...Some Say In Ice: The Fall of Caelum
The dawn is always bright in the snow-tipped Himalayan mountains as the day’s first rays of glorious light reflect from the ice-covered heights and form ethereal light-patterns in the snow. The gentle sounds of the nearby river soothe my passionate soul as it flows ever eastwards towards distant Hebei. Only the sound of Jotuns shoring up the river disturbs the silence, but they are only doing their job.
Red, bright red, flows the river, and with it the lifeblood of Caelum, spilled on the field of battle and in the first bright days of slaughter following the conquest.
As I stretch to my full height, I notice another winter wolf rising from the depression where I have rested, a spirit of the living ice, formed by the loving ice that ever yearns to embrace me. They make decent servants but poor company, alas. I kick the cur and it slavishly yelps its appreciation as it jumps at my feet.
As I survey the cracked ice and the field of slaughter, my gaze falls on the fallen trolls, frozen in their final moments, on the half-dozen Jotuns, felled by the magic of the High Seraphs, and on the hundreds of corpses sinking into the ice’s final embrace, the unyielding cold absorbing the Last heat of the once-living. It is a scene of horror, I guess, in the eyes of the weak, yet I see it and it is good.
No shade remains nor will any tomb be raised for the five Ether Warriors who fell in the battle. Their Lasting legacy will be the dozens of soldiers struck down by the nether energies of their lords’, corpses shredded and partially shifted into the ether, and the bloody path the warriors follows, which guarantees them a place in the legends of my people.
I have ordered the two clans to cut their separate path through the remaining possessions of Caelum, and they go about their work with a vile joy that is literally out of this work. Their effectiveness is impressive, though, for none can stand against them.
News is good these days. My growing giant armies in the north have reconquered Siberia and now guard Kamchatka from the huge American continent. Subjected to constant attacks from the die-hard Caelumese American forces, they yet hold. With the north and east secured, and with the wary peace with the star-spawned monsters that infest the seas off my eastern coast holding, I can now turn my attention to the west, to Arcoscephale. For too long have they threatened my capital, for too long have they escaped my righteous wrath!
Now it is time for Tjodulf and I to part ways. While I take care of the west, he can take care of the South. From Australia a most unbecoming heat streams ever northwards, disturbing the nice weather of Asia. Tjodulf must put an end to it, no matter the cost.
One day, I will have to find this pretender god of Pythium. A mage most puissant, no doubt, he will be yet another victim of my destiny unless he chooses to serve me. I always reward my servants well, which is why I have good servants, and true.
Where Seraphs once ruled in the Himalayas, now the Palace of the Heirarchs throng with the living dead, a stable for the undead horsemen that arrive in ever increasing numbers from the dark ladies of Hebei. Angerboda’s cadre of mages grows stronger with each passing season and the shades of long dead barbarian kings, reanimated by her unholy magic, now strive to obey her bidding where they once ruled in life. With more than two dozen astral gems generated each month by the numerous clams of pearls created by the Skrattis, she has now turned her formidable attention to finding the magic of the land.
Even so, one must take precautions and not trust the undead further than one can scatter their bones. They tend to take orders much too literally. As a tactic, “forming the square” makes sense at times, but the Bane Lords take this tactic to absurd extremes.
Ah, well, in this as in so many other respects, you get what you pay for, and what I wish to pay for I wish to pay for in blood. The Skrattis are out in force now, harvesting the midgets for virgins brimming with life force, and though virgins are few and far between as many treacherously evade their rightful fate by sinful disobedience to their god’s order to stay chaste, that does have the added benefit of increasing the herds, so to speak. If I cannot harvest them, I will harvest their children. They are only midgets, after all, and live but to serve my will.
The day will dawn when I bring on the illwinter to rouse the Rimtursar. It is only a matter of time. But for now it is time for Angerboda to cast the Gift of Health with such an overwhelming force that it will master one of the existing global enchantments and I, I will begin, at long Last, to regain my lost powers by drawing on the powers of the gems to re-empower my mastery over the elements. The Niefel giants deserve no less for their good service.
[ March 20, 2004, 17:53: Message edited by: Peter Ebbesen ]
Re: Niefel AAR: "...Some Say In Ice"
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