prince Ulfric caught the eye of one of the guild leaders mouthed something that seemed to satisfy him for the guilder quickly nodded, then cleared his throat, “Father, we have had word from the Barslovian people. They would like to live in peace with us. We must consider this. Even Ulfeid who would encourage war and conquest makes mention of their elite ‘Brazen’. I am no coward and I do not fear these men but there are many more of these Brazen than there are of our Skin-shifters and to think that our serf-militia, despite their numbers, can stand against the disciplined ranks of the Brazen is to underestimate their discipline, training, and weapons. No father… there is nothing to be gained from war; instead, let us live in peace, side by side, and perhaps we can even trade with them and prosper.”

For the majority of the court, the prince’s words were anathema and most of the nobility were disagreeing quietly with his words as he spoke but others, especially the guilders and some of the more progressive nobility were anxious to agree adding, “The prince is wise,” and, “Let us not waste our treasures on an unnecessary war.”

The four hulking warriors wearing their wolf pelts argued for raids by sea and through forest. The nobles agreed. They argued at the lack of respect shown to the Vanir by sending common sailors to speak with them. They spoke of the natural superiority of Vanir fey blood over man’s. Prince Ulfric was persuasive, diplomatic and well-spoken, again having inherited from his mother and his coalition gained ground with arguments of patience and the need to learn more even if later there would be war.

Ulfric’s way was not his fathers but the queen spoke next. Her people were not a warrior race like the Vanir. The tuatha were more prone to diplomacy and trade and she, like them, was loathe to spill blood, even that of men, without good cause. It was her words finally that swayed the king and so he proclaimed, “Go forth Ulfric and serve as my ambassador to these men of Barslov but should they insult us or our noble line, I will place your brother inc command of the war-parties and you know he is a man of the steel and blood and not of words.”

In the early morning a raven was sent south with a message for Vral of Barslov
and

Quote:
Tales from the Lands of Winter Fay: Interlude 1: E! News interview


Giuliana Rancic Welcome back to E! News. For those of you just joining us, we’re talking with Alexander Skarsgård and Andreas Wilson who play the royal princes in Immaculate’s Helvan nation for Citana NES with EQCivFanatic. We were on the issue of setting. Alex, you said that for you, filming in northern Sweden gave you a chance to appreciate a beauty you had taken for granted?

Alexander Skarsgård Well,Guiliana, not completely I guess. I mean I’d been into the highlands and seen the mountains and the forests and the moors but seeing them on camera(1), that was different. I really felt that Immaculate did a really excellent job of conjuring a cold, unforgiving landscape that was none-the-less beautiful and majestic

Giuliana Rancic That could almost describe the Vanir themselves. Tell me about these people.

Alexander Skarsgård Well, they are based on Norse myth. Sort of.

Andreas Wilson Its really actually based on this faction in the Dominions 3 video game… well, a series of factions that all share this capacity to hide themselves in an illusionary ‘glamour’ and have a penchant for air magic. They are a tall warrior-like race much like the Vikings and the Helvan have this tie to death, much like one particular race in Dominions called the Helheim.

Giuliana Rancic Explaining why immaculate gave them their name.

Andreas Wilson Right. So they worship this goddess who they know is dead but for them, death isn’t really the finality that it is in many cultures or that it is in our lives. The Helvan king is known as a Hangadrott which means that he has died and has returned and presumably, because this is a great honor and he is much wiser for it, that’s a good thing.

Giuliana Rancic This is actually the father of the characters you both play.

Alexander Skarsgård That’s right. Whats weird is that the actor playing our father is the same age as us because when the character of the king died and returned to the Helvan, he stopped aging. He does have a scar to show for his efforts though- a thick cord of scar tissue around his neck that takes the make-up people about an hour to put together each time. Anyway, this is a scar from the king’s actually pretty gruesome death. He committed suicide by hanging from an ash tree.

Giuliana Rancic Hence why he is called a Hangadrott?

Alexander Skarsgård That’s never really explained but maybe. I don’t know.

Andreas Wilson Getting back to the death theme; another thing is the role of these ‘Desir’ in their culture. These are basically bad-*** witches who disdain the royal court or town living and hang out in gross caves where they do horrible stuff to animals and worship ravens. They are the link for the Helvan to their dead goddess but really they are just these dramatic devices for Immaculate to shock the audience.

Alexander Skarsgård I’m not sure that’s completely true. They have a pretty central role to the story. It was the Dis who uncovered the Barslovian curse after all. Importantly they can commune with the dead and do so fairly regularly, using Vanir blood as a sacrifice to enable this communincation.

Andreas Wilson Fair enough; getting back to the death theme though, there’s also the king’s wife, our character’s mother. We haven’t met her but the writers seem to be saying that she’ll be showing up in some future episodes, not sure if it will be as flashback or some sort of ghost or whatever. Anyway, our character’s mother is dead but she’s still a pretty important character. First off, you have to realize that she was killed by the Desir as a blood sacrifice to their dead goddess on this really auspicious holy day and because of that she’s sort of venerated and a popular hero for a lot of the Helvan people, including the king and our characters. Supposedly my dark looks and lighter build are from her.

Giuliana Rancic Whereas your heavier build and white hair are from the king Alex?

Alexander Skarsgård Yeah, that’s right. I actually had to gain nearly forty pounds of muscle for this role after my last one in True Blood. It took me six months with a dedicated trainer and nutritionist. In a lot of scenes I also wear lifts. Anwyay, yeah the Helvan have this thing with death.

Giuliana Rancic Right. And they have this thing with the wind and with illusions?

Andreas Wilson Yeah, that’s right Jewls.

Giuliana Rancic Please don’t call me that.

Andreas Wilson … Okay...? Anyway, yeah, the Helvan are all inherently skilled in illusion and cover themselves in glamour which is a pretty popular tool in fantasy writing for elves and stuff like that but basically what it means is that its really hard to see them. Immaculate keeps comparing it to looking at snowflakes in moonlight. They twinkle and there’s movement there but there’s no real form or substance to see.

Alexander Skarsgård And the thing is, glamour is tied to royalty and noble lineage so our characters have maybe the strongest glamour in the film outside the king and the new queen.

Andreas Wilson As far as illusion goes, many of the Vanir are inherently skilled in that too but with training they can extend it much further. It’s the same with the air magic and apparently the illusion and air magic are not really separate, though they are different than the death magic. Skilled Vanir sorcerers, and they are usually nobles not Desir witches, can summon freezing gales or strike their targets with lightning or summon spirits of the cold mountain winds or of lightning and thunder.

Giuliana Rancic You mentioned the new queen and that’s sort of the new and exciting thing the audience is talking about but right now its time for a break. When we return we’ll talk about your character’s step mother and your new half-sister. Thanks for watching (2) and hope to see you back after these messages from our sponsor.



(1) actually the reader’s imagination, there is no camera involved in this story
(2) you’re actually reading.

Nosantee February 20th, 2012 08:54 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
Tir na n'Og
Military Update
The general sits wearily in his chamber, mumbling to himself and his own monologue

We are defeated. Not in men, but in all other aspects. Our research lacks, our morale is crushed, and our lands drained and dead. Victory, cannot be attained for our people and we know it.

Only one last option remains. We will go, but not peacefully, not at all.

Mobilize. All. Mages. Begin the reconquista. We will all die in our last, fighting struggle. United.

HoleyDooley February 21st, 2012 12:49 AM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
Blood Bath!

That's the fighting spirit. I feel the same way right now!

Excist February 21st, 2012 12:16 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
OOC:

I have to say that this definitely is the most brutal game I have been in and I think the only nations that haven't felt that at one point or another is Helheim and Mictlan.

I, myself, had done some majorly expensive moves of desparation to save myself from the jaws of defeat that have luckily panned out well.

Fomoria's very existence and rebound into life is due to TNN and Hinnom bidding for my attention, so I am sure they felt that way. At peak I had a couple of months where I was combatting Marverni, Fomoria, Hinnom and TNN forces simultaneously. I've never seen anything like that before haha.

This game has been exciting and action packed all the way through.

HoleyDooley February 21st, 2012 12:21 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
I have learnt a lot over the last 2 weeks about the game. I would change a million and one things I have done to date. Thats the beauty of this game, a brutal learning curve. I am getting there, but still a ways to go. Good job Excist. I think you have me, but I'll go down fighting.

Immaculate February 21st, 2012 12:25 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
Yeah, i agree. it hasn't really been quiet for helheim to be honest. I picked a fight with a nation that ended up being much bigger and better armed than i ever thought it was. Also- a killer bless on their flying pegasus made things harder than it needed to be. Jotunheim can attest to that.

But yeah, non-stop fighting has been really fun. I am still upset about my poison golem though... :(

Torgon February 24th, 2012 12:10 AM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
Quote:
Originally Posted by Excist (Post 796340)
OOC:

I have to say that this definitely is the most brutal game I have been in and I think the only nations that haven't felt that at one point or another is Helheim and Mictlan.

I, myself, had done some majorly expensive moves of desparation to save myself from the jaws of defeat that have luckily panned out well.

Fomoria's very existence and rebound into life is due to TNN and Hinnom bidding for my attention, so I am sure they felt that way. At peak I had a couple of months where I was combatting Marverni, Fomoria, Hinnom and TNN forces simultaneously. I've never seen anything like that before haha.

This game has been exciting and action packed all the way through.
I am quite amazed that I am still alive as well. Although in all honesty, the quality of my turns has bee diminishing rapidly. I think I've pulled off some interesting maneuvers in light of the situation I was placed in.

Looking back I'm pretty sure of a few things I would have done differently.

1. Make sure I knew what the Argathan bless was prior to attacking. Your scales and bless will probably doom you in the long run, but early on its pretty sick and nearly unstoppable.

2. Attack Tir instead of Argatha early. I was completely boxed in, so sitting back and relaxing wasn't an option I had to attack someone. I picked a fight with Argatha and lost horribly, basically ending the game for myself within the first year or so, even if I did keep holding on. I think my blessed unmarked could have held their own against an early Tir.

3. Not use the strat I focused on with such a cramped map. My strategy, while a bless focused one, was geared more towards the late game. The real unit that benefits from the W9 bless are Formorias morrigans all the way up at conj 6. I was never able to expand, never able to build up a good gem income, and thus never able to really leverage this advantage. I should have geared more towards the early game with such a tight map.

Excist February 24th, 2012 12:45 AM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
If it makes you feel any better you're not the only one to make mistake #1 & 2.

Marverni, Hinnom, and Tir Na Nog also made the mistake of attacking Agartha. ;)

I don't agree with your third self-critique since 10-12 provinces per is not too cramped, although it appears that you had a slower expansion than Fomoria should have which led to a cramped position. Also, your strategy should have been viable since it looks fairly powerful early, mid and late game. I think you ran into problems because of your slow start and picking a fight with a nation that expanded quickly and had more resources early on.

Iron Duke February 24th, 2012 03:51 AM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
Quote:
Originally Posted by Immaculate (Post 796342)
Yeah, i agree. it hasn't really been quiet for helheim to be honest. I picked a fight with a nation that ended up being much bigger and better armed than i ever thought it was. Also- a killer bless on their flying pegasus made things harder than it needed to be. Jotunheim can attest to that.

But yeah, non-stop fighting has been really fun. I am still upset about my poison golem though... :(
I don't know where you got the feeling that I was more bigger and better armed than yourself, but such was not the case I think. I was fighting with niefelheim and his awake pretender(and I was just starting to win) then your thugs attacked. It was fun though, still learning to do well in mp.

Immaculate February 24th, 2012 10:04 AM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
yeah- i didn't know about the southern half of your nation or of your second fort. Also, when we started you had twice the provinces i did. so you were much bigger than i thought.

You fought really well- i've never tried a strong bless with acrosephalae. it seems like it really works better than i expected. Now i just need to hit all your forces with shimmering fields or some other mass AoE spell early to knock out your twist fate.

Torgon February 24th, 2012 12:42 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
Quote:
Originally Posted by Excist (Post 796629)
If it makes you feel any better you're not the only one to make mistake #1 & 2.

Marverni, Hinnom, and Tir Na Nog also made the mistake of attacking Agartha. ;)

I don't agree with your third self-critique since 10-12 provinces per is not too cramped, although it appears that you had a slower expansion than Fomoria should have which led to a cramped position. Also, your strategy should have been viable since it looks fairly powerful early, mid and late game. I think you ran into problems because of your slow start and picking a fight with a nation that expanded quickly and had more resources early on.
I actually had a pretty good expansion, I didn't lose a single party. I just had a terrible starting position. I ran into another empire within one province from my capital in every direction.

HoleyDooley February 24th, 2012 12:48 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
So when the computer places nations at start, it doesn't attempt to place them with some degree of equality of being roughly the same number of provinces as all other nations?

Excist February 24th, 2012 01:42 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
It does, but the nations at the corners usually have a slight advantage in that they will have 2-3 outer facing provinces with no neighborly competition for expansion.

Also natural terrain such as waterways and mountain ranges can limit available paths of expansion. In hind sight both TNN and Fomoria were bottlenecked and one of them had to devour the other in the first year to have a real chance of making it to the end game.

That said I'm not ready to write anybody off since not many have had a smooth ride.

Excist February 24th, 2012 05:05 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
Btw, let's have some more RP posts! Especially from the underdogs. I'd love to hear stories of Arco nobles eating rats during a siege of their golden city for example! ;)

Excist March 2nd, 2012 03:42 AM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
Ghalim scratched the bottom edge of his gut where it overhung the top of his trousers by a good inch or two while watching the Agarthan war camp make ready to march toward the heart of Hinnom. Look at them scurry like mice. Ghalim thought they looked like mice running through a maze searching for their cheese. You're better than this. Ghalim wasn't no rat to follow the cheese mindlessly. No, he was better than this. You should be the one giving orders. He should be the one choosing where the cheese was and which way the mice should scurry.

"This army should be yours" said the imp perched on a small boulder at the edge of the camp.

"That's what I've been trying to explain to you....I think.." replied Ghalim groggily.

"Oh, and I think you have a great point there" the imp chuckled as he idly watched as small bugs smoked and blistered under his hovering claw carefully placed a couple of inches overhead. He elicited great pleasure in watching how they would flee the heat moving infinitesimally slowly in one direction as he maneuvered his palm slightly quicker around to the other side. He always thought it was interesting how each individual bug seemed to realize they were moving towards the heat instead of away at unpredictable times. Often they burst open before they even realized they were cooking themselves as much as he was.

"Yes, and this all WOULD have been mine if it wasn't for....for..."

"Him."

"Him."

They both glared at one of the Lords from a minor House from the mining guilds that was tasked with putting the siege army in place as he wandered off to releive himself behind one of the Banded Hills these parts were named after. Ghalim thought to himself how he would surely have been chosen to lead this army and win the glory of defeating Hinnom if not for Ninlil being one of Mandred's many uncles. If only Mandred had died on his search for Harrow-gor. If only Mandred wasn't so paranoid that he would insist on filling every important post with one of his seemingly unending line of family members.

"I knew fate was looking down on you. Here's your golden opportunity! Let's go kill him and then clearly everybody will see you are the better Commander At Arms." The imp sneered as he jumped down from the boulder oblivious to the hissing and crunching when his claw came down on his forgotten toys.

"Let's kill him and.....then..I'm pretty sure we should kill him..." Ghalim droned as he grabbed his Obsidian Glaive and trotted after his commanding officer with intent to kill.

Ninlil's back was turned. 'This looks easy' he thought as he took 2 quick steps forward aiming his Glaive for Ninlil's meaty neck.

*CHIME*

The imp was holding his head screaming in some incomprehensible pain.

Somehow Ninlil was suddenly facing him with his single eye wide open in alarm.

Ghalim slowly remembered the situation and still unsure why it was desperately important, bent to reach down for the Obsidian weapon that he didn't remember dropping on the ground.

*CHIME*

The imp had clawed half it's own head to an unrecognizable pulp in an attempt to tear its ears off but now it seemed fully cognizant of its surroundings and in its ruined head his two eyes fixated on a singular goal. If he succeeded, Blood Bath would make him whole. Would reward him. If he failed..... There was no room for failure or his pain now would be insignificant compared to the eternity of his existance in Hell.

Ghalim picked himself off the ground.

Good, he had managed to hold onto his weapon during this blackout.

Bad, Ninlil had his magic dueling sword and golden shield in hand and was approaching him with the calm surefooted approach of a veteran fighter that had earned his rank through constant drilling in peacetime and years fighting in the Werk Enum border dispute against the Fomorians and the Purging (the Agarthan name for the War to kill the cult of Marverni). This was no surfaceborn milkfed noble.

It was too late to back away now. He charged forward swinging his Glaive down, but Ninlil just dodged to the side and then took two quick swings at Ghalim, the second scoring a deep cut in his side, straight through his cuirass and painfully into one of his ribs. Ninlil panicked a little, realizing his sword was stuck in the poor deluded soldier's body. Ghalim recognized his opportunity ignoring the pain to bring his Glaive down to strike true and end this fight. The strike swung true, certain to end Ninlil's life and then as though through some timely stroke of luck Ninlil's sword came free with such force that Ninlil fell back a rather unlikely distance avoiding the full length of Ghalim's blade.

*CHIME*

The imp clapped his claws down on his ears with such force that his head exploded and his body deconstructed into steaming waste as demons are apt to do when they perish.

Ghalim's first clear thought was full and complete regret as the enormity and madness of what he had attempted was realized with sudden force.

"I'm sorry!" he pleaded throwing down his weapon and holding up his hands in surrender. "I would never....I didn't mean to....It wasn't my choice....I don't know what....that....what happened.."

Ninlil didn't slow his approach as he calmly ran Ghalim through while oddly offering a sympathetic embrace. "I know. I'm sorry too. It has to be this way. If you are allowed to live it will be easier for others to fall prey to this enchantment. That cannot be allowed. I'm so sorry." Ghalim's eye lost focus as Ninlil twisted the blade and pulled it out of its warm bloody sheath.

Ninlil examined the so-called Cleansing Bell with newfound respect. It appears that Earth Reader knew what he was talking about. Ninlil had thought the idea of a Bell that warded against evil was nothing more than perhaps a popular folk lore from another time. He would have to donate to the Ministry of Earthrock when this campaign was over. The Earth Readers had saved his life today.

Immaculate March 2nd, 2012 11:13 AM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
good story.

Immaculate March 3rd, 2012 09:44 AM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
Surely the winds of fate are fickle indeed to bring a power as mighty and grand as the Hinnom low so quickly. Either that or their enemies are truly the greatest threat this world has yet to see...

dojango March 3rd, 2012 02:17 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
Tepeyollotl stared into the dancing bonfire. The smell of incense and burnt offerings and the swirling smoke made his eyes water. He dropped the empty shells of the fire gems to the ground. Once again the fires revealed nothing. Exhausted, the old man slumped wearily to the ground. A servant materialized by his side.

"Bring me pulque. And something to eat," said Tepeyollotl.

The servant bowed. "Master. Some... people have been asking to see you. I told them you were not to be disturbed during your rituals, but they insisted on waiting."

"Are they from the capital?"

"No. They claim to be from Arcoscephale."

"What? Send them in, now!" Tepeyollotl snapped.

The servant quickly fled. Moments later he ushered in two dishelved and ragged men. Other servants brought in bowls of pulque and chicken stew.

"Sit, eat," said Tepeyollotl. The men quickly fell on the food and drink. Tepeyollotl examined them. One of them had a bloody bandage covering his head and eye, while the other had discarded a crutch when he sat. Their clothes were torn and filthy, not even fit for rags. "Just the two of you?" asked Tepeyollotl.

"The others didn't make it," said one of the men.

Tepeyollotl tried to remember the man's name. Mixcoatl? Omacoatl? Not even the leader of the twelve-man delegation he had sent to Arcoscephale a year ago. "Did you get it?" he asked.

The man handed him a small packet. Tepeyollotl snatched it from him and opened it, staring inside. The loss of so many promising young priests, the money and resources he had spent, it had not been in vain.

"It was bad. They kept guarding it until the bitter end. The ponymans were inside the walls before we could make our move. Xochipilli and Amimitl were cut down distracting the guards and Mixcoatl was killed by one of those... oreid women while we ran for it."

"What happened to Xolollotl?" asked Tepeyollotl distractedly. His nephew had been in charge of the operation.

"Uh, I think he was killed during the riots? They started attacking anyone foreign as the ponymans closed in on the capital. And then they burned the warehouse we were hiding in because they thought he was hoarding food. Diogenes, that is. He was a philospher we made friends with. He was hiding us, but the mob killed him. And a few others they caught with us. Still, once we got out..." the man trailed off as he saw that Tepeyollotl wasn't paying attention.

"Hmm? You may go now. Rest, we'll get you back into the field tomorrow," said Tepeyollotl, dismissing them. The high priest held the sacred acorn in his cupped hands. He could feel the vitality, the life radiating from the powerful object. He had served his god well.

Immaculate March 3rd, 2012 05:28 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
And so the mother oak returns to guardians of order- that we might be stronger in the face of dangerous chaos.

Immaculate March 10th, 2012 07:46 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
I require an extension.

Excist March 10th, 2012 09:09 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
Lacking details, I have postponed hosting by 12 hours. If that is not enough, let me know.

Torgon March 12th, 2012 03:34 AM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
All,

Unless anyone has any major objections, I'm going to go ahead and set AI. I'm pretty much down to nothing and have been for some time. I'm going to script whats remaining in my capital to produce something nasty for whoever tries to take it.

If people have major objections I'll keep playing my turn, I just don't want to leave people waiting if I happen to stall, and there's no chance anyone would want to sub for me in my current position.

Overall it's been a great game and I've really enjoyed reading everything. I'll write up one final story about Balor and the kingdom of Fomoria, their unlikely truce with the Giants of Argatha after a bitter early war, their near defeat at the hands of their ancient enemies the Tuatha of Tir Na Nog. And finally the Armies of Argatha coming to liberate the brave realm of Fomoria with Balor swearing allegiance to the Argathan Lords.

Excist March 12th, 2012 10:35 AM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
Well, I'd personally rather people wait until they're down to their last fort is sieged to go AI, but don't want to be heavy handed about that if you have limited rl time.

In Fomorias (and Hinnom's) case I could understand an argument that there would be little to no difference to the turns whether done by an AI or a human at this point.

Whether you stick it out a little longer or go AI it was great having King Balor in the game and I was impressed with your use of Fomoria's ingredients to cook up some painful surprises. I hope you'll be part of my next RP game.

Torgon March 12th, 2012 01:06 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
I agree, I'd rather wait until I was down to last fort as well. But it looks like that still might be a few more turns which = about a week. I'm looking at a pretty crazy week and given what I'm doing I probably wont have access to a computer most of the time.

But as it stands, there's absolutely no reason to hold up the game on my account.

Excist March 12th, 2012 01:37 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
In that case, another option is I could force host if Fomoria is the last to send their turn in and it remained that way for at least an hour.

I don't think you've held up any turns recently.

Torgon March 12th, 2012 02:15 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
That works for me. Thanks.

Excist March 12th, 2012 02:23 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
NP.

Hinnom on the other hand should probably go AI at this point since, to the best of my knowledge, they have no provinces left or military to speak of.

Excist March 13th, 2012 12:48 AM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
OK, totally pissed off at myself. I just lost the game by sending in an army without my Oracle scripted to divine bless it. Total waste of an entire army, gems and equipment.

Was running out of time and sent in my turn when overtired.....big mistake.

Immaculate March 13th, 2012 12:55 AM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
we've all done that... now you get to go post in the 'doh moments'...


i summoned a big bad creature that cost me over 30 gems to summon, kitted it with 3 artifacts and other stuff, sent it against a ton of giant PD and had it zapped by the 50 turn timer after it beserked (wielding the heat from hell sword- forget its name)- even after the enemy had routed- there goes about 100 gems. i thought that cost me any chance at the game too...


also- i lost a poison golem with about 60 gem worth of materials (mostly death and water- i won't say what specifically) to acro's giant spiders earlier.



Yeah... bad stuff happens. you get to complain about it- but trust me- you aren't the only one who is making mistakes. (Not that mictlan is though- from what i can tell they don't make mistakes) dojango you are a way scarier mictlan than you are a patala.

dojango March 13th, 2012 07:48 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
Mictlan is way scarier than Patala. Also, not getting triple teamed by Atlantis, Marignon, and Tien Chi helps. As for mistakes, I make big ones all the time. In dreadful fates, I lost battles due to giving Ivan the gems and Igor the orders to cast the army-wide buffs. damn Russian names all sounding alike.

As far as "losing the war", the important thing is not necessarily how big the standing army is, but how quickly it can be replaced. Ultimately everything is disposable. With the resources of four nations at your command, you will be able to recover fairly quickly.

e: oh yeah, I saw that battle. Monolith armor, unquenchable sword and something else? Guy had a limp and couldn't make it off the field in the 25 turn grace period between auto-rout and auto-death.

Immaculate March 13th, 2012 08:21 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
no- i think he just popped cause he was beserking... he didn't rout.

How dare you question our honor!

dojango March 13th, 2012 09:08 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (noob EA game: Running))
 
I think everyone routs at 50 turns and dies at 75. this is to keep two teleporting sphinxes from staring at each other for eternity or something.

dojango March 14th, 2012 02:13 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (EA game: Running 4/10 left))
 
Wow, that was certainly a pyre-ic victory. Way to go, little dust priest.

Immaculate March 14th, 2012 02:18 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (EA game: Running 4/10 left))
 
what happened?

dojango March 14th, 2012 02:39 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (EA game: Running 4/10 left))
 
check out the hall of fame for Agartha's newest hero. phoenix pyre + soul vortex + masses of chaff = good times.

Excist March 14th, 2012 06:35 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (EA game: Running 4/10 left))
 
Quote:
Originally Posted by dojango (Post 798567)
Wow, that was certainly a pyre-ic victory. Way to go, little dust priest.
Yes, I was already thinking that guy deserves a story, lol.

Agarthan army routs, Ur retreats strategically and then gets hit in the back of the head with a stray arrow and turns around all pissed off and lays waste to the opposing army single handedly.


Correction:
Soul vortex + Phoenix pyre + berserk + +11 reinvig = good times. ;)

Also I should say that we are officially down to 4 nations left, so congratulations to everybody that made it this far!

Whether you win or lose often is due to end game politics, but, making it to the End Game is usually a sign of skill and deserves a pat on the back. ;)

Immaculate March 15th, 2012 09:23 AM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (EA game: Running 4/10 left))
 
I need an extension. Something went wrong.

Excist March 15th, 2012 10:52 AM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (EA game: Running 4/10 left))
 
Hosting postponed by 12 hours.

dojango March 15th, 2012 06:55 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (EA game: Running 4/10 left))
 
maybe give him a day or two, that sounds ominous.

Excist March 18th, 2012 03:15 AM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (EA game: Running 4/10 left))
 
We're in the endgame I'd say, so I have switched to a 48 hours hosting schedule (from 36). If people want 72 that can be arranged too, but we seem to be humming along smoothly within 48 hours.

dojango March 21st, 2012 01:40 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (EA game: Running 4/10 left))
 
Kurgarru stopped and stared up at the night sky. If he squinted his eye, it almost looked like the comforting roof of the caves back home. As long as he pretended that those alien stars were just chips of mica glittering in the faint light. His new friends, these Mictlanese, were creatures of fire and light. He didn't understand them, they worshipped the cruel brightness and seemed to cluster around fires. They burned their food and they looked as if they had been burned by some fire as well. Kurgarru had never heard of the Mictlanese until a few months ago. He had been working in the plump helmet fields in the caves of home when some lord had made him change his shovel for a spear and march to war, to conquer the surface in Harrow-Gar's name.

But Kurgarru's old life seemed to fade away the more time he spent on the surface. He could barely remember the caves of home now, the faces of his family and children playing in the underground streams, working the loamy caves where their crops grew. The only thing he could remember clearly was the battle, the one thing he longed to forget.

In the chaos of his memory, he remembered being struck, not by a blow or a spell, but by a clear and crystal idea. Suddenly he realized that Harrow-gar had betrayed them. With that realization, he dropped his spear and opened his arms to embrace the Mictlanese tide. But they washed around him, drawing him in to serve.

The Mictlanese priests had been very helpful in explaining to him what had happened. Harrow-Gar must have been the one to weaken the seals. Harrow-Gar was sending the people to die on the surface lands to weaken the nation. Harrow-Gar was working in concert with the terrible umbrals that the Agarthans had sworn to contain. When they explained it to him, it all made sense, although the knowledge kept slipping away as he wandered the dark nights, dreaming of home. The one thing he knew for certain was that if he followed the Mictlanese army to the ends of the earth he would find his way home again.

Immaculate March 21st, 2012 02:24 PM
Re: Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (EA game: Running 4/10 left))
 
plump helmets. guffaw!


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