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Post by talis on Sept 18, 2014 20:24:45 GMT
"Their camp's just over the next bluff. About twenty - mostly orcs, but there's a few men among them. The fools keep no watch, and at least a few of them were too deep in their cups last night and slumber in the grass."
Chief Garlog smiled grimly. "No doubt they expect they're safe from patrols this far south. They will have heard nothing of our pursuit." By his design, of course. Rather than send out regular patrols that could be avoided he had taken the habit of leading warg squads on unscheduled pursuits. They rode hard and fast; even if the bandits had ears in Thundercrown, there was no way for them to outrun the Chief's prized battle wargs.
He caressed his wolf gently, feeling the tense sinew of the beast under its thick fur. The Warg's eyes shone with eagerness. No painting or trotting now, she was all teeth and coiled muscle, as if she could smell blood already. "Check your guns." He lifted Faanderung, expertly priming the intricate matchlock mechanism on the smoke-black gun. The old wood and iron, too, glistened in the early-morning dew. Behind him came the chorus of actions and pin snaps. "We run them down." He declared, kicking his heels into the warg's side.
The bandits did not notice the squad of enormous wargs running silently over the wet grass until they were well over the bluff. Garlog lifted Faanderung as they approached, trusting the wolf and saddle to hold him aright, and sighted down the dark barrel. One of the bandits had managed to arm himself and braced himself to meet the charging wolves. The chief squeezed the trigger. Faanderung erupted with a deafening bang, exhaling a puff of thick, black smoke. The bandit was lifted from his fet by the impact and hurled back ten feet, spine shattering against an old hickory tree before the body slumped down in front of it, its chest reduced to a gaping red hole. Garlog's retainers opened fire just behind him, dropping six more bandits before the wolves were among them.
Garlog's beast leapt savagely onto a screaming human as Garlog swung his bastard sword in an arc, cutting off another bandit's head. A arrow rebounded against his armor, but he paid it no mind. The archer went down under a flurry of bloodstained fur and fury. The chief looked around for another enemy and found none; he and his men had scattered the bandits in an instant. Most lay dead or dying, although Garlog could see a couple runners being chased down by one of his Retainers on wargback. The smells of fresh blood, wet leather, and gunpowder filled his lungs. He loved it.
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- Chief Garlog of the Firetooth Clan takes measures to eliminate bandit threats to Firetooth trade routes.
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Post by talis on Sept 21, 2014 4:32:15 GMT
War in the East.
The news was not surprising, nor all that unsettling, but it was serious enough to merit calling a council of the elders. If the Firetooth had learned one thing in recent decades, it was how relatively minor events could send an entire continent reeling. This was especially true now that they were, more or less, united under the Survaek Empire. They did not have the luxury of disinterest any longer.
What would the Vaekir do? What would the Emperor do? Assassination was a dishonorable method, and everyone knew how xenophobic and heretic the Sylph were. But everyone knew Cerdigon was a cunning leader, and not one of the elders believed he had arranged the assassination without having his next steps planned and in motion. Although the news of the assassination had just reached Thundercrown it was entirely possible that the Sylph army had invaded on the heels of their strike and were even now besieging the Jotnar, or that Sylph ambassadors were making secret deals to gain the upper hand in the coming war. Still, if the Vaekir declared the Sylphs heretics and the fight a Holy War there was little Cerdigon would be able to do.
This was the most pressing matter: whether the Vaekir or the Emperor would intervene in some way, and whether it would involve the Firetooth. Many of their people might be drafted, or called to fight in a holy war.
The other matter was that Chief Garlog had his own plans.
"We'll get dragged into this war one way or another." He reasoned. "We might as well make some money out of it."
"And what if we ally with one faction, only for them to be declared in the wrong?" Asked Elder Rugmar, who had Garlog's chief opponent on the council and the closest thing to a pacifist a Firetooth could get, which was to say he didn't want Firetooth bothing with issues outside of Clan lands.
"Then we will say that we were merely mercenaries, and switch sides. Plus, we'll have gotten paid."
"So you would sell the lives of ours Clansmen to fill our coffers?"
Garlog stood up at that quip. It was one thing to question his ideas, but to accuse him of dishonor wasn't something any Firetooth would stand by for. "I do not sell the lives of my people" he snarled. "There are many young orcs with idle hands, eager to earn glory, honor and wealth in combat. Better to have them fight and make their names than waste their lives as they are now." The council room stayed silent for a tense moment. Rugmar was of course an elder, and Garlog could not challenge or disrespect him openly, but the tension was palpable, and violence was not unheard of in this hall.
"I for one like the idea." Elder Ukhmar smiled. "My clan has many young men, and they could do with a good fight to keep their hands and heads busy. In fact I would like to lead the expeditionary force myself as a representative of the Clan."
Garlog frowned for the first time in the meeting. "Someone younger and stronger should lead the mercenaries."
"Clearly we cannot spare our Chief, whose duty is to protect the Clan." Ukhmar said, glancing sidelong at the other councilors. They had picked up his line of reasoning: Garlog intended to lead the mercenary companies himself to accrue glory and power beyond the watchful eye of the council. "As the youngest elder the duty clearly falls to me."
Rugmar assented with almost malicious glee, glad to put Garlog in his place. After that the decision was made, aside from some objections by Garlog and questions of logistics. Elder Ukhmar would lead a mercenary company of volunteers in the coming war, while ambassadors were sent to New Byrnis and Karmozijn Kerk to watch whatever political moves might be occurring. Garlog and the rest of the council would focus on strengthening Thundercrown and protecting the Clan.
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- The Elder Council sends out a Call for Volunteers among the four unproductive villages. Regiments that accept the call form as Musket Militia and will serve as mercenaries in the coming conflict.
- Ambassadors are sent to New Byrnis and Karmozijn Kerk to list among the courts and watch for shifting political changes.
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Post by zurajai on Sept 21, 2014 19:08:44 GMT
"Who's ready for some fighting, lads?"
All the assembled orcs cheered, raising their precious firearms above their heads with glee, each and every one of their green faces split into a sneer. It had been a long time since the militias had been called to action and many of the younger orcs in the villages had never even seen lands outside of the Firetooth domain and any fighting that had been done within their lifetime had been against the disparate wasteland orcs who's lack of proper weapons, armor, or training made for poor sport and even poorer looting. This, a call to arms by an Elder to fight well armed and no doubt quite wealthy Sylphs, proved to be too good of a call to pass up.
Roughly five militia regiments worth of fresh volunteers had answered the call, strapping on their armor and taking down their family's firearm with the reverence they deserved. In no small part did the mentions of heretics and dishonorable conduct through assassination add to the number of volunteers that offered their guns in service as mercenaries. This, of course, was a double edged sword due to the risk of desertion if the opposite side was chosen. Either way, the militia was raised and ready to march at a moment's notice.
-- Five units of Levy Muskets (5000 troops) volunteer to join Elder Ukhmar in his mercenary operations.
-- All villages provide 1 less food per and all villages will provide 1 less levy until these units stand down.
-- Numbers bolstered by talk of dishonorable conduct and heretical actions done by the Sylphs. If siding with the Sylphs, possible desertions will occur based on rolls.
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Post by talis on Oct 11, 2014 3:57:09 GMT
"The F*** is this." Garlog waved a mailed hand angrily. "You call that a ditch? Do you think that's going to stop some wastelander? You think that some barbarian orc is going to trip on your hittle hump and give you enough time to blow his brains out? Fix It, or I'll dig it myself and you can go tell your mates that you were so incompetent your chieftain had to do your work for you."
"I'll fix it chief."
"Don't TALK you idiot, DIG!" Garlog roared, cowing the young orc to begin shoveling frantically as a handful of older orcs laughed at the boy's predicament. There were always a few young boys among the militia: first timers taking their father's gun and answering the call. Usually the other, older orcs from their House or village would help show them the ropes in the first couple weeks. This boy simply had the misfortune of catching Garlog's eye at the wrong moment. The digging was behind schedule, and a couple shipments were late. He stalked back and forth like an angry wolf, almost itching for something he could pummel.
While the civilians built the village itself, Garlog had taken charge of defending it until the inhabitants could protect themselves. This was the furthest west the Firetooth had ever pushed, and the chance that the wasteland orcs would launch attacks was high. To counter the threat, Garlog had ordered the camp fortified. A 5 foot by 5 foot square ditch was being dug around the camp and the extra earth used to build an equal-sized earthen wall. Once that was finished they would drive wooden spikes into the earth to keep wargs back and build a wooden towers on the corners. Garlog had arranged his forces into three groups so that at any given time a third of them were digging, a third were on guard and a third were resting.
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Post by talis on Oct 15, 2014 21:54:11 GMT
Elder Ukhmar sighed in exasperation in his tent. The early-morning light filtered through the tight leather on the high plains, illuminating the interior in yellow light. A low wooden table was the only furniture, which he sat in front of now holding a thick piece of parchment. His men were in high spirits and eager to get home. They had made good money and earned glory and honor fighting in the Cerdigon-Sefti war. Now they looked forward to showing off their trophies and prowess in their villages and bringing glory to their Houses. Even those who had been captured were with him, freed at the end of the war. He was reluctant to spoil their eagerness, but the letter demanded it.
Chief Garlog was up to his old games, this time with the Survaekom. Apparently the southerners were back, and insisting on building a fortress overlooking Firetooth lands. Garlog was planning to get there first and deny them the opportunity. It was a decent plan: Ukhmar was already almost to the hill, and his troops would not alert the Survaekom that something was up. He could march over, build a fortress, and the Survaekom would be none the wiser until they got there. Personally, Ukhmar had his doubts about antagonizing the southerners, but the other Elders were apparently in agreement.
"This is not going to end well." He sighed to himself. Well, he would do as requested, foolish as it was. He wrote up a reply and left the tent. Outside the messenger rested, drinking deeply from a flask as he answered questions from the young recruits. The poor orc had ridden hard and fast to reach Ukhmar. He stood immediately and bowed at the Elder. "Return this to Garlog and the Elders." Ukhmar said, handing him the reply. "You're welcome to rest for the day if you need. I'll make sure you get a fresh warg for the return."
"Thank you, Elder." The messenger said.
"You did an honorable service." Ukhmar replied, then turned to his aids. "Prepare to march. We have a new destination.
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- Elder Ukhmar and the volunteers change course to establish a camp on a hill north of Firetooth lands.
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Post by talis on Nov 23, 2014 20:08:11 GMT
A tournament!
Farga knew she had to go the moment she heard about it. She was the best shot in the village, none of the boys could even come close to her aim with a musket. They teased her and called her "barbarian," but she didn't mind. She was going to be a musket-maiden like Haktra Firestorm. She would fight battles against wastelanders and enemies of the clan and earn a place as a retainer at the table of some great House.
As more news spread she only became more excited. The bards said that Chief Garlog himself was going to partake in the tournament, and that lords and kings from across the land would be there. The Elonese were going to build a great statue of the winner and give many prizes! An Elonese gun would never match up to a Firetooth gun, of course, but she could sell it and use the gold to buy armor and a blade. Farga redoubled her practice. She spent every day out with the village boys shooting targets, until evening when she had to help mother, then snuck out in the middle of the night to practice some more.
Then came the day she told her parents she was going. They had expected it, of course, but that didn't make things any easier.
"You're only a child." Her mother had chided. "and you have no sense of responsibility! You're always off playing with your guns instead of helping me with the housework! Going off to a foreigner's tournament is not the way to make a name for yourself!"
"Haktra Firestorm won her seat at the Chieftain's table in a tournament!"
"You're not Haktra Firestorm!" Her mother almost yelled. "You are Farga Ironlight! You are my daughter and you're supposed to live like a Firetooth girl should!"
"I don't want to."
"This is my fault." Her father grumbled. "I should have tanned your hide red when you went out to play with those boys. Now you've grown all stubborn and confused."
"I don't want to just marry some village boy and raise some more brats while he goes off fighting. I want to win glory and honor and fight in battles!"
Both her parents were taken aback by her conviction. It took a strong will to stand up to Firetooth parents, and they would be well within their rights to give her the strap until she relented. But instead she stood, angry and defiant in front of both of them.
Finally, her father relented. "Fine. Take our gun and go to the tournament. You can compete."
"Thank you father!"
"BUT," Her mother interrupted, "This is your one chance! If you don't earn an accolades at the tournament you come home and help me like a good Firetooth girl. Understand?"
"Yes mother..."
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The day of departure was almost ceremonial. Her father removed the old family musket from the Fireplace mantle and placed it in her hands. She bowed to him on receiving it, then turned and bowed to the family gods. Armed with gun, bullets, powder horn, a change of clothing and a small purse she had saved up, she went to join the others from her village. All told there were six of them heading south to try their hand in the tournament. They would travel together to Thundercrown and join a caravan south. Farga could barely contain her excitement; it had been years since she had even visited Thundercrown, and she had never left the Clan itself. The bards said that the Chief was building a grand temple to the new god; would she get to see it? What about the stories of giants and short-men who would be at the tournament?
She was determined. Whatever happened, she would win a prize at the tournament and prove her worth. It didn't matter who she was going up against, she would win!
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-- Thousands of Firetooth gather their guns and head south to join in the tournament.
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Post by talis on Mar 26, 2015 0:33:22 GMT
"We agreed that war was necessary." Garlog rumbled, pacing back and forth in front of the roaring hearth. His shadow flicked and shifted in the firelight while his boots kept an any cadence. The elders sat in their seats, responding in their own ways to his complaints. "Months of planning - and then Elon takes one step back and want to call it all off."
"Delay, not call off." Elder Ukhmar replied, clearly not impressed by Garlog's pouting. He sat back leisurely in his Elder's seat. "New events and situations have arisen that require consideration. The exemption of trade ships traveling towards Kamijouin Kerk is likely a peace offering by the queen - I doubt they would make such a concession otherwise."
"Foolish." Garlog grumbled. "Their bitch-queen is a snide little wench who will do whatever it takes to get her will done. The Khagir has been open passage for centuries, then she builds a bridge over it and pretends that gives her rights to the very water. If we let them pretend they have that right it will be harder and harder to convince them otherwise later."
"Your concern is noted, but we will lose nothing by delaying for a season. We will see if Elon means this as a peace offering or an evasion. If it is the former then war will not be necessary: our ships will be able to trade freely, and Elon seems to have more interest in expanding east and west than north. If it is the latter, their efforts will not help them."
"It is foolish to delay. We would already be at war if not for the wastelander's interruption."
Elder Rugmar crossed his arms. He had largely been against the idea from the start, and had only gone along with it after the consensus of the other Elders. "I know that you're eager to lead a fight after being forced to defend the walls during the siege, but you will get your opportunity sooner or later." - he carefully couched his words. Even as a longtime rival of Garlog he wasn't about to prod the Chief's temper when he was still stewing from that shame. "Late to the battle" they said - Garlog hated every word of it. His ambition and desire for glory and honor were well known, and he kicked himself at the thought of what he could have achieved. Defending the walls and coordination the sally had been essential, but it mattered little - bards did not write songs about defending walls while a battle was going on.
War with Elon was perhaps not as grand as fighting the wastelanders, but Azlyn would be a tricky foe. Garlog considered the king a naive fool, but knew that he was at least a great warrior and passingly competent general.
"Elder Rugmar has a point, Garlog." Elder Urag interjected "Events are happening swiftly now. War is brewing to the east and we may well become involved in it. Delay may also be to our advantage if it distracts the Ikegami and the Empire from our claims."
Garlog stopped. The other could see him considering - forcing his temper and eagerness down as he calculated the situation. "Very well." He finally conceded, "I will wait and send ships to see Elon's reaction. but I urge you to begin preparations anyway. We cannot delay too long, lest Elon build up defenses that can stand before us."
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- The Elder Council agrees to delay war with Elon until more intelligence is gathered.
- Trade ships are sent south with the intention of assessing whether loophole provisions will allow Firetooth ships to avoid taxes when traveling to further ports.
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Post by talis on Apr 12, 2015 5:50:03 GMT
"Father please." Elder Ukhmar's sons pleaded with him, reaching out to help him as he leaned over, hacking and coughing. He swatted away their arms and tried to stand. "I must go... I must... " He collapsed back into the bed, falling onto the thick furs. His illness had not lain him low yet - he would not die easily - but the signs of fatigue were clear to see. His eyes were burnished black, and some of his muscle had wasted away after weeks in bed. His two remaining sons, both in their sixties themselves, had taken over much of the day-to-day affairs of the House while he recovered. That is, until news of the Battle of Itzair and the Vaekirate's demand for a peace conference reached him.
"There are others who can attend the meeting father. You're not the only Elder."
"Don't be a fool." He scoffed, catching his breath for another attempt. "Elder Urag is in New Burnis. He's the only other Elder level-headed enough for this... *cough*cough*. Garlog and Elder Goltar are both wolves, they'll take war just for the chance to win battles. Garlog's been chomping at the bit since *cough* the Battle at Thundercrown."
"They're not going father. Elder Rugmar's taking care of the negotiations."
"Too young. Rugmar's too young for this work."
"He's sixty-five father!"
"And I'm eighty-nine." Ukhmar shook his head. "Rugmar's still got a lot too learn. He's not ready for something this important. I must go."
"Father-"
"Don't try and stop me." Ukhmar snapped slightly, obviously exhausted from long nights with little rest. Rare was it that he actually needed to invoke his authority as Head of the House. Usually his words were enough to gain compliance.
"Father please, I beg you." Ukhmar's son stepped back, seizing a chair next to the bed and sitting upon it. "Think of your grandchildren and House. Think of the Clan. What will it look like if the envoy of the Firetooth is a sick old orc who can't move two steps without coughing? You cannot help while you're ill; you need to stay home and rest."
"... I ought to tan your hide for that comment." Ukhmar said, sounding tired all of a sudden. The urgency from his voice was gone.
"I learned it from you, father." The boy - Ukhmar still thought of him as a boy after all these years, though Egrun had grandchildren of his own.
"Fine." Ukhmar conceded. He knew it - knew he was no help in this condition. But for years whenever someone screwed up it had been his job to fix it. When Garlog got into a fight with Selmin Reyid, he had to butter up the admiral and work out a compromise. When they were on the verge of going to war with Elon he'd had to negotiate a temporary truce. Now he felt needed again after Tavian's debacle, but his body was now unwilling. How could he fix such a problem when he couldn't get out of his own bed?
"I will call on Elder Rugmar tomorrow." Egrun spoke. "You can speak with him before he leaves - give him some advice."
"Yes. Do so." He felt tired now. Just tired. He knew many orcs who dreaded this tiredness - who'd rather go out and die in battle than sleep in their own bed when the time came. He'd never been as keen on battle as them; or maybe this negotiation was his attempt at one last battle?
"Yes, call Rugmar. And Garlog too - I want to give that young pup a good scolding before he goes off and does something stupid."
"Of course father."
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Post by talis on May 4, 2015 4:20:51 GMT
It happened too swiftly to do anything but watch.
Garlog had been standing there, arms crossed, that bit, vicious grin across his face as the human approached in full uniform. The mood was impatient, eager. This was but a speed-bump on the way to join the Vaekirate's army at Kier's climb. Their minds were elsewhere - on glory and Duty and dragging Casomir out of his stone castle to put before Haakom Titanhand and claim the reward. No one's mind had been in the right place.
But the officer refused to go along with their plans. He knelt before Garlog, but in a flash his hand was on the blade and he drove it straight into Garlog's side, piercing straight through the cursed Hauberk of thick mail the Chief had been wearing. Time slowed to a heartbeat as Holtak reached for the pommel of his sword - too slow - blood ran down the murderer's blade. The other bodyguards were faster - the traitor was run through thrice over, falling to his knees as an enraged orc ripped his blade out and stabbed him again in futile anger. Garlog began to fall back, slowly. His eyes were still wide open in surprise.
And his grin was gone.
Time snapped back abruptly. Orcs yellowing and running around. Someone shoved the murderer's body away and was desperately trying to put pressure on the bloody sword-wound. "Surgeon! Someone fetch a Surgeon" someone yelled as orcs ran to and fro, others called out to their chief, as if he would be able to hear them in his bloody state. All at once there was a roaring boom as the cannons began to fire. Shot whistled and crashed into the blockhouse - someone had given the order to open fire on the Blockhouse.
None of this fit with Holtak. His thoughts went beyond the corpse of a man in front of him. One name was on the tip of his tongue.
"Casomir."
A couple of the other bodyguards caught his words and turned to him as a surgeon rushed forward to tend Garlog's wound. A priest knelt over the wounded Chieftain and whispered prayers in Aed's name.
"Casomir's set the whole country crazy." He told the others, pointing at the murderer in front of him. The others nodded. They all knew what he'd say next.
"The laws speak clearly. Blood for blood. If our Chief dies then Casomir will lose his head."
"And I'll be the one to cut it from his body." Another Firetooth agreed. "Death to Casomir! Death to the heretic-king!"
"Blood for blood!" The other Firetooth cried out. A cannon shot blasted straight through the Blockhouse wall, drowning out the battle-cry.
--
Everyone knew what Garlog would want. He had been a vicious and Charismatic chief, and one who loved battle. He would not wish to die surrounded by men wringing their hands let wet nurses, and if he did recover, he'd be furious. No, Garlog would want vengeance for treachery, and an honorable death. They could give him that, at least: if he died, he would die doing his Duty, and that was honor enough. The corpse of the traitor was left hanging on a tree for the crows to eat. The blockhouse was leveled to the ground, and any survivors shot. There would be no mercy for those traitors.
The rest of the Firetooth host marched south with all haste.
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Post by talis on May 6, 2015 4:53:13 GMT
A Treatise on Raegar's Legacy and Dominion The recent conclave bringing into question the legitimacy of the northern contract and the role of the Emperor within the greater community of Aedekom, I took it upon myself to review the role of the Emperor and will of Aed. After consulting with preeminent scholars and historians throughout the empire, meditating upon the Raegnarom and reviewing relevant or corroborating historical documents I have come to the conclusion that the role of the Emperor and Sword of Aed is to stand as First Among Equals, and that the doctrine of Imperial subjugation is a corruption of the original role and purpose which Raegar and his heirs set before them.
Raegar's rule over the faithful was not that of an imperial ruler, imposing his will from afar. Rather, he ruled through his Aed-granted authority as a prophet and Leader of the faithful. Allegiance to Raegar was sworn in Aed's name to Aed's prophet, not to a temporal liege-lord, and certainly not to an emperor. Even when given the opportunity to impose stricture rule or expand his power Raegar avoided the precedent, instead preferring that kings and chieftains to instead rule their own lands as Aedekom. Raegar's intention, as corroborated by contemporary accounts, was to forge a community of faithful nations united by a respect for Aed's will, ruled by a chosen prophet.
With the end of Raegar's line, the atrocities committed under Emperor Waentaer and his loss of the title of Sword of Aed there can be no argument that the claim of prophet is gone. The Sword of Aed still maintains the right and Duty to provide guidance and support to Aed's nations and to rally them in times of war, but there is no longer any claim that faithful Aedekom must swear allegiance to the Sword as an Emperor. As the recent independence of Raethon clearly demonstrated that faithful nations may now be independent of the Empire while remaining faithful to Aed.
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Erog, Chief Priest of the Orcs
Fahuan, Chief Priest of the Northern Feyfolk
Staas, Chief Priest of the North and Chief Kerkir of the Crimson Tome
Mirwais, Chief Priest of the Raethonite
Brennus, Chief Priest of Feymoure
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