Ibladesh/The Portal of Blood
Blood!
| Event | |
| Message sent to everyone in the vicinity of the Great Southern Sea circa oct 1st 1018 | |
| A young man wriggles his nose. There is something crunchy in there beginning to form a crust inside his nostril. Up goes his finger to extract the offending dried mucus. Rolling it between his fingers in mild interest, he flicks it into the Great Southern Sea from the dock he is sitting upon. But then the air between his nostrils flows unevenly. Up goes the finger again. This time the offending mucus has a gooier texture. Out it comes in a long string. Fascinated, he rolls the string into a ball and explores its viscosity with his fingers. Stretched and balled, wiped and rolled, the mucus eventually loses its stickiness and is flicked away into the Great Southern Sea. At which point the man jumps in sudden startlement.
Engrossed in his gooey mucus, he had not noticed that the Great Southern Sea had become red. Sticking his finger into the red water and tentatively tasting the red sea, he recognizes it is no longer water, but blood. Looking up at the portal beam initiated by Jebediah of Nivemus, he sees it has now turned a sickly, pale shade. Across the coastline of the Great Southern Sea, the lake of blood is realized; along the riverbanks of the Raqqah River, the river too is observed to now flow with blood. Bloodfoam collects upon the beaches of the Great Southern Sea with each lapping wave of blood. Bloodrain slowly drizzles over the city turning the white spires of the city red; soon the city begins to be referred to not as the White City, but the Red City. Blood even fills the wells, to the city's chagrin. Bleeding statues fascinate Ibladesh's population and spark a religious revival. Barrels of blood mysteriously populate the city's streets. Bakers bake bloodcookies. Blood Blood Blood Everywhere! Blood ballads are bellowed by bards: The children laughed and squealed with glee, As blood poured forth from all the dead, The children sailed their boats of grass, And played in the river red
All along the coastline and riverbanks, rumours spread throughout the realm of folks drinking the blood. Serfs chatter about vampires in the area. Merchants gossip about blood drinking being an aphrodisiac. Minor nobility discuss a blood cult operating in the locale. Noble commanders in coastal or riverbank regions are aghast to notice that their captains' mouths are bloodstained, but their captains do suddenly seem much more capable of leadership than before. Apparently enemy captains have united in blood-drinking camaraderie unappreciated by their noble commanders. The bloodthirsty captains also write their captain friends elsewhere in the realm to come on down to the river or coast and drink some blood, and soon troopleading nobility are confronted by their captains with an inexorable desire to visit the crimson coast or the red river. | |
First sight of the Blood God
| Letter from Jason Greyson | |
| Message sent to all nobles of Perleone | |
| The Blood God is blessing us! All unite in his glory!
| |
| Jason Greyson | |
Blood songs
| Event | |
| Message sent to everyone in the vicinity of the Great Southern Sea | |
| Ibladesh (Prepare Prepare to Forsake Your Heirs)
A troubadour is wandering the realm singing a song that quickly grows in popularity. Within a day, it is heard from the lips of all from serf to noble: If you're a-heading to Ibladesh, Prepare, prepare to forsake your heirs, If you're a-heading to Ibladesh, You're gonna meet some vicious people there! For those who come to tour Ibladesh, Crimson shade will be everywhere, In the streets of Red Ibladesh, Vicious people, With zealous bloodstained heirs! All across the Great Sea, Such a fascination, Tasty libation, Gets hips into gyration, A brand new titillation, Tasty libation, Zesty hydration! For those who come to tour Ibladesh, Prepare, prepare to forsake your heirs, If you come to tour Ibladesh, Crimson shade will be everywhere, If you come to tour Ibladesh,Crimson shade will be everywhere! | |
| Letter from Archibald Von Lunkhofen | |
| Message sent to everyone in Southern Alliance | |
| Archibald think troubadour is silly. Needs famous Archibald choc a latte cookies to recover from stupidity.
Priest of Trinitism | |
| Archibald Von Lunkhofen | |
| Event | |
| Message sent to everyone in the vicinity of the Great Southern Sea | |
| Red (te Di Bla)
A minstrel is roving the realm, sharing a ditty that is soon repeated by all: Hail, listen close, here's a tale, About a slight fellow That lives in a red realm, And all day and all night, Everything he sees is sanguine Scarlet from stockings to scalp, Bloodstained horse, With a gaping, grisly hole, And a crimson lawn And everything is red for him, And himself and everybody around, Soak'd in blood, sea, river, rain, wells, and all! I'm red Te Di Bla De Re Ci Te Di Bla De Re Ci Te Di Bla De Re Ci Te Di Bla De Re Ci Te Di Bla De Re Ci Te Di Bla De Re Ci Te Di Bla De Re Ci I'm red Te Di Bla De Re Ci Te Di Bla De Re Ci Te Di Bla De Re Ci Te Di Bla De Re Ci Te Di Bla De Re CiTe Di Bla De Re Ci | |
| Event | |
| Message sent to everyone in the vicinity of the Great Southern Sea | |
| Sing of the South
A jockey is seen riding through the realm crooning: Sing, sing of the South, Land of Peace, Love, Ale, Shrooms, and all things couth, Swing, swing all the hips, Let the ale and shrooms bring that peace and love Berries on roadside, berries in the ditch, Mosul's moonberries never made us rich, Daddy was a veteran, a vixen democrat, If you ask him nicely with a gift, you'll hear him sing: Sing, sing of the South, Land of Peace, Love, Ale, Shrooms, and all things couth, Swing, swing all the hips, Let the ale and shrooms bring that peace and love We never thought Ibladesh would fall, Stomachs in a knot, it filled us with gall, Our efforts for naught, it made us feel small, But it is prophesied Deklan will save us all Niall wrote a mean note and Robb felt down, Lord Stanmore tried some goat milk from his new town, Which caused Gloria to feel much envy, So she brought in an army, relatively deadly, singing: Sing, sing of the South, Land of Peace, Love, Ale, Shrooms, and all things couth, Swing, swing all the hips,Let the ale and shrooms bring that peace and love | |
| Roleplay from Jason Greyson | |
| Message sent to all nobles of Perleone | |
| Coming out from Nimraw, the peasants who wander spread tales of a new song that is being sung. This song has begun to spread throughout all of Perleone.
Time lies trapped inside Dark minds concubines Blood Ocean Crickets cry shriek the night Trapped ticks rule the mind Blood Ocean The land's coagulated And my mind's incarcerated But my helmet's ventilated With the souls of correlated Though my father's fascinated With the premises negated And the night will be berated With the souls of the deflated Bleed bleed bleed bleed bleed bleed Bleed bleed Blood Ocean Bleed bleed bleed bleed bleed Bleed bleed Blood Ocean The land's coagulated And my mind's incarcerated But my helmet's ventilated With the souls correlated Though my father's fascinated With the premises negated And the night will be berated With the souls of the deflated You are gonna lose your mind Tonight in oceans of blood You are gonna drown and Die tonight in oceans In oceans In oceans Of Blood Cracked smile flees the fight Dark Riders spared the sight BLOOD OCEAN Tamed torch teels the tight Mamed morch squeals the smite BLOOD OCEAN Identity is slated And my pantry is deplated But my hand husk has been crated For my families all have fainted And they sink but are not sated And the screech of homeless hated And I know the nameless mated On the tip of frigid fated I know who you are I know who you are You are gonna lose your mind Tonight in oceans of blood You are gonna drown and Die tonight in oceans In oceans In oceans Of Blood Ocean Blood Ocean Blood Ocean Blood OceanBlood | |
| Jason Greyson | |
| Event | |
| Message sent to everyone in the vicinity of the Great Southern Sea | |
| Homicidal Bloodlust Rampage
message to all nobles of Perleone - 10 days, 9 hours, 29 minutes ago A rogue is crossing the realm, singing: My breakfast is straight from the throat of my enemy, A panacea for the guilt of my lechery, Sometimes its the realms who try to help, That hurt the most A rebirth of the Old Church remains the people's hope, But regardless the year, shall always be crushed underfoot, Jarbosh coming to steal my mind, Jarbosh taking my mind That sticky crimson elixir is what I crave, Straight from the tap of your neck, Trust no one will hear me, Trust no one will see me, You can trust you will not survive, Update your will without delay Because diplomacy is overrated, It's just that rogue is the life for me, I seek no redemption for my bloodthirsty behavior Warn the militia they will suffer venesection, It will be a most tasty operation, Not a single one will be left alone When your aunt says goodbye, Twill be time to drain you dry, Because I'm so tired of you talking my ear off, About all your family finances So I'll make them mine now, Your unwanted company, Is sufficient for you to die, Once again time to drain you dry Warn the militia they will suffer venesection, It will be a most tasty operation, Not a single one will be left alone Because blood is quite tasty and blood is delicious, Addictive yes daily and rather nutritious, What a treat worth every scoop of the ladle So slice open your neck (Or I'll do it for you) You all need to be tasted, There's more left to try, Submit yourselves to my incisors and canines at once, Submit yourselves to my incisors and canines at once Why won't you try this most delectable confection with me, It's worth dying for, But even better if someone else dies, So who is the first entree you try this night Who will it be sir? This is my homicidal melody, Human beings are a bag of blood, And don't think I exclude yourself, You're still on the menu too Because blood is quite tasty and blood is delicious, Addictive yes daily and rather nutritious, What a treat worth every scoop of the ladle So slice open your neck (Or I'll do it for you) You all need to be tasted, There's more left to try, Submit yourselves to my incisors and canines at once, Submit yourselves to my incisors and canines at onceMy breakfast is straight from the throat of my enemy | |
Bloodbath Tournament
| Event | |
| Message sent to all nobles on East Continent | |
| Tournament Announced
Deklan Fuor, Margrave of Ibladesh, Priest of Church of Humanity has announced a Tournament of Swordfighting to be held in Ibladesh 5 days from now. The winner will be rewarded with 600 gold in addition to the honour and prestige that his victory will earn him. There will also be a reward of 300 gold for the runner-up. All nobles of the continent are welcome on the tournament grounds on the day of this event. Make sure you announce your participation in time. | |
| Report from Arch Cleric Deklan Fuor | |
| Message sent to everyone in Southern Alliance | |
| My fellow nobles of the South,
I have spent the last few years attempting to stave off war between neighbors. Despite my best efforts, war has come all the same. Blood has been spilled in my name, though my name is not deserving of it. The walls of my city are now stained with blood, the rivers run with it, and a madness has afflicted the bards and others. Perhaps this is penance for my failure to find peace. So come, gawk at my city, the once-brilliant White City, now the stained Red City, take part in the festivals occurring throughout the city, show the continent who among you is the most bloodthirsty of all. Come, spill blood in your own name, and the name of your realm. Divine forgive my failure, | |
| Arch Cleric Deklan Fuor | |
| Event | |
| Message sent to all nobles on East Continent | |
| Tournament Report
The tournament in Ibladesh is over. 9 nobles from 7 realms fought and drank. It was a swordfighting tournament. Smiddich Fontaine, Duke of Black Bladed Phoenix, Margrave of Bescanon, Marshal of the Perdan's Golden Lions won, with Sir Jeames Dacara, Representative of Ar Mosul coming in second place. | |
Bloody Bickering on SA
| Letter from Lachram Kah | |
| Message sent to everyone in Southern Alliance | |
| Traitorous Perleonites infest my realm and have overrun my Oc Lu Pesh. They do not realize their peril in such red days as these. Let Perleonite blood flow throughout the land! Count of Oc Lu Pesh | |
| Lachram Kah | |
| Letter from Robb Starfall | |
| Message sent to everyone in Southern Alliance | |
| The portal opened by Perleone in Ibladesh will bring forth something very bad for all us, lessons have not been learned about the power of such portals, things that should be not be dealt with, the name Jarbosh has been circulating around in rumours, this does not bode well for any of us, in fact it does not bode well for the whole continent.
King, Master of Coin of Alara Royal of Alara Duke of the Black City Margrave of Itorunt | |
| Robb Starfall | |
| Letter from Lachram Kah | |
| Message sent to everyone in Southern Alliance | |
| The dogs of Perleone can expect no quarter. My changed banner attests to my intention to reign bloody vengeance down upon them from a dark sky. Count of Oc Lu Pesh | |
| Lachram Kah | |
| Roleplay from Lachram Kah | |
| Message sent to everyone in Southern Alliance | |
| Word of the the happenings in Ibladesh spread to Lachram as he prepared his men for the coming battle. Though the troubles had begun in Ibladesh, Lachram knew it would not, could not be contained. His coat of arms now changed, Lachram would embrace the Red Ruin, become its herald, and unleash it upon his foes. | |
| Lachram Kah | |
| Letter from Niall de la Fere | |
| Message sent to everyone in Southern Alliance | |
| King Robb,
Your comment about Castle Ubent. We in Perleone are inclusive not exclusive. If a noble joins our realm we are willing to forget their past as long as they serve the common interests of Perleone. Even you could join us if you would fight the evil liars of Minas Nova and Alara. You would do probably well in Perleone. Though you would have to change some habits. Why do you think we have the most nobles on this continent? Because we shame people for their past mistakes? And overall this join was a result of discussion led by Princess Mary-Anne and where both Vix and Nivemus were part of. About the portal. Perleone did not open this thing. Go find a new foe for that. And if it was somebody of us, then it came with no governmental accept. Regards, King of Perleone Royal of Perleone | |
| Niall de la Fere | |
A Crimson God?
| Roleplay from Stanmore Stromhar | |
| Message sent to all nobles of Perleone | |
| The world seemed dark. Darker than usual. No matter how he struggled, or where he turned, there was no light, no way out from the void he found himself in, night after night. The darkness swirled with a blood-tainted tinge, a dull red that writhed like he was trapped in a lake of otherworldly ichor.
Yet he did not feel like he was drowning. “Blood and Honour.” Blood. Blood! It had been nothing but blood. Zamor – his new home, marriage, honour, prestige, power. It all came down to blood. The blood you had, the blood you spilled. “Blood and Honour.” The whispering had been getting louder recently. He had ignored it – bad dreams, his healer had told him, a subconscious effect on the mind as a result of this Blood Plague that tainted the waters. “Find the Everchosen.. He is known to you.” What? That was new. The whispering had been getting louder, true, but it had always said the same. Blood and Honour. Now the words spoke of an Everchosen, twisting into the back of his mind like his spine was on fire. “Find the Everchosen. You shall all be the First.” “The First what?!” Stanmore called into the blood-tinged darkness desperately, his heart-rate rising in the panic he was beginning to feel. Was this madness? Was this illness? No, it didn’t feel that way. Stanmore called out again, softer this time, but no less desperate for answers, “..The First what, curse you!?” This time, the voice was not a whisper, but a rumbling command that surged through Stanmore’s bones. “Blood Knights.” Blood Knights? What was a Blood Knight? No. He knew. In a way it was like he had always known, and yet this was all so strange to him. A new voice drifted gently through the chaos – like it was calling him away. “My Lord.” The lifeless void that surrounded him suddenly burst into activity at the arrival of the new voice, surging and swirling as light seemed to radiate from all sides. Dull-red became vibrant and blinding, and ahead of him the ichor seemed to coagulate and writhe into a face, a vision that was both haunting and beautiful, frightening and compelling, swelling to a size that dwarfed his own floating body and threatened to overwhelm him. “They’ve found it. Go there. Share your blood. Be bound by it.” Stanmore had more questions, but was stunned into silence by the apparition before him. They had found what? Who? What did it all mean, to share blood and be bound by it? Who, or what, was this vision before him? He swallowed down his fear and opened his mouth to speak, but was once more interrupted by the new voice, which slowly tugged at his consciousness. “My Lord!” “Blood and Honour.” “Blood and Honour.” Stanmore felt himself say quietly, his vision dazed, consciousness beginning to fail him. His breathing slowed, and the light began to fade once more. --- “My Lord!” Stanmore bolted upright from his bunk, chest heaving with laboured breaths and his body dripping in sweat. His eyes darted around the tent for purchase of something real, one of his large hands gripping the throat of the healer at his bedside, threatening to crush it. “M-my Lord..!” Stanmore released the aged healer abruptly, muttering a weak apology as the older man staggered back clutching at his throat. Stanmore turned to the washing bowl, scooping some water up and over his face and bare chest to cool his frantic sweating. “.. My Lord, apologies for waking you, but we have an important message from Zamor.” Stanmore waved a dismissive hand, his mind not really back in the waking world quite yet despite the sting of the freezing water. At his gesture, a thin, lithe young man nervously entered the tent clutching what appeared to be a stack of notes. “Lord Stromhar,” the boy muttered, “Rebuilding efforts are going well in Zamor but.. uh, our Masons have discovered a Temple in the Mountains..” Stanmore stood from the bunk, pulling on his shirt, disinterested in what the lad had to say, “.. So? Zamor was full of Temples, to all sorts of Religions. How is this important?” The boy paused, as if thinking about how to proceed, before stepping forward, his voice stronger but also far more terrified, “.. They think this is an Old Temple. Very Old.” Stanmore froze, staring through the boy as if he wasn’t there. A long, pregnant pause of silence, then Stanmore felt his hand move before he knew it, grabbing the boy by the forearm. “.. Get following message to Lord Greyson.” | |
| Stanmore Stromhar | |
| Letter from Jason Greyson | |
| Message sent to all nobles of Perleone | |
| Blood God here.
Perleone blessed. Convert, religion return. Blood God! Representative of Nimraw | |
| Jason Greyson | |
| Letter from Archibald Von Lunkhofen | |
| Message sent to all nobles of Perleone | |
| Archibald think Jason better off with Trinitism. Trees useful for bows, no need to worship.
Representative of Mines of Isadril Priest of Trinitism | |
| Archibald Von Lunkhofen | |
| Letter from Jason Greyson | |
| Message sent to all nobles of Perleone | |
| Trinitism two gods jason no want worship. Only battle god. Representative of Nimraw | |
| Jason Greyson | |
| Letter from Archibald Von Lunkhofen | |
| Message sent to all nobles of Perleone | |
| Archibald think Jason free to ignore other too. Not like Archibald only likes lady Caissa. Better than tree.
Representative of Mines of Isadril Priest of Trinitism | |
| Archibald Von Lunkhofen | |
| Letter from Jason Greyson | |
| Message sent to all nobles of Perleone | |
| Jason removed from tree for Blood God.
Once Jason crush Alara with horse, Jason found church. Representative of Nimraw | |
| Jason Greyson | |
| Letter from Archibald Von Lunkhofen | |
| Message sent to all nobles of Perleone | |
| Archibald think better Jason join Trinitism. Peasants like.
Representative of Mines of Isadril Priest of Trinitism | |
| Archibald Von Lunkhofen | |
| Roleplay from Stanmore Stromhar | |
| Message sent to all nobles of Perleone | |
| (Mild Gore warning to those of faint heart!)
The makeshift Fighting Pits of Zamor were awash with interest the past few days. Calls for 'The Lion' had rattled around the stands, as more and more Perleoni Soldiers had fallen to the Beast of the Cage, as they called it - Blood pooled in the mud of the pit, and bodies were dragged out, often carved from shoulder to groin by a blade. He hated the nickname - but with his blonde mane, strong build and penchant for blood these last few weeks, the less-than-reasonable Commoners had given him it in honour of his often sanguine-soaked appearance over the past handful of fights, and the now worn and beaten shield baring the Perleone Emblem. But for now, the name only stuck to those in Zamor or who had overheard it - Stanmore did not feel nearly worthy enough to carry that title further than his newly acquired borders. Shirtless, bedraggled hair and a scruffy beard, minor wounds and knicks from stray blade strikes, Stanmore punched his blade through the throat of his Perleoni opponent, and prior to this day one of his own Men. As the last of the Anradhai Rangers gurgled on his own fluids, so too did the Rangers die with their last honourable member. Yanking the blade free with a slicing of flesh, the Ranger crumpled to the floor, and yet more blood ran into the bloodworks of the fighting pits - to the gleeful cries of the spectators. Stanmore glanced down to the body, emotionless - a month ago, he would have felt remorse for cutting down his own men, even if they had turned Traitor due to lack of pay. Perhaps he would have even blamed himself for their actions - poor Leadership, poor management of funds - but these days it didn't matter. He had found purpose in blood and battle, and it was in combat that honour seemed to matter most. The Rangers had agreed to fight for their right to be paid, convinced that numbers would help them in a prolonged series of ritual combat, one after the other - but Stanmore had experience in fighting pits that they did not count on, and Rangers were not as skilled with the blade as he. Stanmore turned his gaze to the remaining handful of Anradhai in the stands, the handful that had chosen not to fight, barely half a dozen. They avoided his gaze - and he did not try to catch theirs - they had not joined their brethren out of loyalty, they had claimed - but now he only saw it as cowardice. "Blood!" He shook the thoughts from his mind, one blood-soaked hand running through his beard idly - the other dropped the chipped and dented blade into the water-logged mud, before motioning with a hand for someone, anyone - to remove the body. Two commoners scrambled into the pit, before dragging the corpse away. "You need to be stronger, faster.." Stanmore turned and began walking towards the blood-works, the sounds of cheering peasantry and spectators dying out as the voices grew louder in his mind. "I know," he murmured into the dark, finding the nearest wash-basin filled with the red-tainted waters of the lake, a shaving knife half submerged in the murky liquid. The truth was, the Rangers that had fought were not a real challenge to Stanmore's skill with a blade. Fighting Archers was not the best way to improve upon his skill, and he wanted, no.. needed to be better. His recent rage had carried him through the duels with little effort and little sense - where was Waldor, his old mentor, when he needed him? Bah, he would only chastise me on my anger. "The time approaches. The Everchosen will move, and you will join him!" Stanmore glanced at his bedraggled appearance in the mirror of the basin - his hair long and knotted, his beard thick and unkept. Covered in mud from the fights, and still baring wounds from the duels and the battles he had partaken in under the banner of Perleone, he looked like little more than a drunkard - and a drunkard was what he had always been. He cast his eyes down to the bottles of liquor that surrounded him, on every surface and every shelf within reach, some half-finished, others drunk dry - with a roar of anger he sent them scattering to the floor with his scarred forearm. He reached into the waters of the basin, withdrawing the knife and drawing it close to his jawline, where he carefully began to slice away the hairs of his upper lip. Due to his anger, he felt his hand slip in haste and the hot rush of blood as he knicked his lip badly, bringing a hand up seconds later to stem the small bleed. He tasted the warmth on his tongue, and caught himself in the mirror again - this time a vision of what he could be, if he wanted it enough. A Proud Lion, respected - Earned in Blood. Yes. | |
| Stanmore Stromhar | |
Bloody
| Roleplay from Lachram Kah | |
| Message sent to everyone in Southern Alliance | |
| Lachram lead his men in making preparations for the battle to come. He ordered them to hone the edges of their arrowheads. When the time was right, death would rain down from dark skies. The blood of his foes would run in torrents. Let the Red Ruin rein down upon the land! | |
| Lachram Kah | |
| Event | |
| Message sent to everyone in the vicinity of the Great Southern Sea | |
| Bloody
A dwarf is drifting across the realm, serenading all in a now very popular song: Bloody, Yesterday I sucked your mother's veins, Bloody, She smirked oddly at me while I caused her pain, The red rain is here, And the blue rain is gone, Her bloody goo gives me good cheer, Bloody one so red, I hate you Bloody, Now I ask, where is your father? Bloody, To eat him like I did your mother, To present a sanguine rainfall, To make me big and tall, Bloody one so red, I loathe you Bloody, will you let me make you a bloodtea? Bloody, will you try this with me, a blood pea? Would you mourn the death of one Grathe? Or care if an urn was where to find Franz? Bloody one so red, I bite you Bloody, Bloody, Are you ready to show me your veins? Bloody, Are you eager to follow the slain? Don't think that you're in a quagmire, It's just your time to expire, Bloody one so red, I chew you I kill you, You die now, I drink you, You taste good, I eat you,You fill me | |
| Event | |
| Message sent to everyone in the vicinity of the Great Southern Sea | |
| Median of Blood
All had been still upon the lake of blood for some days. Not a ripple, even when it was attempted to create ripples; the lake was stubbornly still. Blood had begun to congeal and dry upon the shore. Bloodbards ceased to wander with their songs. Captains continued drinking blood when it was available, and rumours circulated, but nothing new seemed to be occurring anymore...for now. | |
Bloodlust in Jariedma
| Roleplay from Menhit Ausur | |
| Message sent to all nobles of Perleone | |
| State sanctioned violence... It was so tempting... to see the little life forms... helpless... pleading... bleating... There was no resistance against the blade... no honor... only gore... only carnage...
And the smell made her head swim. The cries rung in her ears, a cacophony of pain and anguish... of suffering and terror... She kicked down a thin wooden door. A hard wood plank barring her way snapped asunder. Stepping into the warm house, with bright Perleone colors flowing across her tabard. She smashed a portrait of a Minas Nova ruler that hung by the mantelpiece and flung it into the hearth fire. Her anger unbridled, she overturned an eating table and smashed shelves of pottery and earthenware. A muffled cry came from a corner. She strode over and ripped open the hanging bedcurtains with her hands. A mother put her back to a crib, and drew a small knife, trembling. Raging, she cut down the woman in a single stroke. Fresh warm blood splattered across her face, her lips, her mouth. She licked, tasting the salty essence. And it felt sweeter than the finest wine, more seductive than honey, more soothing than pipeweed. In a moment she was upon the dying woman, drinking the blood that was gushing from her neck, savoring every beat of her fading heart, until it went still. She drank and drank but was not sated. With each gulp she just had to have more. And when the woman finally ceased to be, she felt nothing, but emptiness and desire. She approached the crib. The baby was silent, it's eyes wide, as if it comprehended its fate. She touched it and felt the rapid tremors of its life force, its pulse, and could only dream of that fresh young force pouring into her own body. Yet she was torn for the faintest flicker of a moment between lust and guilt, the innocence of the young touched her for the slightest second, before a desire to consume and own that energy for herself took over her impulses. She bundled the infant in a cloth and stole out of the house back towards her own camp... | |
| Menhit Ausur | |
Nudist Bloodwager
| Roleplay from Germanico Mercator | |
| Message sent to everyone in Church of Humanity | |
| The sky was bathed in red as the sun sank slowly below the horizon. The twilight gave the world an eerie glow that was only amplified by the massive, red color of the inland sea. The inland sea reflected the sun's light grudgingly. It's surface was matte and heavy, with nary a ripple or wave anywhere.
The blood-lake sulked in the dimming light as Germanico crested a hill in Al Aquabah, catching full sight of the abomination. The view made him shudder. It looked devilish and smelled terrible; the bloody metallic smell hung heavy in the air. It was revolting, but Germanico's honor had been slighted, so he continued onward. As he and his men approached the lake, the foliage around them began to change to a sickly brown color. The trees and grasses that normally received their water from the inland sea could not stand the tainted moisture of the blood-lake. The leaves and branches didn't crunch underfoot, but rather squelched. The plant life absorbed the poison, but could not live on it. After what felt like an eternity, Germanico and his men arrived at the shore. The blood did not lap against the small beach but simply hung against the sand as if refusing to move. Germanico took slow steps toward the red liquid and carefully dipped his foot into the blood-lake. There were no ripples or other motions that indicated he had entered into the perfidious lake. Germanico waded further out until his naked body was waist deep. Once there, he cupped his hands and reached down to capture the blood in his hands. The blood wanted to evade his grasp, but it gave way and rode to Germanico's lips. Germanico leaned his head back and let the blood flow into his mouth, taking a few gulps as rivulets ran down his face and arms. Germanico repeated the action over and over until he nearly vomited in disgust. He fought back the urge, and walked to the shore. As he exited the water, his men quaked with fear. Germanico was a ghastly sight: he was coated in blood from the waist down, with his arms, chest, and jaw streaked with lines of blood that escaped his mouth. Germanico beckoned for a towel to wipe himself with, but by the time one of his men got it to him, most of the blood had trickled off of him and back into the lake. There were only a few droplets and dried flakes left as a sign of his previous deed. Germanico grabbed his quill and parchment and quickly returned to the lake and dipped the nib in the blood. He then jotted a note to the followers of the Church of Humanity... | |
| Germanico Mercator | |
Scarlet Sacrifices
| Report | |
You set out on a mission to take out Deklan Fuor, Margrave of Ibladesh.
You manage to sneak into his sleeping quarters unnoticed. Silently, you sneak up on your target, and surprise him. He awakes at the last second, drawing a dagger, but is barely able to slow your attack. You quickly put him down for good, seriously wounding him before you make your escape. There was a bounty of 2500 gold on his head, which you gleefully collect.You successfully escape the guards and vanish into the shadows again. | |
| Report | |
| Religious Uprising Quelled The priest Sigurd of Church of Aaron has whipped a mob of followers into a religious frenzy to drive Callan Blue, Protector of Perleone, Representative of Oc Lu Pesh, Marshal of the Blazing Swords from the region of Oc Lu Pesh as an unbeliever. A battle ensued, during which time most of the peasants were killed, and the rest driven off. The priest responsible has been arrested and thrown in Perleone's dungeons for his misdeeds. | |
| Report from Callan Blue | |
| Message sent to all nobles of Perleone | |
| I stand behind you in this, Prime Minister.
This man single-handedly whipped 1700 peasants into a murderous frenzy who left my soldiers no recourse but to defend themselves. The mob was crazed, blood-hungry, with no shred of reason left in their eyes. The population of Oc Lu Pesh fell from 3700 to 1700 a matter of moments. I invite all to check the region, for I've barely recovered from the attack. I daresay that if I were not in the region at the time, we may have lost it. You may share this with any who ask. Naming this man responsible for the murder of 1700 people would not be a stretch. That is abominable, and he is a monster who stood by while his "followers" were driven into a blood frenzy. Estate Defended from Fanatics (Personal message) - 1 day, 7 hours, 28 minutes ago As you are relaxing on your estate in Oc Lu Pesh, a servant comes to you and warns that a mob of religious fanatics is approaching. You are able to rally your troops to the front of the house before they arrive and begin to fight off the attacking mob. Some of the local militia also join in to support their Lord. To your dismay, the mob is fueled by their zealotry and they are sp urred on by the exhorations of Sigurd Erickson, Ambassador of Alara, Count of Betholm, Priest of Church of Aaron, who stands nearby. It looks bad for a while, but eventually the superior training and equipment of the professional soldiers turns the tide. The mob is slaughtered nearly to a man, the priest is taken into custody, and your estate is safe. Protector of Perleone Representative of Oc Lu Pesh Marshal of the Blazing Swords | |
| Callan Blue | |
| Roleplay from Mary Anne de la Fere Bluelake | |
| Message sent to everyone in Church of Humanity | |
| The Prime Minister washed her hands on her tent, seeing the water turn crimson. The Glowing Ring of Autumn held some of the blood for a moment, before dissolving into the water. She looked at it, mesmerized, remembering the feel of her blade slipping between her attacker's ribs, remembering the gold stained coins her archerwomen had brought to her the day before, remembering the many instances in which her soldiers performed brutalities against the common people from Novan lands, remembering...
Her fingers felt the bottom of the white basin, smooth, almost oily from the particular texture of blood. Ever since that sea became crimson, she had spilled blood in Oc Lu Pesh, Betholm, Itor Boss, Ejarr. The bloodberries turned her lips into rubies, the blood showers made her auburn hair positively scarlet, except for the white patch on her eyebrow (courtesy of Lady Zylgwyn). The bloodbath awoke her bloodthirst like never before... and she had barely contained it. Noble blood had run, so many wounded in Itor Boss and other skirmishes around the sea, lord Lachram shooting on bloody fields against a vastly superior force, Priest Deklan stabbed in Ibladesh, blood sacrifices, all of them. And soon, she would make her own offering. Lord Stanmore's grief seemed distant from her mind now, the princess who tried to offer him comfort (and failed), not anywhere near her mind. Making a cup with her hands, Mary Anne filled it and brought it to her lips for drinking. It tasted like blood in her mouth, but when she lowered to offer some to Zahri, the water was clear. | |
| Mary Anne de la Fere Bluelake | |
| Event | |
| Message sent to everyone on East Continent | |
| Public Execution
Messengers bring news of a public execution in Zamor earlier today. Sigurd Erickson, a noble of Alara, had been banned from The Noble Constitutional Monarchy of Perleone as a traitor on 7th August, 2018. When he was later imprisoned, Prime Minister Mary Anne de la Fere Bluelake of The Noble Constitutional Monarchy of Perleone decided to make him pay for his treason. Background info on this family. | |
| Roleplay from Mary Anne de la Fere Bluelake | |
| Message sent to everyone in Southern Alliance | |
| Execution - Preparation
The sun rose, staining the horizon in crimson. Mary Anne had ridden ahead of her unit, into Zamor, with a lightly wounded Dame Menhit on the saddle with her. The deed had to be done by the Blood Sea, and her jailors were already bringing the Aaronist Priest from the north. The two women took some time to appreciate the sunrise, the blue sky above, with shades of red at the horizon and scarlet waves below. The Prime Minister took comfort in the company, yet she was armoring herself, silently preparing for what she would do. Because it was law, because her cousin had ordered her to. Many a trinitist had volunteered to be the executor, but the princess wouldn't shirk her duties. She passed the sentence, she carried it. In a way, Mary Anne was glad it wouldn't happen in Al Arab - a lesser crowd, less rejoicing from such a dire, solemn occasion. Dismounting from her blue roan, she helped Dame Menhit down. The rest of the entourage was setting up tents, a stage for the nobles who managed to arrive to attend, but the woman went to the shore. The iron scent of blood was strong, but fresh, like it kept pouring from a recent wound, like Eastralia itself was bleeding. The young Prime Minister removed her travel tunic and slowly walked into the blood, the waves lapping her feet. Like in a ritual, she washed herself, the many scars her body had been collecting, and stepped out. A red dress was brought to her, with the Silver Scimitar of Toe Crushing for hanging on the side. Not the best weapon for this, but it was meaningful. She braided her auburn hair high, her wrecked left ear in full view. Priest Sigurd arrived soon, solemn and dignified. They exchanged a meaningful look, and he showed her the leaves she had sent, to make him slightly numb. It didn't look like he would take them, or that they would ever discuss theology again. Her guards took him to the sea, to bathe, and helped him dress on full white garb. Mary Anne had the Aaronist clothing made in white for the occasion, and her sense of theatrics was pleased. Her burgundy dress contrasting with his white vest, her youth with his old age, her turmoil with his serenity. He was a sacrifice, four fold: a sacrifice to the holy war of Trinitism, a sacrifice to the Blood Sea, a sacrifice in the name of law, a sacrifice for the strength of Perleone. Everything was ready. The Prime Minister took up the stage, and so did the priest, one guard on each side, females garbed in red. "Priest Sigurd Erikson was condemned to execution for his war crimes." She said, leaving much to be understood in the following pause. "He will perish by the Blood Sea, and the sea will have his body. Milord" Mary Anne looked at the man, not unkindly. "Is there anything left unsaid?" | |
| Mary Anne de la Fere Bluelake | |
| Roleplay from Mary Anne de la Fere Bluelake | |
| Message sent to everyone in Southern Alliance | |
| The Execution
The priest shook his head. Everything he wanted to say was in the letter his executor would deliver to their peers. The two guardswomen lowered him to his knees, and the Prime Minister drew her scimitar. His eyes showed fear for the first time, and the woman almost faltered. Yet, she must. Mary Anne thought of the war, the blood sea, the crimes she had already committed, every single dishonourable move both sides had enacted on this conflict. They had told her, a decapitation was never as easy as practiced headsmen made it look. The princess griped the handle of the sword, holding it firmly, feeling each curve fitting to her fingers. The blood scent from the sea was making her nauseous, or was it just the fact this was her first actual, eye-on-eye kill? The nobles and units gathered around them went silent with expectation, then the soldiers slowly started a rhythmic thump with their boots, nudging her on. The air thrummed. She lifted the blade, allowing the rhythm to take her, to wake her, and pushed it down on Erikson's neck. Blood gushed, painting his white vest crimson, disappearing on her burgundi dress, the gold lion of Perleone on her chest suddenly awash in red, but Mary Anne didn't see it, she saw only the unfinished cut, the horror of a hanging head, and she hacked at it, and hacked and hacked, it took her four full blows before it finally rolled on the ground, stopping near the edge of the platform. As the Prime Minister turned her savage, determined face to the small crowd, she realized silence had fallen again. Something between nauseous and horrified, keeping a determined countenance despite the fact that she wanted to scream, the bloodied princess walked to the priest's head, picked it up and lifted it for everyone to see. "For Perleone!" The soldiers roared and cheered. It was done. | |
| Mary Anne de la Fere Bluelake | |
| Roleplay from Stanmore Stromhar | |
| Message sent to all nobles of Perleone | |
| Stan stirred in his saddle, viewing the makeshift public execution from the small hills overlooking the lake. He watched as quite a considerable crowd had gathered, both new Perleoni settlers in Zamor and old Minas Novan's crushed under the boot of conquest - and watched from afar as ths Princess approached the soon to be executed Priest of Aaronism.
Stanmore now donned a blood red surcoat, his left pauldron engraved and molded to represent a Lion'd Head, open jawed and roaring. His right donned the Perleone emblem, whilst he hugged a new fur trimmed cloak to his frame. "I still think she won't do it," murmured Engelbert, Stanmore's Infantry Captain, "She doesn't have the stones." Stanmore shot him a silencing look, before glancing back at the scene. He said nothing in response to the challenge, merely interested for now. He idly rubbed his now clean shaven jawline, as if intending to run his fingers through his beard hairs as he always had a habit of doing - only to find them missing, but dedicate to the gesture all the same. The sword came up, glinting above her head at the shallows of the Blood Lake. He felt his heart rate rise with the near-kill, and even found himself leaning forward slightly in his saddle to get a better look. And down it came. Again. And again. And again. Yes. Blood flows into the Lake is intended, as it should! The God was happy this day. What the Princess did next shocked him, but even Stanmore couldn't hide the grin that overtook him as she raised the Priest's head aloft. "FOR PERLEONE" rippled around the audience in a rhythmic chant, installing more morale and pride into the Perleoni, and cutting dead any hope of return to Federate control in the Minas Novans. That hope died a little with the Priest. Stanmore glanced smugly across to Engelbert, once again wordless, whom in turn rolled his eyes and reached into a pouch, withdrawing a gold coin to flick it towards him, "You win." Stanmore smirked, catching the coin and glancing back down at the frenzied crowd and the Princess one last time, pulling on the reigns of his horse shortly after to begin leading his retinue back towards his estate. "Didn't doubt her for a moment." | |
| Stanmore Stromhar | |
| Roleplay from Menhit Ausur | |
| Message sent to all nobles of Perleone | |
| A ram crashes into the doors of the Temple of the church of humanity. Beams split and splinter. Hinges groan. Menhit is coiled like a serpent, her sword bloodied by the guards who died at the gates, her thirst roiling like an untamed beast...
The wood shatters. The blood drinkers flow into sacred grounds, a tide of red drenches the stones in their path. Menhit seeks out the custodian, or whatever wretch is left in charge after Deklan's flight from the city. "Blood for the blood gods!" She seizes the stunned man. Looking him in the eye with a wild grin, she bares her teeth. Pinning him to the ground, she buries her mouth into his fat tender cheeks and bites, tearing the flesh slowly as she chews into him. She feels the man struggle and squirm under her and it arouses passions deep within. She holds him close, finding satisfaction from the movements of their bodies grinding together as she devours him, slowly, in tiny mouthfuls. The screams last for hours. | |
| Menhit Ausur | |