Mithridates Family/RP Logs

Vessol

Holding Court in Dale

Vessol sat idly on the raised wooden chair as he looked down on the small gathering of peasants just beneath him. At his sides were two of his soldiers idly leaning on their spears.

The lords hall of the small town of Dale could hardly be less deserving of the name. After years of disuse, it had taken his soldiers a few days to just redo the torn and old thatching on the roof.

Ever since he had been named the lord of Dale by the Prime Minister, Vessol had worked tirelessly to return the region to the nation of Sirion. Soldiers of the Army of Sirion had spent hundreds of man hours repairing the local infrastructure and helping the villages of the region return to normal.

Currently, he was holding court for those with grievances against Sirion or each other. The current issue at hand was a farmer complaining that a unit of soldiers had stolen a pair of his chickens and ate them. As dull as it was to listen, Vessol worked to at least not show his contempt. These petty issues went little in the way of helping the region or Sirion. To gain support amongst the peasantry, however, he had to show that he cared for their lands and their complaints.

Deportation of a Brother

"Count Vessol! A message!" his scribe exclaimed loudly as he burst into his tent that was his office in Sermbar.

Twisting his mouth in displeasure for a moment, Vessol stated "It's not Count anymore, simply Lord. I've received a message that Dale has been taken over by the Sultanite.

"Oh, er, my apologies Lord Vessol", his scribe corrected himself quickly. While sour about the loss of his governance, Vessol was not ruminating over it, he had known for a good number of days that his lordship would come to an end prematurely. The war had to be fought harder in the south and the north had to turn to defense of the core lands.

His scribe quickly interrupted his thoughts "I have news of your brother!"

Vessol quickly turned his attention to his scribe, ever since the news of his brother's careless capture as he worked in Dale, Vessol had waited anxiously for any news. He was especially worried due to his brash brother being captured and banned from the Sultanite once before. The Sultanite was not a land of honor.

"Yes, it appears he has been deported to Atamara." the scribe said with some exuberance.

Vessol heaved a sigh of relief. That, at least, was good news.

Running over a Chancellor

Vessol Mithridates thundered down the plains of Obderndorf, his unit of cavalry riding loudly behind him.

As he rounded a hill while following the road he felt a large thumping noise and brought his warhorse to a stop.

He looked to the ground and saw a man laying prone on the ground, wounded from the impact of Vessol's armored horse.

Lifting up his visor, Vessol squinted at the man "Chancellor Basilius is that you!?"

"By the gods man! You might choose a better place to take a stroll next time!" He said as he lowered his visor once more.

Settlers and Tribesmen of Dale

Vessol sat down at his desk and began to write a short history of the region he has governed:

Since being depopulated in the Great Northern War, Dale has since recovered and prospered. With its gentle valleys and generous precipitation, the land if extremely fertile and well-farmed. The most grown crops are wheat and barley, with hops grown as well. Because of the abundance of grain, Dale has become one of the largest produces of beer and ale in the north. Most of the population are settlers from the east and south, however there is also a sizable minority of tribesmen from the north as well.

The population is fairly spread out across the length of the region, with both small and large scale farmers holding swaths of land. However, there are three major population centers.

Greenhill: To the west, not a far distance from Obando, Salta, and Ashforth, lies the trade hub of Greenhill. Situated on a fat and low lying hill, it has a small wooden palisade around it which provides defense. It has long been a central hub for trade between the tribes and the city of Ashforth. It is well-known for its many small brew houses that try to appeal to travelers and traders. It has a sizable population of Litustrum and Desertulo tribesmen.

Pontus- In the center, is the most recently built town in Dale. Built in a circular design, solid stone walls protect this administrative and manufacturing center. Tailors, fletchers, tanners, and many other workshops are at work all times of the day producing goods that the whole realm uses. At the center of the town is the Viscount's Tower. Built with solid stone, this round tower is the tallest structure in the city and houses the bulk of the bureaucrats that help to administer the region.

Sarady- To the far east, bordering the deserts of Sermbar and badlands of Tabost, is the old and worn down town of Sarady. It is the smallest of the three towns and mainly serves as a resting point for travelers. Old windworn sandstone walls protect it from both the harsh winds of the badlands and the fierce monsters of the desert. The largest building is the Inn of the Desert Rose, which has a large selection of brews and wines from across the north.

A Daughter Arrived

He had expressly told her to stay in Dolmbar. And now she was here.

The last few days had been a whirlwind of activity in preparation for the war. The city of Ashforth was full of hammers clanging out arms and provisioners filling out the orders of quartermasters. Small military parades were being held throughout the city, with both city-folk and tribesfolk cheering on the soldiers as they marched out of the city.

Vessol's mind was absent though as he considered his daughter. She was the same age as he when he set off to campaign with Sirion so many years ago. Yet, it was different he thought with no clear reasoning.

Walking to a basin that was at the inn he was staying at in Ashforth, he tossed some tepid water onto his face and decided to let his mind work on other issues. He walked to his desk and started scribbling on some parchment instructing Snowe to take the estate that was open in the tribal town of Greenhill. He thought for a moment and also added with a smile that Haradrim tribesmen are solid soldiers for her to recruit. He handed the sealed letter along with a sizable bag of gold to a messenger and then went back to his duties pertaining to the coming war.

The newly elected Kronogos

With a heavy thud, Vessol slammed his mailed fist on the table in front of him as he overlooked the letters and reports sent to him.

For days he had his agents in Ashforth looking for the former Kronogos, Neji, but he had no luck in finding him. The only reliable report that he had was a guard captain who described a man similar to him leaving one of the side-gates of Ashforth in the garb of a simple wandering ronin, a loose-fitting robe with a long curved sword slung over his back. He was accompanied by a similarly garbed younger man who carried no blade himself. Was that his brother, Obito, by chance? He could not be sure, but he felt that it was something he had to confirm. But, no progress was being made and it was increasingly becoming apparent that his agents might be better spent in other endeavors.

Indeed things looked grim. A few of his officials that had made it alive out of Dale reported of widespread looting and destruction in the region. Dale was the last producer of food for the realm. Hearing reports of the encroaching Westmoorian forces, Vessol had ordered all the granaries of the region emptied and caravaned to Oroya. This action itself caused an uproar as officials and peasants alike saw it as a sign that they were being abandoned. With a glance at the recent reports of the strength of the Army of Nivemus, this would be the unintentional truth.

However, all of these reports and letters paled in comparison to the boiling rage within him that had ignited from the newly elected Kronogos. Plans for the coronation ceremony had been leaked to him from his agents placed in the palace. Not exceedingly lavish, but still ridiculous at face when one considered that the realm could not even find the gold to field the smallest of armies. For weeks now Vessol had been funding the Army with the liquidation of assets from his family's estate, sending gold to knights who had no income. To read of such a ceremony was a slap to his face.

"Hergoervik" he spat under his breath. The man had long been an enigma to him, he had agents watching him so that he could gather any information that he could on him. This proved to provide scant details about the man. Indeed, the whole of the Kronogos Circle for months had suspected him of leading some group of former Fontanese and Westmoorians, but proof of this was hard to find despite how obvious it seemed to all of them. Perhaps what angered Vessol the most though was that the newly elected Kronogos's comment about his own thought of assured ascension to leadership had rung true. Damn him.

The ascension to the throne

The news reached Vessol in the early hours of the morning as he stood taking a leak off into some bushes. The messenger was a pompous youth on a swift courser from the city of Ashforth. As the soft faced lad dismounted he kneeled before Vessol speaking obnoxiously loudly as he presented the sealed scroll; "Long live Kronogos Vessol."

After riding through the night, Vessol's eyes were sore and looked at the rising sun with the vaguest of hostility. Taking the scroll from the youth with his plated gauntlet, he rolled it open and read it for a few long moments. He then nodded without a word and tucked it into his saddlebag.

"Er, your majesty, shall you return to the capital for your coronation? As I was leaving the city the servants of the palace were all awake and preparing for your swift arrival." spoke the weak-chinned youth.

With a personal chuckle to himself, Kronogos Vessol placed a foot in a stir-up of his saddle. "Nevermind that lad, I have business to take care of. The realm cannot rebuild itself."

"But..your majesty. Representatives of the tribes must be there for your ascension to the throne in order to swear their fealty once again to the realm!" the pinch faced youth said with an edge of urgency.

"My ascension," Kronogos Vessol spoke as he lifted himself onto the saddle of his horse; "And my throne" he spoke as he patted the neck of his horse. "I do not think the tribes will question my reasoning."

And with that he rode off through the war-torn fields of Salta.

Overseas Attack on Kazan

The barge lurched and swayed in-sync with Kronogos Vessol's stomach.

To his side, Captain Aegis"By Ora..no wonder the Obsidian Islanders are so surly and unkempt. Whenever they wish to go anywhere they must also lose their breakfast.." An uneasy laugh reverberated throughout the massive hold.

"It's the largest and most luxurious barge in the northern seas", the shipper had told him as he inspected it at the tiny commercial docks in Juazeiro. Kronogos Vessol doubted that last claim, but the first claim seemed to ring true. Normally this cargo hold would be used to ship grain or livestock, now it carried over a hundred armored men. Here they were arrayed in formation in front of him, steel clad with banded plate armor covering them from head to toes. The light cast a shadow to obscure their faces beneath their helmets, creating the illusion of an army of faceless statues. Not many statues though would be able to use a spear as deadly as they had been trained, or block a blow with their thick rounded shield that bore the White Tree on a black background.

Kronogos Vessol was not one for grand speeches and oratory. This wouldn't be necessary though with his men. Under those helmets he knew that each one was grim-faced and ready to kill. These men were raised and trained in Juazeiro, Salta and Pucallpa. All regions which were devastated by Perdan and the treacherous Obsidian Islanders. They came from diverse backgrounds and different tribes. Some had lost homes, others had lost loved ones. They shared one thing in common though, the desire to spill the blood of those who had attacked Nivemus.

Kronogos Vessol desired the same thing.

Norcross

Visit to Ordenstraat

This story is set when Norcross as a member of the Southern Knights of Caerwyn went to Ordenstraat on a mission to help the small struggling nation. It was written on September 30th, 2010

Norcross crossed under the broken stone archway that marked entrance into the city of Retteville. The walls of the city which were made up of broken old sandstone would seem to be more belonging in the ruins of an old city. Indeed Norcross would've thought this if it wasn't for the token guards at the entrance.

The pair of guards were armed with strong looking longbows which were always at hand, a testament to the constant threats to the city. While haggard and gaunt looking they still stood straight and proud, a tabard with the lion of Ordenstaat hung over their chest.

The look that they gave Norcross was one of brief curiosity, but not the surprise that he would expect from any other guard in any other city. He was covered from head to toe with a smattering of dried blood. His tunic covering his battered chain mail was torn the shreds and his helmet barely holding together. His few remaining men were not much better. The battles in Maeotis and Rettlewood had been bloody affairs. Foul beasts with fangs as long as his arm descended upon them. They were merciless in their assault and it was only through some miracle that they drove them off in Rettlewood. The rest of his fellow Southern Knights of Golden Phoenix were not much better either. The fates of some of his fellow knights were wholly unknown to Norcross, they had not been heard from for days.

As Norcross continued into the city of Retteville he looked to the people about him. The few that he actually saw seemed more to be the denizens of some beastly civilization. Many wore raw untreated hides or other various crudely made clothing. They had a determined look on their face as they went about their daily business. The market, if it could be called that, for Retteville was a dismal affair. A few ironmongers sellings the few scraps of metal that were not used by the city guard. A handful of various merchants selling the most basic foodstuffs, all at outrageous prices.

Norcross finally made his camp with the rest of the surviving units of his Army in a small spot put aside for their force near the guildhall of the Ordenstraat. While once before he had been eager to visit this faroff land and to provide assistence, this desire was all but gone. He was glad to leave the diplomatic greetings and visitations to Earl Jax.

There were whisperings amongst the men and the knights. Something of the surviving nobles of Quadrivium being in Retteville. This would have interested Norcross before, but this was subdued by his absolute exhaustion. As he finally sat down in his makeshift tent, he thought that if he would have anything it would be for a breeze to rid him of the dense and choking air here so deep in the forest."

Meditation Within the Temple

A letter sent by Norcross to his fellow nobles. "My fellow nobles, I wish to announce that I will be joining a temple here in Golden Farrow to study the way of Verdis Elementium in an attempt to learn more of this world around me. It is a very quiet monastery where very little news reaches, I wish the best to my fellow nobles and I look forward to a time when my meditations and learning are complete."

Samos

Arrival in Morek

He arrived on a nondescript boat, a towering man with gaunt features. A bald head and a shadow of a beard on his lower face. A rich silk robe of red covered his body entirely, his entourage were all garbed similarly. The dock-keeper when inquired about it only says that the man was put on the ship logs as Samos Mithridates.

Before the Battle of Valkyrja

Samos Mithridates sat stoically on the dirt as his unit assembled before him, his eyes closed in quiet contemplation.

The sun at its zenith glittered off his bare head and down onto his flowing deep red robes. Gathered in front of him, were forty similarly red-garbed men who had their heads completely bald as well.

The noises of camps breaking and trumpets blaring stirred him nor his men in the least. Speaking so only his own captain nearby could hear him, "Prepare to march."

The Invasion of Golden Farrow

Samos watched silently as Dame Khari set her men to a mock navel battle. Behind him one of his men sniggered as a sailor on the boat ahead failed to jump boats and fell into the dark water.

With a turn of his head, Samos regarded the man and then stated "She has the right idea, set our men to begin training..only" He turned to look down in the dark water as the ferry broke its waves. "We will not engage in navel battles. Blood will be spilled in the streets of Golden Farrow..not in the water of its harbor."

The serjeant nodded and then set the red-robed soldiers to mock skirmishes. Those at least who were hale enough to stand and hold a sword.

Samos grimaced as he thought of what lay ahead of them. A city stinking with the corpses of tens of thousands of starved people. He and the other commanders had brought a number of provisions with them for the journey to the city, but the thought of what they would eat after they occupied the city is what chilled him to the bone. That's if the city still stood at all. From what his scouts reported to him, there was heavy damage across the city from rebellious peasants. A cesspool of death and desperation.

Letters from a Duke

Samos walked into the abandoned inn that he had set up as his field headquarters in the massive depopulated city of Golden Farrow.

Looking at his field desk in front of him, he frowned and looked to his Serjent Waldor. "What are these all these letters from."

The man looked down at the thick pile of letters and stated matter-of-factly, "The desposed Duke of Golden Farrow has been sending these out of wherever he is hiding. I suppose he wishes to show off how much his scribes can write, to deliver it to all of us must have taken the wrists of many a lettered man"

Samos nodded and then gathered them up and tossed them unopened into the fireplace that heated the abandoned inn.

Spreading of the Stars to Elets

With the construction of the tiny shrine to the Stars in Elets, Baron Samos ordered the closing of the similarly small shrine of Verdis Elementiem that was still present in Elets.

With a nervous look as he received the order, Captain Haug spoke "Sir, while I do not deny the righteousness of the Stars, the people of Elets have had no real concept of our faith beyond that it being the religion of foreigners.."

Samos shook his bald head "Be that it may, it will be closed under the orders of the Grandmistress. We will not allow the spread or belief in the heathen worship of the elements. Any who are upset will find the blade of our swords to be a comforting embrace."

And a comforting embrace they were. As the red-robed soldiers marched on and threw out the priests of the shrine and claimed its treasury, one foolish priest protested and embraced the sword.

A Long Winter in Golden Farrow

Samos looked down upon the city of Golden Farrow with a dour look. The spot where his unit was camped outside the city on a hill afforded a panoramic view of the city. It was eery how silent the city was, not even the traditional smoke that clung over it was present. The fields and townlands surrounding the city was even worse, a dull silence that would reverberate through your skull. Any animal that could be caught and eaten was, over a week ago. Even the crows that would harken on the bare branches of the winter-bare trees were absent.

His own men were in sorry shape. The survivors of a battle with Asylon shivered in the red robes that they had taken from their own fallen comrades. They supped on the thin gruel consisting of rabbit meat and some roots that they had stumbled upon. Even Samos's own figure was becoming gaunt, he'd been subsisting off of the same fare that he fed his men on.

Rumor had it that the city guard had declared curfew to keep order in the city. Days ago it was said that murders occurred over a single wheel of cheese and a riot happened in a marketplace when it was discovered that a grain shippers goods were found to be rotten. The poor merchant was literally torn to pieces in the ensuing riot, Samos tried not to think of what happened to the pieces that were not recovered by the city guard. It reminded him of the day when he sailed into Golden Farrow on the side of Lady Allison, to take the starving city from Caerwyn. There had been less then a 1,000 survivors in total, he had hope to never see such a depraved scene as he did in that city.

And now, silence. The silence of 60,000 people.

Dark Magic in Demyansk

"Magic in the Air (4 hours ago) The ravens croak and the sky darkens for a moment. Someone has failed in an act of magic nearby."

The sky slowly dimmed. It was not noticeable at first, but then all of a sudden it was as if night was in day. Samos tightened the grip on his longsword as he looked around, the last of the sun's lost rays shining off of his bald head. His panicked and starved men gripped their spears anxiously. With a barked command Samos set them to form a perimeter, what foul deed was afoot? He peered into the sky and was unable to see the Blood Stars..a truly dark omen. A raven croaked loudly, at first it was only one, and then the others joined in. It was a foreboding chorus. And then, the darkness was suddenly gone.

Snowe

Arrival in Nivemus

She had disobeyed her fathers wishes.

A young reed thin girl with the same flowing jet black hair of her father. A long horse of a face that would not be considered beautiful at all if it wasn't for her piercing green eyes. More at home in leathers and ringmail, she carries herself with a poise of both pride and deadly efficiency.

The men who walked with her wore chainmail hauberks and had iron-clad helmets iron wings coming off from the rear. In her hand, a single-edged falchion, the guard of which is a carved falcon shielding her hand with its wings.

This was the sight that the smallfolk and guards saw as the unit marched into the small administrative town of Pontus in the region of Dale.

This was the first time she had seen the town that her father ruled from and called home. She had come a long way from Dolmbar in Sirion where she grew up and was raised by her grandfather.

She had disobeyed her fathers orders.

She was seventeen now, she should be settled down with another lord bearing his children, if her father had any control over her. But, he didn't, and here she is now. Raised on the stories of conquest and glory, she has not yet learned the true nature of violence. Now, she will.