AMIA ARCHIVE • View topic - Diplomacy's Game Continues: Blood and Rebirth

The Keeper of Tarkuul can be seen just walking around in the aftermath of the battle. In his hands is a book and quill which he takes notes into.

Bruised and bloodied, a red bearded dwarf limps into Cordor from the field of battle in the northern outskirts of the city. A dark stained bandage crosses his forehead where he received a brutal blow to the head by a glabrezu demon. His dented helm is tucked securely under one arm, as he surveys the carnage in the city through one less swollen eye.

After a brief rest bite at the southern garrison with the remainder of his kinsmen, Aaegus sets about putting his skills to use by building a makeshift forge using what materials he can find in the city rubble. With his hammer in hand and a roaring brazier, the tenacious dwarf does what he can to help out the allied troops to mend their damaged arms and armour to prepare for the next offensive if there was one to come.

After the sever fighting comes to a end the woodsman elf checks over his kin. He sits and works with his fellow kin to tend to the wounded and check over the dead. He seeks out priests to try to raise any fallen they can and continues none stop to work.

His cloths are torn and his blades bloodied. Though he took a large few hits himself on giant axe to the back at one point it seems the wounds and scars do not bother him as much as the concern for his people. The People. He also checks on the allies he fought along side before rewrapping his hands. Thinking on it all Ren goes over the list of the traps he layed down and placed in various area's in the lowlands delta region. The total numbering over one hundred and thirty. Though his hands ached from setting them and then the battle after it served as a reminder of his faith to Corellon and how he stood along many to protect the people.

Still the day must go on and he goes to see how many bodies lie with those traps and check if any can be salvaged along with launched arrows. Many of his kin stood along side him that day and many of them fought bravely in the thick of it for their families, friends and for the duty of being a soldier. The elves struck true but were struck just as hard in return. Still the moon shines red for a reason in times of war.

Not long after the battle is over, and after making sure her fellow Eilistraeeans are safe, the battered Seneschal of the Shrine of Eilistraee, Triel'ithra Zau'ana, can be seen cooking various meats, stews and soups in the Blue Skies Academy at Andrew Fryar's request, for him to distribute. For once, she wears what might generously be called a dress, more accurately a uniform, instead of her heavy plate armour, totaled during the fighting. The Drow sports many fresh scars, and her left eye is off-white, clearly blind in that eye. It doesn't seem to affect her culinary skills, however, as she cooks almost throughout the night to feed hungry refugees, introducing them to several Eilistraeean recipes in the process.

Just before dawn, she leaves the city and makes her way home, carrying her wrecked armour and almost-broken sword with her in her baggage. She doesn't complain about any of her wounds, though, and seems no better or worse off than any of those who found themselves in the thickest of fighting.

Among the wounded of the Alliance Garrison in Cordor is the Lord Field Marshall, head of the joint military forces of the Duchy, Kohlingen and Barak Runedar and commander of the local garrison. Transported from the field of battle by his white cloaked honor guard, there has been no word of yet to the condition of the proud son of Cormyr. For the time being, command falls upon Major Whurak Valtenson.

Speaking of Whurak.... the dwarf can be seen hobbling around the city, battered, bloodied and wounded. His right arm is in a splint and hanging from a sling, as he maintains his presence in the city, working with the various Alliance forces in an attempt to get an accurate account of the fallen, of the wounded, and of the lucky ones still alive. And while he walks with a bit of a limp, winces occasionally when he has to move his right arm, and curses occasionally due to the pain, so far, he has been refusing clerical or medical treatment, brushing them off brusquely and pointing them in the direction of the wounded who are not lucky enough to be able to walk.

//some eye candy for all those who were not able to attend the battle
due to OOC reasons, jobs etc.

((Thanks!))

On the remains of the Cape, where the shambling horde of martyred zombies had emerged from another figure arose from the waters. Garbed in a long dark priestly robe and a cloak prominently bearing the symbol of a lich skull on a black hexagon, her head covered by a hood and her face was further concealed by what appeared to be a plain porcelain mask covering all but her eyes. She waded into the thick of the dead and wasted no time inspecting corpses. Those who approach too close would sense a palpable aura of malign energy surrounding her very presence. It might then become apparent to the keen observer where the shambling horde of exploding undead had arisen from...

Duplicate Post.

Nyacelil watched the braved dwarves of Brogendenstein line up one after another under the Banner of Light. So defient in the face of men and demons all she could feel was that she wanted to stand next to them. Should this had been there finest hour or darkest, she knew there was a measure of courage that this band of brothers had found at the edge of light. They charged into the thick of the enemy forces that continued to throw themselves upon the combined forces of Winya Rangers, Kohlingen Regulaers, and Cordorian Guardsmen. The sacrifice had been great. Though in one final charge Nyacelil and the three Dwarves and others from Kohlingen drove forth met the enemy with absolute resolve.

There axe swings delivering blows that knocked Amn soldiers clear of the sides of the North Cordor bridge and into the cold riven below where they were pulled down by the weight of their own armors. Many fell, on that bridge. Nyacelil saw friends, that caught spears in the chest, cut down by board swords, and shot to death by arrows. Yet she pressed onward safe guarding the dwarf’s courageous charge in this final moment bravery. In the battle among the screams, and clash of steel she heard Avadon’s voice call out. “PUSH HARDER!!!”.

When it was over the bridge the Main Road of North Corder littered with the dead both Alliance, and invaders. Among them a Brass Dragon had joined the battle in their final moment of courage. Although she grateful for the Dragon’s awesome presence. Nyacelil was in a surreal moment as she gaze about. She wandered among the bodies of those she didn’t know looking for elves whom might have fallen during that charge trying to find her way back to Calamairel whom she had stood by her side the entire battle on the Western Delta. She was nowhere to be found, nor was Ren.

She tried to tell herself the charge was so fast that perhaps they were further to the back. She did at the last minute join the spearhead assault out of inspiration. When the battle frenzy had come to an end and the last of the enemy front fled into hills, or were ran down by Cordorian Guardsmen. The adrenaline left her and the fatigue of this long sustained battle overwhelmed her. The graphic scenery of the dead, and the wounded would leave a traumatic experience that would stay with her.

She wandered among the battlefield back to the market square looking to reconnect with the elves of her party. Wishing her sister as weight of the combat stress had isolated her making her feel truly alone. Finally after the exhaustion over took her she simply just sat down right where her legs could no longer take her.

She sat under one of the dead Cordor Plaza trees. Leaning forward her sword still mounted lazily in her hand and her legs parted outward. Nyacelil could go no further. She had bravely fought alongside the elven companions and in the last mess of a frontal assault she had lost sight of them.

She relived some of the darker moments of the battle. The chaotic nature of the urban combat presenting conditions of combat that she had never known. At one point from one of the many charges against the eastern gate Nyacelil had found herself along one of the side streets of where she was engaged by pair of Amn soldiers a wizard and warrior. The layers of spells had failed one layer at time leaving the only thing between her and the enemy was her bladedance perhaps it was that moment she felt the Bladesong’s tempo calling her. Ever so gracefully she took on the two dodging and delivering blows to undefended zones of the heavily armored Amn Solider. The Wizard behind him casting spell after spell against her. Some rolled off her magical robes others injured her. Then when that wizard spells were done he joined the struggle of his warrior comrade opening himself to Nyacelil’s tempo of death. Then from out of nowhere Calamariel charged down the street swinging her falchion beheading the wizard in one swing as Nyacelil drove her rapier home delivering a lethal blow between where helmet meets caller.

She was brought back from revere when a priest placed his hand on Nyacelil’s shoulder. She looked up to see human man of faith and next to him Ren. She looked upon the lengthy skinny elven man she had followed to war.

“Ren?” and he responded with a nod. “And Calamariel?” She followed up.

“Alive.”

Although the horrors were great she felt for filled. She upheld her Bladesinger’s code today. He was alive, Calamirel was too as were many other Elves she had championed for during this battle. Her bladedance brought a measure of strength to the elves of Winya this day that was for filling. The cleric checked for injuries and when he was satisfied that most of them were superficial he advised rest. She responded with a simple nod and made her way back with Ren to where the Winya Elves had rallied.

Struggling with the ugliness of war Nyacelil remained quiet the first day as she tried to make sense of the destructive force she had experienced. Among the elves she stood with she was true bladesinger of every sense of the word during the battle. She Bladedanced between enemies, she bladedanced around her allies assisting there kills. She melded martial arts and magic into one harmonic dance. Moving about the battle field and positioning herself to help allies, and even rescue them from death on more than one occasion. In fact she even saved Ren’s life at one point as a giant axe befell him. Not once during the battle did she fall.

Yet none of that mattered as she struggled to avoid the relive the darker moments of the battle during its aftermath. The Blood, Guts, and despair, perhaps she was regarded as true elven hero among the elves she served with. Though she didn’t know nor did she have the energy to find out. What she did do was rest while among the encampment of elves after a long drawn out battle and glory charge lead by the Allies of the Light.

She also had to deal with the disappointment of a narrow-minded twin sister of which abandoned her in the moment where she had to demonstrate the bladesigner’s excellences. Though that was a battle for another day. Things have changed for Nyacelil and things will have to change for Ja’taria she thought one quiet morning a day after the battle. When she was ready to return she would though for now she stayed with the troops of Winya Ravana assisting, and bring some measure of sanity back to their lives.

Over the next few tenday as she straightened her mind with the horrors of war she offered herself to connect with her comrade. An effort made to share the burden by elven trance. Although the Elves of Winya were battered, wounded, and tired. Nyacelil believed that all to be superficial damage as the true elven heart is there peace with their own passions and spirituality. A topic of great concern to her as the days went on after such a bloody battle. She did this by walking through the encampment meeting each elven warrior, shaking their hands and offering them words of comfort. Helping them in tasks as an extra hand and reminding them the important of spirituality.

With those whom shared there struggles with Nyacelil through elven trance. Learn harden character of this woman. A bladesinger, and to many suprise. A mother too.

At Avadon’s side like a half elven shadow Darby kept watch on him. During the fighting, as much as possible, and after. She helped in the fighting, firing off beads at the besieged bridge then switching to her sword and shield as the enemies closed in, then drawing out her bow again as the others rushed ahead. She had fared far better than most and by the end of the battle was only slightly battered, though just as weary.

She stayed by her Knight’s side after the battle as well. Helping with the bodies, living and dead, as much as possible until finally with growing concern she let him know he too needed rest. Battered and bleeding with death all around them, there was no pressing need for him to keep pushing himself. So, she gave him the time he needed to take it all in one last time before gently, but firmly, taking him home.

A winged elf was seen during the aftermath of the battle tending to the wounded. While calling forth restorative magic, she appeared to be speaking in a strange tongue; sounding like faint whispers in the wind. She would tend dwarf, gnome, human and even half-orc as they required. The winged elf herself appeared to be in rather good condition considering the circumstances, but sported an occasional burn upon her garment as if having been hit by magical, destructive energy.

As the winged elf took flight from Cordor, tiny leaflets fell elegantly in the wind, landing throughout various places in Cordor. Those curious, either inquiring of them or finding one of their own, would see the following written in plain Common:

They sought to drive us as between hammer and anvil; to crush our morale and to break through our lines. They failed.

I have now witnessed the legendary bravery of the dwarves, the never-ending courage of the small-folk as well as that of Eilistraeean, 'Quessir' and human alike.

Innocents were saved on this day. Not by the hand of one, but of many. Many whose methods do not align with ours.

I ask of you to never forget this moment. Never forget the time when differences were put aside for the greater good.

I am so very proud of you. Rest now, child.
~LSA

Along with the other Wiltun ships returning to port, the wizard makes her way back to the keep in a tired but neutral state. Her hands were noticeably blackened in the palms from casting spells that day. She retreats wisp-like below the keep for her beauty rest.

As for what was done upon the Amian Isle, wake craters appear to dot some of the Delta and even inside the city walls of Cordor what appeared to be Hellfire explosions, among other incendiary magic. The damages are unaccounted for, given the volume of chaos and creatures making their ways into the city that night.

After the battle the First Knight of Kohlingen is seen checking up on various people in Cordor. Soaked in blood, like she'd literally bathed in it. Her eyepatch torn and burnt, revealing a horridly scarred empty eyesocket, left half of her face suffering from burns of various elements. Her left arm hangs limply by her side, her left leg barely supporting her weight. Her armor in so many dents she no doubt requires a new one. Bruises, along with smaller cuts on the brow, lips and so on. After checking up on those she finds it necessary with, she departs Cordor and heads back north, to Kohlingen, to report to her superiors.

As usual, if not always, her face remained serious and pain was taken with clenched teeth and sheer stubbornness. She remained respectful and polite to those she came across, despite the weight of so many lost lives weighing heavily upon her spirit.

During the initial advance upon the Slakh encampment, the halfling named Connie, who had signed on with the STU as a freelancer, had been seen cleaving through savages and enemy mercenaries alike with her heavy two-handed sword. When that assault turned into a battle to hold Cordor she was reassigned from the West to the North gate, using the same sort of flanking tactics against the enemy vanguard as she did in the West - she would wait for the front lines to be engaged, then slip up with the aid of her size to distract notice before she brought her oversized blades to bear. When the assault was broken she took some time to rest, even helping with the food at the Blue Skies Academy. But the next day she went straight back to work - she travelled north, alone, seeking to capture or kill any enemy stragglers in the frontier. As in the battle she made use of her size and tracking abilities to carefully choose any engagements, should she find any foes - she wouldn't attack any groups too large or cohesive for her to defeat alone, harrying any who'd split off - be they stranded demon or broken mercenary, or any other. Any non-demons who would surrender were disarmed, bound and sent south to Cordor.

Tuomas would spend time in Cordor, helping to repair the battlements and lend a hand with various applied magics where his skills could be helpful.

He did however take a brief bit of time to cast a Sending to his Uncle Aloysious back in Lantan, a privateer likely to be serving in Lantan's defense in the current day and age.

"Uncle how fares Lantan with current threat of Arcanum across Realms, Amia suffering brutally in war, but allied forces standing. Myself, amongst their number. Tuomas."

*To his uncle Aloysious, Tuomas was an easily scared Nephew whom was rather well frightened by his tale of Kurtulmak and Garl, in spite of the happy ending. Though, in more recent days, he had heard the odd notion of Tuomas having become Knighted by the city he lived in , on the Amian isles*.

After this, he returned to his work, helping repair the battlement or otherwise clean up after the devestation which befell the city of Cordor.

A hulking form made up of rent armor and gleaming golden scales lies in the Shrine of Bahamut in Kohlingen, a sure testament to the sheer magnitude of the attack on Cordor...

A woman named Clee busied herself with speaking to the various clerics and healers in the city. After making conversation, she would inquire as to the number of dead laid to rest. For each, Clee wrote down the name of the healer, the names of the deceased if known, and a tally.

She would make multiple rounds over the next few days, returning to some of the healers to see if the numbers had changed at all.

While those on the front lines faced the challenges of battle, reaping glory and horror alike, those
in the rear faced their own challenges. As the wounded and dying began pouring in to the different aid stations and hospices, even those who had thus far made no more than a token commitment had their hands forced. Despite sincere efforts to the contrary, when those injured in the battle - soldiers and civilians alike - began pouring in by the dozens, even the stoic Sunmaster was not able to maintain order in the carefully maintained inventory of supplies. All but ignored by the Salandran clergy and other healers as they rushed about grabbing what they needed without report, Marcus finally accepted the situation - resolved to bring the records to order after the immediate crisis had passed - and joined the other healers in dirtying his hands.

And dirtied they were, in the blood, bile and other fluids of a seemingly endless flow of those soldiers and volunteers who had stood directly against the enemy, and those commoners that had gotten caught in the crossfire. And to think he wasn't even a true healer.

Still, he was no stranger to the sight of blood and pain - his years of pilgrimage and service with various militias had hardened him to that. What they had not prepared him for was the difficult choices to be made. Does he make the effort to restore one of the city's elite guardsmen at the expense of the death of two or more militia auxiliary? Does he evict an orphan child from the meager warmth of its cot into the streets to save the life of a critically wounded soldier?

He made his choices with all the reason he could muster. No matter what he decided, a father or brother or mother or child would be lost. And Lathander's light would be dimmer for it. And yet, as he set to treating a man who had been all but eviscerated, he begun to hear whispered thoughts of ancient deeds. Suggestions. Possibilities. It was not the time nor place to consider them, but they remained with the Sunmaster throughout the day and night.

((Posted without DM approval, based on what I could gleam about the events from the forum alone.))

What started out as a simple harried attack against the Slakh forces on one front became an outright war for Cordor's survival, with interim Commander Fryar fighting on two fronts.

Shouts of "For Cordor!" and "For Amia!" ringing out as they began their initial charge, words taken directly from Andrew's pre-fight speech. Andrew would end up making a few speeches over the course of the night. The initial operation seemed successful at first. Opposition was confused and minimal and the Tarkuul/Cordor force met up with the force at the Delta - until they realized that their flanks were exposed and the groups pulled back. Thus began the battle in earnest. Hordes and hordes of Mazticans flooded the field, pounding them back with sheer numbers. Andrew found himself with Connie, cut off from the force with a small army of Mazticans between them and the inner gate where the rest of their forces were retreating. The pair were hiding behind a windmill, with three more Mazticans approaching them. Andrew charged out from behind the mill, shield up, and made a push through, ignoring the assault as they followed. With the savages no longer interested in Connie, Andrew spun to face them, only to be hit by a bigby spell and laid out on his back. As the MAzticans attacked him, prone, he did his best to survive. Were it not for Connie's timely intervention, Andrew might've fallen under the assault before he could regain his footing - but he didn't. He leapt to his feet, driving Dawnblade, First Light of Morning, deep into the enemy's heart. As he yanked his sword free, he limped back toward West.

"Too close," he muttered as he quaffed a heal potion.

Then the sound of East's alarm bells hit his ear. He dashed off to Cordor East as quickly as his feet would take him, only to find the district under assault and no commanding officers stationed at the North gate. Andrew took command, beginning to shout orders to the Cordorian forces and calling for reinforcements from the Southern garrison. But it quickly became evident that they would lose against the massive army of fiends pounding their door. Despite the grim odds, Andrew managed to get a few cheers after a few inspiring, rousing words. As the bodies piled up, Andrew dispatched a regiment of Cordorian troops to assist in evacuating civilians to Wharftown. Andrew's rhetoric changed from victory to survival. Still, the remains of the Cordorian force held alongside their allies, stoic in the face of their death and the pride he had for his countrymen soared. Andrew's heart told him to tell those brave souls to retreat and try to survive with their families. But Commander Fryar knew better. They had to stay until the bitter end. He had to essentially command them to die. The most mercy he could give his men was dying with them.

"Hold the gates until the civilians evacuate!... Do it for your children, your spouses, your parents! Do it for me!... That's all that matters now."

As Andrew shouted those lines, however, the Ducal forces under Montgomery arrived via Dragon ex Machina. Andrew ordered all Cordorian archers to retake the walls and providing covering fire while an adventurer force spearheaded a counter attack to reinforce the ducal forces on the other side. As they wiped up what remained, Andrew snagged an archer in his grapple and snapped its spine with his bare arms. He stared at the slowly dying woman a moment before calmly putting her out of her misery. After the greetings were done, Andrew continued his orders. The brazen commander even gave Speaker Xaviera, his superior, orders.

"I want the dead and injured gathered. Every cleric and medic in the city is to be pressed into getting as many of these men back as possible."

"Find Captain Philippi, Sergeant Avery, Hennigan and General Godric. Make sure they survived."

"We cannot hold North with our current numbers. Pull back to the North gates in East and get some semblance of a defense out there."

"I want numbers. How many casualties were there? How many injured? And I want them as soon as possible."

"Speaker, I want you to prepare commendations for every person who fought for Cordor's survival this day. And remain with the evacuees."

Immediately after the assault had been broken, Andrew went to work. He joined Triel, Connie and Corinn at the Academy and, once they had bathed, they prepared a massive stew. Andrew ordered Lente and the rest of his employees to keep the doors open and to keep the kitchen cooking all night. They would be offering a hot, free meal to any one who needed it. As well, the classrooms (which had been converted into shelters, with bedrolls and the like) open to any refugees who might need it. Andrew still had a guard or two remain there, though, to make sure nothing was stolen and to be sure everyone was kept safe. With Triel manning the stew, Andrew finally left the Academy to its business and went to his apartment. He opened up the shelter in his own living room and prepared a much smaller meal with his much smaller resources. And finally, he moved next door to the Chapel of Lathander and bade Redweth's lay men and Adela to keep the cooking fires going and be ready for refugees. Then, finally, he went to the Nomad and (if Griff was there), paid a hundred thousand for all food and non-alcoholic drink to be given out for free for the night and for all the rooms to be opened to people needing shelter. (If Griff wasn't there, Andrew would simply commandeer the resources himself, keeping a tally of how much he would need to repay Griff).

Andrew assigned another guard or two to the shelter in his apartment, then told his criers to shout the following:

"Those in need of a hot meal, or a place to rest, can find one free at the Blue Skies Academy, at the Chapel of Lathander, The Nomad or the apartment across the street from both the Chapel and the Nomad. Just ask a local guard for directions."

Andrew, after a brief hour or so respite to wind down his blood in the privacy of his bedroom, went back to work between the four initial designated shelters, making sure they had proper supplies or simply speaking with the people. Though Andrew remained in uniform and ready to respond to orders and complaints, he left the city's defenses to General Godric and the others for the moment, while he focused on his strong suit. Even as he dashed from place to place, he would make note of possible buildings to commandeer for additional shelters. Andrew visited the field hospitals and the garrisons often to speak with his men and keep their spirits up. That was the one aspect of command he was genuinely good at.

Whilst many start to sort through the remnants of the battle a certain small figure draped in blackened armor may have been seen stepping out of the shadows from time to time, either out of a well-lit street corner or the barren alleyways. The figure made their way about the Cordorian city that was still strewn with wreckage, as well as the battle field where the front lines had been. Paying visits here, and there, collecting knowledge and taking an account of those who were active, and just what they were doing, a book in one hand and a length of charcoal in the other. For anyone who could get a good look at this feminine figure, they would notice the large black muffler that was draped about the figure’s slender shoulders, and bust, was nothing more than ragged torn cloth, caked in drying blood. The darkened armor was marred, gingerly it was lined with holes from arrows. Yet other parts held scorched markings, gracing the surface with varying patterns.

A precious few humans were checked upon, and after hushed, yet sweetened words were exchanged with the two. It wasn't long before this small figure was off yet again never seeming to grow weary.

They would once again bound their way through the city to meet up with a small group of individuals that had been summoned to the streets of what little was left of Central Cordor. Hushed murmurings could be heard from the small gathering as they spoke quietly amongst themselves.

Finally this figure 'jumped' in to the shadow of a nearby barrel and stepped out on to the tallest remaining roof top, in Cordor Central that they could easily reach and see. Armed with a spy glass in hand they looked towards the western gate and then to the East and Northern fronts before finally casting their gaze towards the south taking in a final overview as best they could throughout the town. Once the short elf was satisfied they stepped in to a cascading shadow and stepped out of the shadows created by an alleyway below. The figure approached the small group and cast a ruby red gaze over the faces of those that had gathered.

All were in attendance, it seemed. Even the ever Elusive Captain of the Guard was gathered. For the Cadets this may have been the first time they saw the near silent man. He stood with his face concealed and appeared to possess the fine solid stature of a stone statue.

The battle worn elf eased back their hood, followed by a metal mask, with an expression that twisted into laughter.

"With war comes change..." They breathe out addressing the small group that was gathered.

"Let not your caution slip, though our common enemy, has for the most part, been eradicated there are still dangers that reside beyond the walls of all our sanctuaries, and there may still be unknown dangers that lurk within. Now is the time to take into consideration what the future we have fought for holds for us. Remember though the future may hold many and prosperous routs that it too holds dangers. Knowing this we arm ourselves with knowledge and learn from the past to help enhance our foresight. May we venture forth and continue to strive and flourish in to that which cannot be simply trampled upon. We hold our own, and we are aware of what we seek, and what we strive for. Take pride and confide in each other’s presence.

We are the Dauntless Ones. No matter the danger we will face it fearlessly for we face these dangers together as a whole. As I stand before you, here and now, I cannot help, nor begin to find the right words to express this sense of ..." They pause in their speech to pass a glance across the few faces they've come to know and trust.

"Admiration... And pride. I am Proud to have met each of you... And together we will continue to fight for the future, for freedom, and for the betterment of our world.” They turn their gaze towards the sky for a few long moments taking in the idea of what may still await them, looming ominously overhead.

"Now then... draw your weapons and ready your selves. there may still be remnants where we go. " They say drawing forth a portal wand and flicking it to create a minor portal.
The group would soon come to the remnants of Uhm. The small elf would cast a glance to the wreckage of the once village and then to the oceans. "Be on your guard and fan out in pairs.... We know not what may lurk here... Scout the area. leave no rock un-turned, leave no area un accounted for. Look to see if there is anything left to salvage. Detect magic on areas of interest and see if we can find any trace that's left." The elf instructs the group and takes to the side of their ever faithful, ever silent body guard.

After the Duke's arrival and the vicious battle's end, Jud can be seen working with the wounded in Cordor, expending his bardic talents to help heal the injured and keep their spirits up, and also providing food for those who need it from his enchanted tureen.

In the aftermath of the battle, patrols of the Living Guard a sent out to discourage looting and assist in the collection of the dead. Any corpses found belonging to the Silence Luminous, or Cordor's militia are returned to their respective commanders. Gerald seems keenly interested in searching for two men in the after math however, alive or dead. Those men are Sir Leonard Lawson, and Watcher Bremmick. If either are found dead in the field, Gerald would not hesitate to use a scroll of raise dead and one of his own personal store of diamonds to revive them, and escort them back to Cordor.

The next day is a muggy, dreary day, reflecting well the somber mood of the city Cordor in the wake of the battle. While the battle was won, the toll was massive in lives, property, and spirits. Blood lined the streets from the fighting, bridges and infrastructure were damaged, and the massive death tolls were still being counted. The smell of demonic ichor, blood, and the other horrid remains of battle lie throughout Cordor.

Many of South Cordor’s militia were in the North District at the time of Amn’s counterattack, many of whom did not return from the battle. South itself had taken some damage when the Amnish led a force to strike at the market.

North Cordor has clearly seen the worst of this battle, caught by surprise, the warcamps in the Festival grounds are also wrecked. The bridge of North Cordor barely hangs onto itself, and looks like it could give in at any moment. Their scouting force was near entirely devastated in the attack…

East Cordor still looked like a wreck from the return of Reyes, this battle only made it worse, with the gate wrecked, gates which held strong many times before, completely destroyed, and still with clear signs of battle abound the gate.

West Cordor seemed to have been best off of the districts now, the mood there is better than in most of Cordor. Still, many are tense, keenly aware of how this battle could have been their last.
Efforts to recover are slow, with so many wounded, dead, and damaged, and with many civilians evacuated, progress is quite stalled. Many citizens however, do what they can to help, with inns offering free lodgings for soldiers and for those who lost loved ones, as well as free drinks for the heroes who fought in their city’s defense, even those whom would normally be considered freaks by the people of Cordor. The field hospital and temples are oversaturated with wounded to take care of, the frantic clerics caring for whom they can. Citizens are happy to take one another into their homes for care, those that remain, that is.

The flag of Cordor is held up high, by the gates, perhaps a sign of victory in a dark time, however despite the flag waving strong in the dreary day, the mood remains somber and tense... as many looked towards the horizon, wondering when, or if dawn would come…

The young nurse Tee moved frantically between South and West Cordor, caring for patients between the field hospital and her own encampment with the Gladitoral Conferderation. With little sleep and lack of confidence in her own stagnant divine powers, the nurse does what she can to care for as many individuals as her body would allow before collapsing of unrest. With the help of other various volunteers and field nurses, Tee would rise once more and carry on with her work without another word.

***

Watcher Maliana ventured outside the West Cordorian gates, scouting the area up to the Cape in order to drag back as many fallen men as she could identify from their side. She patrolled back and forth until she could no longer muster the strength to carry anymore bodies, calling upon higher authority for the next move.

***

Blue kept to a patrol around the inner walls of the Western District, slipping in and out of the Gentleman's club to offer any relief she could to their people via free drinks and food.

With the Lord Field Marshal of the Alliance forces and the acting commander both suffering from injuries, a certain grey-haired magician is seen around the Kohlingener camp with greater frequency during the past day. While command still remains with Whurak, Ulrik Valis takes several duties upon himself in the wake of the terrible battle that was waged. The Lord Marshal is seen visiting the injured men, and speaking with the Triadic clergy, ensuring that they do not want for any healing supplies or the like. Secondly, the posts are rotated: those men who saw the most fighting in the last battle, and are still fighting fit, are put in reserve while those in reserve take their place.

The Lord Marshal is insistent upon being informed on the number of casualties suffered, as soon as possible.

The surviving Kohlingen Mage Guard, however, find the Lord Marshal has the highest expectations of them. The former Magister directs all surviving mages of Kohlingen that are 'fighting fit' to begin aiding with the clean-up and reconstruction. Between Walls of Stone to aid in repairing battlements, to gusts of wind, telekenesis, and cantrips to aid in clean-up of debris. To those mages of Kohlingen, he might be heard remarking, "Reyes and the Arcanum have stained the honor of wizardry with blood and treason. It will be decades, perhaps centuries, 'til our art is absolved of that stain. Let us show these people how true magi comport themselves. The first of many steps we will need to take, to make amends for their Sin."

The funeral shroud draped over the heavy plate armor was torn, dusty and began to show signs of blood clots on it as the Keeper had continued his walks in Cordor West. Well over half a year ago he had worked alongside Igor on Moribund. Digging graves and loading funeral barges with those who had fallen during the riots and skirmishes.
With the gondolier gone to Moribund he would begin to ask the Westerners if any were able to help with assembling barges for those who would be given their final rights and sent on to the afterlife. Explaining that just as before, he would honor the dead and send them of as their customs detailed.

Whatever names he would come across or with the aid of bystanders to identify the deceased their names would carefully be scribed into a journal he carried close to him.

An arrow skipped off Amelia Warmglows armor as she was bending down, two fingers quickly moving to check the pulse of a fallen soldier, finding a weak almost non existant indication of life. She frowned as she tied a black cloth around the mans arm.

"First rule of triage in mass casualty incidients Amelia, treat who you can save".

She knew from looking at the weak pulsating man, and his three missing limbs and a ruptured eye, this man was one of those who, considering the battle going on around her, was not a viable target for her services. She frowned as she looked up and beheld a savage amnish warrior speeding towards a relatively unprotected woman who was launching spell after spell after spell from her hands. The battle cleric stood and grabbed her two handed staff and as fast as she could sped across the crater ridden, body covered field with her staff held tightly in two hands. She screamed as she met the savage less then five feet from the wizard and she swung hard, cracking his knee caps and sending him to the ground, next came a swift down strike onto his knuckles and a resounding crack of his fingers. She bent down and examined the screaming man to make sure he wasn't bleeding or in threat of dieing.

He was disabled, not bleeding.

He was down, but not out.

She stood and grabbed her medical kit nearby and sprinted off into the battle, frowning as a cordorian defender raced by the man she had disabled and impaled the invader in the stomach with a spear.

"You do what you can, no more, no less" she had been told.

Sometime during the fighting she had been struck from behind, something or someone big and strong had smashed a weapon of some kind into the back of her head and knocked her out cold, by rights she should have been dead. When she awoke, another group of tired defenders was standing over her, one of the groups who had been fighting on the other side of the amnish forces.....seems the plan was working....

She attached herself to this new group but that too was short lived....again she had been knocked out and left for dead and somehow had survived. She stood above a cliff this time, looking down at the tide of blood and violence below her.

"I....I don't belong here...this...this is to big for me" she kept telling herself as she made her way away from the battle field and across the few miles of distance to the temple of Salandra. When she pushed open the temple doors and collapsed into a bloody heap, her brothers and sisters quickly raced to her side.

"Muster the Templar, gather the battle field chirugeons we can spare....cordor needs h...."

The words never finished leaving her mouth as her wounds and fatigue finally over came her.

Now that the battle has been won, and the invaders pushed back, Amelia is back among the city of cordor, trying to focus on the task at hand, but to those who know her...she seems different...like shes missing something...perhaps she left a part of her behind on the battle field.
.

Hearing Ulrik's commentary as he comments to some of the other magi, Tuomas himself would continued to help with both the cleanup and the restoration of the walls rather gladly, putting in his share and doing as much as he could with his abilities to help out the city of Cordor.

"Uncle how fares Lantan with current threat of Arcanum across Realms, Amia suffering brutally in war, but allied forces standing. Myself, amongst their number. Tuomas."

That sending came from Aloysious' nephew as he leaned heavily on a post near his ship's wheel. The black bearded Gnome who's hair and beard nearly had gone to greys seemed bored. Admittedly his brow quirked as one of his crewmen, another Gnome of Lantan looked over.

"Somethin' amiss Skipper?" the crewman asked.

"Aye, ti's my Nephew whom lives on that strange island Amia. Apparently, he got a backbone finally." Aloysious said, paying out a respectable sum of gold to the crewman who quirked his brow.

~.. Nothing happening here in Lantan, lad. You just cost me two hundred gold on a bet. But, Give em' Hell.~ Aloysious would reply in his sending to his odd nephew, sighing some.

"Why can' we get a scrape going here lad?" Aloysious asked.

"Most of the traffic is either refugees, or people fleeing the war. No enemy pirates." his crewman replied, reminding him. Aloysious nodded a little.

In the coming days after the fight it seems that despite the weather and even the rain a hunter is around taking out the left over demons and enemies that may have gotten away. He uses a bow more then not and often places elven arrows into them before they ever see it coming.

This is a common practice among the elves but it seems this hunter is rather skilled at it. The woodsman seems not to do this alone though and travels with a small group of elves from time to time. Some can be seen as recognizable others not so much but they all look elven. Each with a bow and arrow in hand and blades of there own with basic clothing and face scarfs covering the majority of their faces.

This team of hunters seems overly skilled and competent in what they do and are often seen one moment then gone the next. Some would also be seen dropping off supplies that are needed in Cordor and other area effected by the war going on. As they come and go they seem content to simply continue on their way. The one most seen is the woodsman and hunter known as Ren though among this number.

DolphinRacer wrote:

The bodies of any Cowled Mages and Mercenary Commanders, he thoroughly strips, looking for any intelligence documents he can find, or interesting weapons or artifacts.

Perhaps oddly, not a single Cowled Wizard or Amnish Commander would be found upon the field of battle that took place West of Cordor. The Mazticans fought to the last man, but those few of the mercenary force that took Avadon up on his offer of safe passage for defection, would recount that the entire upper command structure of the Slakh encampment was recalled to the boats, prior to the Amian offensive.

Genar_Detkasa wrote:

Rounding up a squad of Living Guardsmen, Sicarius goes into the remains of the enemy camp at Cape Slakh where they begin to search it. The Centurion himself drinking the occasional potion as he picks through the dead and the camp.

Likewise would the camp show similar signs of previous retreat; what documents survived the fire bombing and explosive undead prove to be of little use, simple provision orders and non-critical documents that were clearly left behind due to their insignificance.

*-*-*-*-*

Those inspecting the damage to West Cordor would thankfully note that it seems relatively superficial thanks to the efforts of the allied men and women.

While the gate of the inner walls were completely bashed and torn, beyond mundane repair and in need of replacement, the inner walls themselves remain relatively unscathed, as do the outer walls. The bridge however, seems to have suffered the brunt of the damage, likely due in part to the Annihilator which was destroyed atop it. Similar to the efforts in East and North Cordor however, the Westies quickly craft wooden portions of bridge to replace of reinforce the damaged sections, as well as a temporary wooden gate.

[The day of the battle] A woman in a long black coat trimmed in orange made her way to the West gate in answer to a call for aide from Abdullah. Drawing close to a face she recognized she made a brisk inquiry. “Who is in command?” Receiving her answer she gave a curt nod and fell in beside Centurion Asya, and the Castellan of Tarkuul.

The Castellan called, “Hold!” Iim’mur’ss rolled her wrist; tendrils of shadows erupted from the blade in her hand to claw at the air, and she waited. She watched as the Annihilator fell; its explosion clearing a large, bloody swath across the battlefield. On Luca’s command the defenders poured out of the western district of the city taking full advantage of the enemy’s temporary confusion. She drew and pulled on the shadows as she went. She danced out to slice the tendon of an archer’s bow hand, and ducked a barbarian’s axe before disappearing again. The battle flowed on like that for her. She rolled from one encounter to the next as though she were performing a ballet. The savages seemed unable to find their target in her lithe movements, and the brief moments she could be seen; while she chose her targets at will. The blade in her hand found its mark unerringly, whether slipping between a set of ribs, or disabling a strike intended for an ally, and still it screamed in a voice only she could hear.

As the number of attackers dwindled to no more than scattered remnants she left the western field and returned to the North Gate with Alanna; until the final waves of demons were quelled.

When it was all said and done she took stock of the people she knew. She had become separated from Emilie and went searching for her. She had walked the western battlefield as if looking for something, or someone. It wasn’t until she stepped out of a portal into Shadowscape and saw the last missing face that she accepted it was truly over.

In the days that followed she was only sporadically seen in Cordor. It would seem the dragonkin had done the part she was good at, and left the rest for others to tend to.

((Posted with the understanding that if there is relevant information I am unaware of about the state of either Lantan, or Celestia that this may change))

After a meeting in Cordor at the Guard house, Tuomas spoke with Lord Ulrik, Abdullah, Jerand and Reddok briefly before he then left and found a quiet place, closing his eyesa moment and taking time to re-prepare his spells before then opening a Gate to Celestia.

Once he travelled into the realm of Light, Tuomas would quietly stride amongst the fields for a brief time, seeming to make his way to a particular pond. Though another being of Angellic stature was present, the particular Angel he had been hoping to seek had been away.
"Tuomas Valo, what brings you to the realm of Celestia?" the Angellic figure , wearing a white tabard and of green skin asked of the Gnomish Magician.

"I come to seek serenity, in preparation for what comes.. " Tuomas replied to the Angel, who nodded simply.

"Be welcome, then Magician and bring only peace unto this realm. " the Angel spoke before continuing on it's watchful gaze. Tuomas seemed to quietly taking in the realm, closing his eyes and kneeling before a pool of water and musing to himself, the warmth of Celestia surrounding him and flowing through him.

~.. I would not bring hostility to this place... it is not my way. The fight I must bring is to help bring a justice a criminal against the Art and against all fundamental decency. ~ he would think to himself, before letting all thoughts fade from him, keeping a mind of the time and adhering to the hourlong limit he committed to before opening his eyes and bowing to the Angel respectfully, making his way along and then where he appeared in the realm of Light, he would open another gate onto a port near Sambar , Lantan. He would quietly make his way to the harbourmaster's office, finding a human amongst the people waiting outside there who seemed to recognize the Gnomish Magician.

"Is that you, Tuomas?" the man, this time a human, who seemed to be watched carefully by Gnomes but thus far unhindered otherwise.

"It is. You crew with my Uncle, do you not?" Tuomas asked of the man.

"Of course he does, Tuomas. " a voice spoke from behind the Gnomish Magician. Tuomas turned and regarded the Gnome who addressed him, a Black haired Gnome with a neat but long beard, and ice blue eyes with a mariner's hat.

"Uncle Aloysious. It's.. been a long time." Tuomas replied to the man and walked up, offering a hand. Aloysious shaked his hand with a grin and then hugged the smaller Gnome, Aloysious being a much larger Gnome and quite sea-experienced. He then lead Tuomas off towards a launch where two more Gnomes would wait, the human who Tuomas initially was approached by following.
"Come on , lad.. I'll take ye to the Sea Badger." Aloysious said, and with the two other Gnomes and human brought Tuomas to the bay where many a ship were awaiting. Tuomas himself was quiet as he leaned on the ship, Tuomas would stroke his beard and close his eyes. Aloysious would look to him.

~.. This isn't the same lad that left for Waterdeep so many years ago to study the Art of magic... Something's different.. his body's scarred as bad as many of my men, worse even... his spirit... mmh.. ~ Aloysious mused to himself as they docked on Aloysious' ship, Aloysious bringing Tuomas to the Captain's quarters.

"So.. Tuomas, how'd you end up so badly burnt?" Aloysious asked, motioning to the burns. "And limping for tha' matter."

".. The full story would take more time to tell then I have. I promised I would be back in an hour, and I have to hold to that promise. Suffice it to say.. a lot has changed in my life." Tuomas would explain, motioning to his tattoos. Aloysious noted them and quirked his brow.

"Peace, love and Tranquility?" Aloysious asked, quirking his brow. Tuomas in turn quirked his brow as Aloysious had recognized the tattoo's language. "Don't be surprised, lad.. I have seen my share of strangeness. Knowin' many a language serves a mariner well. Especially, when you go further afield."

"Fair enough.. and.. yes. They are symbolic of what I choose to fight for.. now more than ever. They also function as magical tattoos to ensure that I myself do not kill." Tuomas had replied simply, pausing before he continued. "They are also a symbolic commitment to the Virtues to which I have sworn. Tuomas had replied, chuckling a bit afterwards. "Amia has.. changed me...Uncle. And I hope for the better."

"Well.. if you're fightin' for what yu believe in, there's nothing more you can be asked to do. Even if y'are a crazy finger wiggler." Aloysious said, slapping his nephew on the shoulder, laughing a bit.

The two would spend the hour as Tuomas explained what he could of his tale before having to on the hour's mark politely end their discussion.

"I have to go now, Uncle. I have a job to do.. and friends who'll need me." Tuomas explained simply. Aloysious nodded simply and patted him on the shoulder, rising.

"Whatever it is, lad. Bring some class into it and give the blaggards who turned you to a fightin' Gnome hell, eh?" Aloysious would say simply, patting Tuomas on the shoulder once more and shaking his hand. "Come back sometime when you can spare more time and tell me of it eh?" Aloysious asked. Tuomas nodded simply and smiled a bit to Aloysious , who'd reply in kind before Tuomas would weave a spell of Greater Teleportation to take him back to Cordor. Aloysious would then sit heavily in his chair, perhaps a bit surprised.

"Figured he'd had it in him." Aloysious said, with a chuckle as he noticed something left on the chair where Tuomas departed from. Checking it, it had the jingle of coins, and a quick count seemed to suggest it was two hundred gold pieces in value. A loud laugh let loose from the Captain's quarters, waking up some of the crew of the ship as Aloysious could only laugh in disbelief.

In Tarkuul, the recent trials have seen the upper echelons of the living guard enter a frenzy of activity. As the men in the streets of Cordor are prepared for war, the Living City itself sees a different kind of action. The High Captain and one of his Centurions for two days are seen to be engaged in strange activities. The grinding of bones and gems, the rendering of tar-black inks, and odd trips to different planes of reality. The last trip however seemed to have ended in disaster. The High Captain stepping out of the portal, followed by his Centurion who would near instantly collapse upon the flagstones of the castle, unable to stand under her own weight.

Time was ticking ahead, and now one of Tarkuul's knights would lay unmoving and bedridden. The question would be how doomed the venture had been?

A cart and oxen drawn by a group of dwarven guards, a red bearded dwarven councillor arrives on Amia via the portal in Kohlingen. It checks its cargo with the Silver Dragons on watch and proceeds out of the west gate and follows the road south to cross the island towards Cordor. The cart's escort watch the road wearily for any dangers ahead. If arriving safely in Cordor, the cart trundles through the wrecked city to come to a stop in the southern quarter. Creates containing pairs of smooth stone shells, with matching adamantine mounting brackets are unloaded in the garrison. There would be over two hundred of these shells if a count was made. A single chest is also included which contains around one hundred pounds of lead forge bars. Instructions are given to inform Corinn Aldain of the delivery and a small crudely drawn map is asked to be given to Andrew Fryar...

...Meanwhile in the dwarven hold of Barak Runedar on the snowy isle of Brogendentien, the stout folk are busy working stone to carve more of these shells, much cruder in fashion, valuing speed over quality and forging simple brackets of iron instead to mount them together.

Word was spread, from the Great Hall down to the lowest tunnels, the High Councilor wished to address as many of his Barak Runedar kin, that could make it to hear his words. He stood upon the raised dais in the Feast Hall as the chamber quickly filled. Tightly packed with dwarven efficiency, all eyes were upon their well kempt and shining head of state when he jumped atop the long stone table on the dais. Stern faced and with a clear deep booming voice he addressed the gathered.

"As you well know we've been preparing for conflict of immense scale, against the dishonorable acts of Colin Reyes to subvert the Gods and place himself amongst them. Against his corrupt followers and practitioners of his vile blood magics. Against the whole of the Amnish invasion forces, against those of weak mind, weak will, and perhaps weaker faith, who fail to oppose his designs. We've fought this enemy from the Spine of the World, out over the Trackless Sea, to our lands, our Isles, our homes.

It has been said the sun will nay cycle twice more before we learn the outcome of our defiance. Their numbers still far exceed those of the combined Alliance, despite our best efforts. Reyes's followers still control the ability to perform the unholy and mysterious ways of blood magic, despite our best efforts. Colin himself yet continues to be able to bend and wield time to his whims and desires, despite our best efforts.

On the Sea we dealt painful blows upon the enemy, though our cost was steep and bitter, sixty five thousand enemies would nay make land against us. In Cordor, our kin, our allies, our friends, even some of our enemies, stood against the fiendish and savage hordes of Amn and Reyes. They refused to bend knee, refused to turn a blind eye to what's surely coming, they stood to deny a dishonorable man, a tyrant, insanity gripping his mind, and evil imprisoning his heart who seeks to destroy everything as we know it. He seeks to cast aside the struggle and temperance of our ancestors, the toil and industry of our kin, he seeks to tear down the world in which dwarves built and replace it with his skewed and maniacal vision of his future. His, cause Colin Reyes cares not about anyone but himself.

We spent months building siege weaponry for the goodly folks of the isles. Our kin and leaders have taken part in training and drills of militiamen, of commoners, of young and old able to stand and swing a weapon at those who to wish to end us. Far to many have given their lives in defense of tyranny and oppression, still many more will perish and pay that pinnacle of sacrifices. If we do nay stand together, if we do nay take that field, if we do nay hold, if we do nay achieve victory no matter the terrible cost, we will all pay the dire consequences of failure. Each of you , my kin, my brother and sisters, how I admire your temperance and resolve. How my chest swells at our accomplishments and deeds. Your honor and valor inspires me daily to serve you the best I can.

So how do we defeat a foe you can't contain, you can't out maneuver, hell you can't even touch the bastard. How!??? I am here to tell you this very day. We'll turn away this foe like the others we've stood against and did nay bend knee. With faith! We stood against the Sea Bitch when she threw her minions and demands upon dwarves! We told her to get lost, for dwarves serve the Mordinsamman, and only the Mordinsamman! We defy Auril and her cold hearted ways, for we are dwarves , we serve the Mordinsamman, and only the Mordinsamman! We stood together against the vast numbers of demon tainted warlocks, orc, orgrillion, giants, barbarians, the demonspawn of the Winter War. The losses cut us and our allies deeply, but we did nay bend the knee!

This arrogant, selfish, egotistical, ignorant, human with grand delusions on a scale I have yet to see in any one person, this man, seeks to outwit not only us, but he seeks to cajole our gods!! He is supreme in his confidence, and I must admit, he's accomplished shite no one has ever accomplished. If he were a goodly man, countless, the lives and suffering he could have saved. But he is tainted and evil, no damn good will ever come from Colin Reyes, unless ye are Colin Reyes. He wishes to become a god! And he's but a gnat's eyelash away from achieving his goal. We mustn't stop, must not pause, we cannot allow him the opportunity to complete his goal! How??? With dwarven blood and the Mordinsamman in our hearts!

We must begin the vigil! A rotation from your duties and family must be spent in fervent prayer! Fill the Mordinsamman's ears with our tale! Tell them what we face! Speak to them of our valor in the face of overwhelming odds! For it is how they would have us! Make request for the honorable fallen to be welcomed into their halls, for they have earned that place! Warn them, a human, a manipulator of time and blood, a vile and honorless dog seeks to usurp them! For he will nay stop!! If he is allowed to ascend and tastes the true power of a godly being, he will still nay be satisfied! He will want to be the ONLY God!!!

Every citizen, every kin visitor, every dwarf, dwarfess, dwarfling, infirmed, and wounded give your hearts and prayers to the Mordinsamman. We have two days for our words to reach them, to warn them, to tell them Colin Reyes holds no love nor respect for them. That they are in danger! Then.... then my friends... two days hence... pick up your axes and hammers! Worry not! With faith in our gods, we will lay down our lives to save theirs! Dwarves will nay bend the knee, nor will the dwarven gods! Our lives for the honor, and glory, of the Mordinsamman!!"

Thunderous cheers reverberated throughout the sturdy dwarven complex and out into the night air. Dwarves, already a staunch and religous lot, have had their simmering embers blasted with the High Councilor's blustery winds. Their fires stoaked and aflame, Reddok led the procession to the Hall of Kings to begin the vigil. A steady rotation of zealous dwarves flowed through the hall and the silent shrine below. As always, ready to step forth and show their honor, their valor, intent on reaching their gods, the dwarven vigil continues...

In one hut in the grove,... a kobold rested from recent ordeals, his mind still going through the events of the attack on the cape, and subsequent defense of Cordor...

He'd seen death before, and on a large scale, it never fazed him the way it did now. The Caraigh wars came to mind, defending the people against swarms of undead, demons, and cultists, the moments where he had hunted their members and felled them, where he relished the hunt, predator and prey...

But now, he seemed disturbed and troubled, the thought of facing his mortality ever present on his mind, the high possibility that he could not return from the battle to come, as so many others had entered the battle and did not return. It didn't seem like a victory, just a slaughter.

How many grieving widows and children are there out there? Forced to live without their loved one who could have instead taken them and fled...?

He looked to the other kobolds resting in the hut, gravely concerned...

What will you do if I don't come back?

It nearly happened once, he was alive by a stroke of luck and knew it.

I wish I could promise that I will return, but I do not know if I can make that truthfully... I know the odds, I knew them in every battle, that I'm even alive to keep fighting now, I've been throwing myself into fate's hands and got lucky, but I'm not just risking myself, I'm risking you all, you'd be devastated without me..., forever doomed to live without your mate or father... should I just take you all and run? Find a secluded place where no one can find us and live in the wilds? In peace?...

Lulu... I hope I make the right decision, please forgive me if I make the wrong one and don't come back, I want there to be a world for you to live in peace and happiness, even if I have to kill as many armies as there are in the world, but I'm risking so much every time I do...

If this is our last moment together,..

He had to work hard to stifle sobbing to her, the decision that would come ticking soon ever present on his restless mind...

After an incredibly poor showing often doing far more harm than good when he was able to get close enough to participate at all, the New Moon keeps his distance from Cordor. Any who visit Guldorand or the Crouching Lemur may see him there, but he actively gives a wide berth to the defenders of Cordor and its people.

Early this morning the Fortress of Wiltun was a veritable blur of activity and movement. Sixteen war ships took their turns at the fortress docks. Supplies, men and weaponry were loaded onto each and every vessel. Tethered and secured, the ships would make way for the next. Once the task had been completed, these sixteen vessels were amassed in the open water and soon joined in formation by twenty-seven miraculously unmanned, self-sailing vessels. In unison, under the adept hands and directions of Wiltun marines, they turned their heading towards the intended course.

Sixteen ships unfurled the black raven of Wiltun upon their sails, and a fleet of forty-three craft made good on their South-Westerly heading.

Bobo_Underhill wrote:

Several announcements are left around Cordor .

Dear Amians,

We stand near the climax that years of corruption and evil have brought us to. An Amnian fleet sits in blockade around our waters. Reyes floats high above us, confident of his victory and a victory for the Arcanum. And why not? His machinations have already brought much of the world under the influence of the Arcanum (Amn, Halruaa) or crushed it under sheer military might (Cormyr). However, Amia has stood firm in its opposition to the enemy. We have delivered them a major naval defeat and successfully turned them away when they came at our gates, multiple times on multiple fronts. Many of us have lost homes and loved ones in the fighting. Many of us have given everything to the defense of the city. It has all built up to now. Even now as we recover and mourn our dead, a storm looms high above us, preparing for his ascent and assault against the gods themselves.

But again, I must reiterate, we have stood firm! It has not been just the men and women of Cordor - East, South, West, Central and North- , but the Quessir of Winya Ravana, the Eilistraeens of the Shrine, the dwarves of Barak Runedar, the marines of Wiltun, the Silver Dragons of Kohlingen, the Living Guard of Tarkuul, the hin of Bendir Dale, the citizens of Wharftown and countless adventurers who call no nation-state home. We have all bled together as Amians. Victory may be hard to see, but it is achievable as long as we all work together for a purpose greater than ourselves or our nations. Let us not forget the threat that our true enemy, the Arcanum, poses. Should Reyes succeed, that will be the end, beyond any ability of recovery. It is not just Amia we fight for. This world, and every world, rests on our shoulders. I have no doubts about our victory, however. I've seen Westerners fighting alongside Southies, humans granting asylum to tieflings, elves calling drow cousin and so on. And I have seen the radiance of Lathander with my own eyes. Our gods shine just as brightly and they are on our side against the coming tide of darkness.

Soon, we shall throw down those godless bastards and make them answer for every innocent slain at their hands and every injustice they have wrought. They will know the strength of the Amian people. And we will survive to fight yet another day. I have had the privilege of leading my countrymen into battle multiple times now. I beseech you as one Amian to another - trust in your gods and trust in me when I say we will overcome and save this world.

-Andrew Fryar

The sudden stillness caused by one timestop.. it was all he needed. Unbound by the spells effects, as those around him froze, he leapt forward. The tip of his blade pierced the back of a Magus, followed soon after by a veritable rain of steel from the encircling mob of elite warriors..

Reyes was dead... It was finished.

Ren worked with the many others to break down Reyes. The battle was hard pressed and his duel wielding left him vulnerable at time. But despite the hits, despite the spells he came with a furry of the people he had built up for so long. This was his time to shine, what he had trained for to fight for his kin, to bleed for them so that they may live to see tomorrow.

That alone was the fire in his belly. Flurry after flurry he struck with the others but then it came when Reyes was beat down. That one solid moment needed. Drinking a single potion to help with his flurry Ren drove his swords at Reyes so much so the man had to turn to focus on him. That was all that was needed as the Magus reached for the elf and those near him fighting. Two blades struck deep into his side as Lord Avadon drove the blade him and Aiseth had right into his back and through. Others blades followed but that split second would be what the ranger would remember.

Exhausted from the fight he checked on his kin and the allied force after. Though a odd thing came of the impersonal elf that so many knew to have a bad attitude. He gave the human leaders a hug, the lords and ladies and even the gnome and drow. A bond perhaps was made that day beyond others. Either way it was a hard day for all.

The following is Sent via Sending to the Alliance Garrisons in Wharftown, Bendir Dale and Cordor, by Tuomas Valo

~.. Orders from Lord Marshall, Return home.. mission accomplished. Criminal known as Reyes has been dealt with. ~

Emotionless and unsettling voice cracked the silence of Castle Tarkuul.

"This is not the last time we hear of Collin Reyes. Whatever was done
to him, it was Centurion Asya who did it. I shall return to my research
now. Knowledge and Power."

Heavy panting as she stumbled down the streets of the stratus village following in the trail of the teleporting magician. Magic missiles fanned across the sky hitting various fighters, one of them forcing into her knee, causing her to fall and she caught with her hands. She kept an eye for Avadon who was moving toward Reyes, "Let him through" shouted an elf. Going through what was left of her memory, she cast a final Time Stop, giving the broken knight movement detached from the stream of the present, and with the blink of an eye, a blade went through the dark magician Reyes' back and through his front with a twist. He fell from Avadon's sword and more blades stuck into him from various ends. The war was almost over.

Last edited by VKB on Sat, Oct 18 2014, 12:29 PM, edited 5 times in total.

Triel'ithra Zau'ana, exhausted, battered and wounded from the battle, left the city of Cordor. The events of the final battle with Collin Reyes occupied her mind, even as she marched across the length of the island to make her way home, preferring the silence of her thoughts and the quiet of the island to the rattling of carts and the grunts of oxen.

By the time she finally reached the Shrine of Eilistraee, night had fallen, the stars bright to her eyes in the darkened sky. She passed the refugees by as they rested, sleeping or huddling together by their campfires, without so much as a word or a glance. There was a certain purpose to her stride, and as she approached the interior, her fatigue seemed to vanish.

Not more than ten minutes later, she marched out, freshly bathed, clad merely in black-and-white robes bearing her family's filigreed, crescent moon symbol, and ascended the hill. She lifted her scabbard, flung the robe off and let the silken garment fall to the grass, leaving her completely nude. She drew her sword, and stood in the middle of the Mooncircle, her eyes drawn to the full moon illuminating the night sky.

The young Drowess's sword was cleaned, humming with Eilistraeean prayers, but it rested at her naked thigh idly, Triel's eyes fixated upon the moon.

An unvoiced thought. A supplication almost crossing her lips. The war is over. The thought struck her chest like a mallet, and her legs threatened to give out. The Shrine is safe. Collin Reyes is no more. She felt her eyes becoming wet. Before tears could fall, she blinked them away, yet her stoic expression relaxed. For the first time in years - no, decades - outside of Irr'afae's arms...she felt at peace. Perhaps even longer than that, further than even she could remember. She lifted her sword, held the gleaming, silvery blade in front of her, mutely admiring how its fine steel reflected the light of the full moon, bowed her head and kissed the flat of it.

And then she began to dance.

Triel was not a dancer by trade; her legs were more often than not covered in adamantine and leather, steadied and trained for the chaos of battle rather than the movements of a performer, and yet it was as though her faith in the goddess Eilistraee had granted her a second wind, and divine inspiration. Her every motion was like poetry, surrendering to her body's desires as she swayed, spun and gestured, as if possessed by the soul of a ballet dancer, weaving and swinging the singing sword in her hands, almost subconsciously remembering the cut and thrust of the battle with Collin Reyes. Every movement was performed from the heart and by instinct combined, choreographed to perfection as if by an invisible hand, each act an expression of heartfelt worship to the Dark Maiden - a thanksgiving for her guidance and promise, for Triel felt as though the Goddess had seen her and her comrades through.

Tears fell freely from the stoic warrior's eyes as she submitted to the emotions of the battle - of heart-stopping fear, of the sorrow of her friends falling, of never seeing Irr'afae or her home again, the cold terror of what she believed to be her promised fate, one worse than any death...and the joy and relief of victory that her fears would not come to pass. As her dance began in full, Triel began her Evensong. In all other instances, she would have performed it in private, but in that moment, she was without fear, without shame or restraint. The feeling was intoxicating - victory and life - and every fiber of her being demanded that she express it.

And so she did. The emotions of the day, of fear of the end, of courage in the face of such horror, of sorrow for the fallen and desperation against so great an enemy, of camaraderie renewned, final relief given and ultimate triumph, echoed across the Shrine grounds in a gentle, wordless and ethereal song - and its final notes ended on what could only be described as hope as the young Seneschal danced throughout the night, in heartfelt prayer to the Maiden.

After reporting to Kohlingen, Tuomas spent his time walking around the ruined sections of Cordor which he knew he could safely tred, specifically Cordor East, North and South as his eyes would cast down.

Eventually, the weary Magician-Knight would find his way to the Nomad, where he sat down at the fireplace, regardless of it's state of operation and mused

The allied forces met that fateful day. United under the heavy downpour of rain, the leaders of the alliance spoke their piece in turn. Many eyes glanced upon the floating portion of Cordor high above, as the speeches continued.

Those who would face Reyes directly met at an unlikely place. To the east, the thought-to-be-mad hermit and a mysterious magess opened passage for the allies.

It was then that the brave souls would finally face the mage who challenged gods. But not all was as it seemed. Reyes split the force, causing confusion and chaos. Half of the alliance found themselves immersed in a strange reality. They found themselves in Cordor's past, as it might have been. Reyes' "perfection."

The group battled through blood abominations, qaruts, Arcanum mages, and even shadows of each other until it was time to face the inevitable.

The warriors battled Reyes resistant as he was to their blows and spells. But still, little by little the group whittled him down as a team until he fell to the ground and faded into nothingness.

Diplomacy's Game Continues: Blood and Rebirth

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