MP: Chronicles_EA: Second-pass Signup and Discussion

[Darkwind]

By the way, Mithras, paragraph 6? is a little weird. A quote mark is missing and the tense switches to present and back. In paragraph 8?, there's a bit of confusion at the beginning between singular (Androphag) and plural (their swords), and yet more tense confusion. Paragraph 9, it's enmity not enemity.

We want these to look as good as possible for the viewers right?

Just in case you feel angered by my instinct to edit the writings of others, in the honors english classes I've been in many people were far, far worse than you, switching tense all the time, forgetting that commas and even periods exist, and just in general making large, silly oversights. I won't claim I'm free of them either.

[Mithras]

I'm not annoyed in any way, constructive criticism is good.

I'm looking into the tense switch but I did leave Androphag as it is on purpose. Androphags just sounds wrong to me and I haven't seen it used anywhere so Androphag is going the way of sheep for this write up. (Feel free to chide me when I inevitably begin to use Androphags)

There fixed, I think. Anyways I don't even have the excuse of not being a native so thanks for that.

[rdonj]

Androphagi? Androphages!

[Wrana]

First variant is almost right, I guess... Probably Androphagoi, though...

[Mithras]

Probably what Arco would call them? Or even the Ermorians...

[Wrana]

Yes, the term is clearly of that origin - and his Prologue had also drawn upon Arcoscephales' connections. Of course, it's possible to come up with something more authentic - if we have here some player from Iran or at least someone who knows that language (close enough to Sarmatian iirc).

[Mithras]

Hmm duly noted, expect to see some the ois soon(when I can be bothered to go through and edit the text )
Hmm I always just assumed that the thematic inspiration for Sauromatia came from the Dacians (west/north? of Byzantium and completely wiped out by the Romans, also some contact with the greeks... My classical history isn't as good as I wish it was) but I can't remember any referance to stepped culture, and apparently the amazons were supposed to be around Russia. Ah now I'm thinking about it, maybe I should just keep taking it for granted and add the ois... any names with historical reference seem to be greeked (grecinised?) anyway :P

[Wrana]

Yes, they were "around" Russia - namely, in the lands where Russian state would later develop. Sauromatian/Sarmatian (both names are used, sometimes interchangebly) tribes were of Indo-Iranic origin and had beaten Scythians from these steppes, partly assimilating them. They are considered to be inventors of stirrups and normal lances. AFAIK, the only thing they had in common with Dacians was that both fought Romans. But Sarmatians were far more successful in this...
Still later, they were absorbed into Hunns' empire, providing main heavy cavalry (though some served Romans by the time). After the fall of Hunns remaining Sarmatian tribes moved to the south-east, to the edge of Caucasus Mountains. And some of them at least took part in the beginning of a gathering of Slavic and other tribes which later turned into a Russian state (language, though, took only a few words from them - mostly horsemanship-related afair).
And yes, they are considered to be the base for the Amazons' legends due to both map placement, the fact that Sarmatians had a tradition of women taking part in fighting and hunts and the likeness of Amazons' depictings to the Sarmatian dress (though Scythian was also close enough).

By the way, some troubles with wiki remain, too. And possibly it would be good for turns beyond the 1st to be accessible...

[Darkwind]

As always, the forums get first dibs on my stories, then the wiki.

----
Neriglissar
Hafeg Klah
Khreshaal the Traitor
----
Cax Kulu sat with a shadow. Though, he thought, it's more of a blur than a shadow. An indeterminate blob of darkness floated next to him in an already dark world of basalt and night. He shifted on his basalt chair, waiting for the shadow to speak.

"So," came a noise from the shadow, "You say there is urgent news. Urgent enough to call me. What, pray tell, is so urgent you would drain my currently-weak powers to have me conjure up a form?"

"Ah, well, it's somewhat hard to breach. You know of the isles to the north?"

"Of course."

"Well, to the north of those isles, there is a sea. The Sea of Moonshae, they call it. Our forward scouts call it a quiet place, calm and serene."

"Cut to the chase! I cannot stay forever."

"Yes, of course. Briefly: This Sea of Moonshae is occupied by Atlantians. Not any Atlantians, but renegades. Some offshoot of our Basalt City that broke off after hearing you ascended."

"Many did that. One of these rebel groups was bound to find little enough opposition to set themselves up."

"Of course, my lord. But this group is different. It is large, powerful. And commanded by a Basalt King--Khreshaal, they call him, the Traitor King of Moonshae."

The shadow paused for a moment. The room became noticeably darker and colder than the already dark and cold sea of the Basalt City. "The Traitor King of Moonshae. Very well. He will fall. I shall control all the deeps, and this Traitor King's lands are no exception."

"Ah, my lord, it is worse. Many of the Coral Guard trainees have defected after hearing of this Khreshaal--they owe allegiance to the shallows, not the deeps, and this Khreshaal promises control of the shallow waters. Even the Living Pillars are restless, his spies are numerous and he spreads his word everywhere."

"Cax Kulu." The words were spoken softly, and the Coral Commander strained to hear. "Traitors are not to be allowed. Any man that follows this Khreshaal is to be put to the death. I don't care if the entire city revolts, burn it down. Treason against your god is a great crime, and it carries great punishment. As to this Khreshaal, we shall see what happens to him. We shall see."
----
I was at my post, yeah, and me an' the guys were jokin' around. You know how it goes, heh. So, we're on the wall 'round the city, yeah, an' a Basal' Queen comes 'round. An' we think, we think it's weird, since you know them royalty. They don' come out of their palace no way, no how. They just sit there an' stare at that cryssal of theirs an' order us 'in the name of your god'. He ain't our god, huh? But anyways, so this Queen comes around. Says she's inspectin' for troops to conscript for that god's army. Not in those words, o' course. So, we're gettin' inspected. She pulls out a couple guys at random, jus' guys, some good an' some bad, heh, an' Black Taum for whatever reason, he can' hit a Monster Fish right in fronta him, but anyways. So I get picked, right? I'm thinking, I'm thinking what? I'm no soldier! I do this 'cause I get pay an' it's easy. So, we're walkin' along, wondering what this queen just got us into. She falls to her knees, all of a sudden, just falls down an' screams. We rush to help her, o' course, like any group of gentlemen, heh, but she's back on her feet before we get to her, yeah? S, she turns to us. I got a good look at her eyes, an' man, they scared me. Those eyes were differen', tat wasn' the same queen there. So, she looks at us an' she says, "Spread the word. Critias has chosen his prophet, and her name is Hafeg Klah, the Basalt Queen." Stop laughin', I wasn' that far off! But, she tells us that an' runs off all formal-like. Turns out, Miz Hafeg Klah and her poor bastard of a husban', some Neriglissar, are tha' first to sign up to the god's army. No, no, guys. I'm telling the truth. Wha', you don't think I'm tellin' the truth? You should hear Lefty Yuul's stories...
----
Inutho tasted the strange thing's drink. Man, it called itself. The drink was quite tasty--cider, they called it. He wondered for a moment whether it could be made at the Basalt City, before moving on to more pressing matters.

"This is a land of magic," the stranger in the cloak had told him, "a land of the elements. Our gods are the seasons, our prayers hard work. Myrloch Vale has not succumbed to these pretenders before, and will not. We have been ignored, and gone on as we will, most of the time. But, should some foolish god decide to attack us, our defense is our Great Mother who commands the seasons themselves.

"Tell, this to your god, one from the deeps. Tell him to leave us be." He had disappeared afterwards, simply gone without a trace of who he was or how he knew Inutho and the god he served.

Inutho pulled out a shell and began to scribble a letter to Critias.
----
Oh my. Another wall of text.

[Jybalbyle]

Hi guys,

Well... I can't remember how I managed to get the Ulm prologue on the DomWiki page, so I'm gonna do a Darkwind and post below. Enjoy...


When Adwulf returned to his village, there was a great commotion. A hunter on the fringes of the village had quickly spotted and sent word to the chieftain that his son had returned. Einric had merely nodded, downed his mead horn and strapped on his sword. He called the master Smith of the village to his side, cradling the brutal hammer of justice in his hands. If Adwulf had returned empty-handed, or worse, with an unworthy trophy, the hammer would strike out justice upon his skull. There was no mercy for the weak, not even the son of a chieftain.
They waited for him at the old and twisted oak at the centre of the village which represented the great Irminsul at the heart of the Lethyr forest. Alone, Adwulf strode forward. Some of Einric’s warriors were taken aback by the gleaming black armour he wore, but Einric faced him impassively. “You have returned to me, my son.” He said. “But have you returned a man?”
Adwulf looked his grizzled father in the eye. “I have.”
“And what trophy do you bring your chieftain?” The old Smith spoke, hefting his giant hammer.
Adwulf drew his sword in one swift motion. The warriors at Einric’s side flinched as the blade was drawn. “This is but the first of many gifts.” Adwulf said. “A sword of the Forge Lord himself!”
The old Smith cursed. “What nonsense! A fine blade it is, no doubt, but you’ll face the hammer’s judgement if you jest again before me.”
“Call me a liar, Smith, if you dare!” Adwulf growled, pointing Gelberic’s sword at him.
The hammer’s judgement fell not on Adwulf that day. The old Smith, trusting in his own steel, was no match for the craft of Gelberic. The hammer swung downward and Adwulf’s sword sliced upward to meet it. The blade cut through steel as easily as flesh and bone. The old Smith dropped to the earth among the old oak’s roots, the stump that had been his right arm spurting blood. He did not live much longer after that.
“Hear me!” Adwulf turned on his father’s warriors. “I have seen the Forge Lord and he has given me his blessing. Who else doubts my word?!” There were no voices raised against him. “Father, I have not returned a mere man. I am more that that! I will lead our tribe to conquer this land and with the aid of the Forge Lord our warriors will be invincible.”
“You lead?” Einric said. “You forget yourself, Adwulf. You are still my son and you will obey me! Give me this sword and the armour and I will judge your passage to manhood complete.”
Adwulf could see it in his eyes… That glimmer of greed when his father asked for his armaments. Next he would demand that Adwulf show him the cave and the giant within. Then he would be nothing again. Nothing but a warrior among his father’s household. Well Adwulf would not give up his prize so easily. It was more than mere chance that brought him to Gelberic. It was his destiny. And as Einric stretched out his greedy hand to take all that Adwulf had achieved, something inside him made him act.
The sword plunged through Einric’s chest, snapping through the links in his chainmail and bursting from his spine. Then Einric’s warriors fell upon Adwulf, their swords ringing on his armour. But this jet black steel, moulded by the very hands of a god, would not be broken so easily. Three of Einric’s best were dead before the rest backed off. Then there was a shout of “Adwulf! Adwulf!” and the warriors began fighting amongst themselves as the young men saw an opportunity to side with Einric’s son. The elder warriors who had fought beside Einric since boyhood were loyal to the end, but faced by treachery from the young bucks and the deadly sword of Adwulf, they did not stand a chance. They fought bravely and died with their weapons in hand. What more could a warrior ask for.
When the red mist faded from Adwulf’s eyes, he could hear the young warriors chanting his name. His father and his supporters were dead. Nothing now stood in his way as chieftain of the village. But for Adwulf, that was not enough…