Roleplay Kingdoms

Angus Heidman was a strange man. Believed to have been a nobleman from the city of Alferheim, no one truly knew much about him or why he organised the Grand Tournament. Perhaps he was man who enjoyed simple fun, but what happens naturally to a man who keeps his motives or his place of living secret, there were many rumours spreading around that he might have some sort of political agenda of his own. Heidman did nothing to deny it. The only time he ever came out to talk was around the time the Grand Tournament started once more.

This year, the area was built like a fortress. High wooden walls kept people from creeping on the the tourney area. The gates would open only when Heidman wills it. For now, the earlycommers could camp outside of walls. The Grasslands had enough space for it.

It was encouraged to camp together, as a unity. But truly now, there wouldn't be many who'd go as far as to actually do it. One of these nations who refused to camp together were the Vos Valkearians.

The Monsters were camped very closely to the walls and were there in a large number. Rumor has it one of the Triumvirate deigned this event worthy of coming outside of Vos Valkear's boarders. The flags of Vos Valkear were everywhere, and their tents made out of fur and hides were an easy signifier of who'm the tents belonged to. Monstrous guards were patrolling around the encampment constantly. It looked like a warcamp, to say the least.

In the midsts of the camps, a rather loud and roudy bunch were gathered around a campfire, some large beast's mangled corpse cooking over the campfire spicket. There were several wagons dressed up to caravan-like, their tops covered by stretches of fabric made to be a dome. Several forms about the fire, ranging from short to tall, thin to bulky, settled about the fire place.

A feline-like femme stood up and was talking to her others, when she lifted her drink up high, sloshing some of it into the fireplace. The fire shoots upward, loudly, as the other forms stepped back, the feline-like femme gasping as she jumped backward, her hands covering her face, "Aye aye! Settle down there flame!"

The fire slowly returns to normal, the beast's underside more cooked. A larger male sits up, his form leaving the log behind, as he places a hand upon the feline-femme's form, "Cyrille.." Cyrille looks up, her hands dropping from her face to smile widely, her left hand making a tightening motion near her headclamp, "Sorry Broak, it's a bit tight, aye?" She laughs, in short bursts, before her gaze drifts to the others gathered about.

There was the knight-like fellow, his squared helmet and armor sharing the same shade of brightness. He was sitting upon a stump, staring at the ground. Cyrille wasn't sure if he had a name, so she calls him Fella. Then there was the femme laying upon a pile of metal, both large and small. She had her hands behind her neck, her skin tatooed in red and blue ink. Her name was Nola Ita. Near the edge of the fire, a large crate sat.

The Terelain contingent came somewhat later than the other groups, setting up their camp on the outskirts of the rapidly-growing city of tents beyond the tournament fields. Circular tents of a thin, silken material were set up all of which were brightly coloured, outside of these tents were placed flags and banners of several of the Greater and Lesser Houses of the Kingdom. The material of the tents was rather strange, shimmering in the light and surprisingly difficult to cut considering that it was relatively thin.

Guards in shining scale-mail patrolled the outer edge of the camp, all of them had spears but each one seemed to carry an individual weapon as well - a khopesh, or a short sword or a Ssahat Claw Gauntlet. All of the guards bore the Tree and Crown of the Royal House upon their armour.

At the centre of the camp a large bonfire was lit and most of the inhabitants sat around it, talking or singing or eating. Many were Moralinri Blademasters here to test the mettle of the Younger Races and prove their own prowess on the field, others were Loremasters and bards from across Terel'Liren who would entertain with song and story and who would record the deeds done in the tournament, and still others were Magi of the Aunidiel who had come to prove the magical power and wisdom of Terel'Liren was still the pre-eminent in all the world.

The Crown Prince Nathaniel Tynian, Heir Designate of the Lion Throne, watched his people hard at work raising the camp, the magi laying down wards and spells along the camp's edge to warn of any approaching the boundary. He was wearing the scale-mail armour of a Moralinri warrior even though he was of the Taemiri as well as a bright, proud smile on his face, "This tournament was a grand idea. It will be good for us to show our faces here and mingle with the Younger Races. Father is worried that we may be becoming too isolated and aloof from the world."

Besides him Nariel Amaar, his closest friend and eldest daughter of Old Duke Arifel of Amra, smiled and leaned into him a little, mindless of the hard metal, "Our scouts have reported that there are a great many kingdoms represented here already. Even Vos Valkear has sent representatives. This will be a most interesting event. They say there is a race that look much like the Children of Faraclaw oat the other end of the camp, it would be interesting to see these beings."

Nathaniel tilted his head slightly, "Dragons? Surely if a Flight had come down from the north we would have heard long before now?"

She shook her head, "No, not true dragons N'eiala, they walk on two legs for one thing, and from what the scouts have said they do not seem to speak any of the known Draconic tongues. Perhaps they are a Younger Race descendant from them. I admit some curiosity in this."

A short Terelain female approached the both of them, her fur was silver in colour with patches of warm golden fur here and there, she was wearing a plain white dress and some bracelets and tail rings of polished stone and metal. A step behind her was a much larger Terelain male, his shoulders broad, his fur dark brown with black stripes and the tip of both his ears and tail were also black, he had high narrow cheek-bones and a rather predatory look about him. He was wearing leather armour and had a longsword strapped to his side, he also had armbands of silver on both his arms and a few tail rings of gold.

The female bowed low before the prince and his companion, her green eyes sparkling with excitement, "Your Highness, Your Grace, may I speak with you for a brief moment?" She asked in flowing High Terelain.

Nathaniel smiled and inclined his head, "Of course Ilendi-Scholar," he looked over at the male behind her, who bowed his head, "Euthyra. I have heard much of you, an honour."

"The honour is mine, Highness," the male replied respectfully.

"Your Highness, I would like permission to leave the camp and go out amongst the Flicker-Lives. This tournament is the largest gathering of races in one place in recent memory, I believe it is an invaluable opportunity for my studies. I will, of course, report back to you with anything of interest that I observe," The scholar said nervously, fidgeting with one of her bracelets.

"I see no harm in this, N'eiala," Nariel said softly, "Euthyra here is her own personal guard, in his hands I am sure she will be safe. There is much we can learn here," she turned her attention back to the scholar, "Tara, I would like you to go to the Osians first. I am rather curious about them, they appear to be Draconic in nature but very different from the Dragons of old. I would like or you to learn what you can of them. I will provide a Magus and a Blademaster if you require extra protection."

Tara smiled and bowed her head again, "Of course, Your Grace, I will gladly go too these Osians. I am rather curious about them myself... however I do not think extra protection is necessary. Euthyra is more than capable of protecting me."

"Her uncle would have my head if I allowed her to come to harm. Rest assured, Your Grace, I will keep her safe," the warrior said.

"Excellent, in that case you should go to these Osians as soon as you are ready, Ilendi-Scholar. We will both be waiting for your report eagerly," Nathaniel declared with a warm smile, "The Three Sisters illumine your path, honoured Scholar"

"And may they smile upon you, Highness, Your Grace," Tara replied with another bow as she withdrew.

The Vos Valkearians were very set on staying in their place, giving not even a hint as to whom might even be in their camp that's important. At least, not to Humans, Dwarves or Elves. Other races, except for Crater Dwellers, were allowed to walk among them if they so wished. Though none were allowed inside the big tent.

Inside the tent sat a very important figure of Vos Valkear. Leem the Wise was an elder harpy, though her looks didn't show it very much. She was old, but by no means a crone. Hear wings were large and protrayed many brown and white feathers. Her features were slender like that of a human, except for her feet, which were that of a bird, seemingly that of an eagle. The left side of her scalp was shaven bald with a razor, while the right side featured an impressive mane of hair that fell down the lower end of her shoulders, dyed green and black. In her hair was a tiara made out of a pure white stone. She sat on a make shift throne as she saw her commanding officers.

"I'll assume none of our own have attacked anyone?" Leem asked an impressive looking Gnoll, both broad and wide shouldered, wearing armor of Orcish descent and an impressive battleaxe."Not yet, My Lady. The evening isn't here yet, they'll get drunk soon enough. our guards are many, but not even they can contain them all." The Gnoll named Bharsh spoke in a high pitched voice. Leem nodded."I'll not have Vos Valkear's name get dragged through the mud the coming days. Keep security tight." The Gnoll nodded obediently, which made the Harpy Matriarch sigh. The days weren't even starting yet and already she was having stress keeping the name of Vos Valkear clear to the public."Anyone who refuses to play by my rules, knock them out. Kill them, if required. I'm sure it won't come to that, but keep the peace, whatever the cost." The Gnoll nodded once more and then she was dismissed.

Though the Vos Valkearians were by no means forced to stat in the encampment, most didn't feel like going out to meet the others. Perhaps some good mead could change that, but for now they seemed to figure they wouldn't be welcome. Well, except for a few.

One of them was a Bullywug, a tiny one with green skin and a rather derpy face. He stood about the size of a Halfling. This was clearly a Bullywug of the Frogman variety. He had hopped up to the Ahuachtli camp, wielding but simple clothing and a walking stick with a couple of trinkets on it. He didn't quite ask any questions. He was content to just look and watch at the strange Humans.

Meanwhile Archer had a bit of other trouble. A group of four drunk Hobgoblins walked around the wall, hoping to find a hole for them to peek through. But instead they came upon him, on top of that wall. A heavily armored Hobgoblin yelled at him."Hey! Fancypants!" He yelled."Get off o' there! Yer not playin' them games fair! Cheater!" A smaller, more feminine Hobgoblin picked up a rock."I'mma git 'im off ther', no issue!" She said as she aimed a rock for Archer with the intent on kocking his 'cheating' butt off of the wall. Perhaps this was misguided. The rules didn't state you couldn't look over the walls, after all.

Upon daylight hours, Cyrille stretches upward from her bedroll, underneath a haphazard tent. Her left hand scratches against her cheek, pushing a few locks of hair from her sight. Cyrille's half-open gaze drifts to the others in the campsite. They were awake, preparing for lunch, which was leftover beast.

Broak, and his sterling moustache, drifts towards the smaller, feline-femme, his large hand placing it upon her shoulder, "It's about time you woke up. We had thought your new headclamp squeezed what was left to bits." Cyrille blinks, once, before her eyebrows cross, "Hey!" Her tongue sticks outward, before Broak's glance drifts to the others, his throat releasing a light chuckle. Fella was outside his tent, his form covered in the white armor and helm. His right hand hovered over a crystal-like blade hilt, before drawing it and slashing outward. He sheaths the blade and repeats.

Nola Ita sat near the fire, her arms crossed beneath her. Her hands were open, resting upon her knees. Her eyes were closed and large towershields of different styles lifted themselves from the ground around her, held in the air.

Cyrille rubbed at her eyes, before she accepted Broak's large hand, and lifted herself to her feet. She glances to her left, and to the right, "There are a lot more tents out..." Then to Broak, "I'm not that hungry right now. I think I'll have a look around."

Cyrille's arms stretched upward, before falling to her sides, her boots carrying her form to the inside of her tent, her form settling upon her knees. Cyrille's hands dig about in her pack, before pulling a small steel sphere, between her finger and thumb.

Cyrille's thumb presses against it, before sliding upward, the small sphere suddenly sprouting six spidery legs and a round eye. Cyrille's hands move about the sphere, pressing against it, before setting it down. Her right hand places a coin upon it, before it zips out of her tent, stopping to look at the others around it, before zipping off towards the Vos Valkearian encampment.

Cyrille's right hand waves to the others, even when they do not look up, and her boots carry her form towards the Nishta encampment.

The Vos Valkearians were keeping to themselves for the most part, though some were of course wandering, and causing trouble as usual. The three Hobgoblins were surprised by Archer's sudden retort. One of them spat to the ground."Bloody git's armed 's well 's cheatin'. You's better watch yer back, pretty boy! Back on the ground y'ain't goin' ta be that safe." She threatened him before beckoning the group to follow her along. It was about time they got back to camp.

Meanwhile, the curious Frogman was just curiously looking at the people. The woman's sensual advances seemed to do nothing to the little guy."You talk funny." The Frogman said in a high pitched tone. Looks like Requilla was dealing with a youngster, probably just got out of his tadpole stage of life. He spoke with a heavy accent, though. Most Bullywug only spoke Abyssal, so the fact he spoke Common at all was a small miracle."I Fosfot. I here to look at Humans not from City. City Humans bad. Wanted to see if Jungle Humans bad too. Are you bad? You no look bad." He asked, curiously.

The sudden appearance of the Roc caused the Vos Valkearians to grab their weaponry and look at the threat, as well as its strange package. It even caused Leem to come out of her tent and spread her wings threateningly as she drew her thin bladed and elegant looking longsword. But the Roc didn't attack. It just dropped... Kobolds?

The Vos Valkearians did not react well to the cluster of Kobolds landing in their camp! As soon as it seemed like the little creatures were alive, the monsters started attacking them, beating and kicking them mercilessly until they either passed out or straight up died. Not all, though. Some lucky ones might have gotten away, but the unlucky ones were shown no mercy to the monstrous brutality of Vos Valkear.

Leem had to step in."Enough!" She yelled at the monsters attacking the little creatures."Do you wish to be removed from this place before the tournament even starts? Try using your tiny brains for once you oafs! How am I supposed to to keep outsiders from hating us when you react this way?!" She was furious at her people, and when she got angry, she got scary, like a hag before she was about to curse a poor youngster. It was enough to get the monsters to stop acting savagely upon the Kobolds.

The tiny spider had gone unnoticed for a while because of this. However, one stray Goblin spotted it, and quickly picked up the coin, looking at it curiously and ignoring the spider.

As the scholar Tara Ilendi left the Terelain encampment and made her way towards the tents of the Osians she talked excitedly and animatedly to her companion in Low Terelain, her words so quick that even those amongst the other races familiar with the song-like language would have trouble understanding her, "It would be fascinating if these dragon-creatures really were mutated descendants of the Great Dragons of old. I wonder if that would mean they were bound by the Ancient Pact too? Or perhaps their blood is too different now to be bound by the old magics... but even if they aren't maybe they could shed some light on draconic culture. Gods know it's been hard enough getting a good sample of dragons to study lately, do you think their language might be very Draconic? I'm a little rusty... oh well hopefully they know a little common and I can come up with a working translation or pidgin..."

Her companion stayed silent, a slight exasperated smile on his lips, "Perhaps so, Tara," he replied, knowing full well that she was impossible to deter when she was in one of her moods, "Though perhaps you should refrain from such speculation until we get more information on these strangers?"

Euthyra's ear twitched and he took a step to the right, barely reacting as a kobold fell screaming from the sky to land with a sickening crunch on the hard ground, the old warrior looked down at the mangled corpse with mild curiosity, "I haven't seen kobolds falling out of the sky since the Very Weird Summer of '732," he looked up and spotted the rather massive bird and the kobolds falling off of it like particularly large and unpleasant fleas, "Since when did kobolds fly on Rocs? Come to think of it, I've not seen a Roc in this region for centuries now."

Tara was staring at the corpse, looking a little green, "Oh my gods... wh-what is... I think I'm going to be sick."

Euthyra snorted, "Come now Scholar, that's hardly behaviour worthy of-"

Tara looked away from the corpse and retched a little. Her companion sighed, "Stupid little things... what are they even doing here? Surely they don't mean to enter the tournament?" He frowned again, "come now Tara, we should go to these Osians, see what we can find out maybe they'll have something to settle your stomach."

Tara straightened, though she still looked unwell, "Then let's hurry. I don't want to stand around here in case another one drops in on us," she hurried her steps and Euthyra followed quickly after her, it wouldn't be long before they reached the camp of the Osians.

"Hail the camp!" Euthyra called in accented Common, "I hope you lot are accepting visitors!"

Tara sighed, "Couldn't we at least have made a dignified entrance?" She asked softly in Low Terelain.

"Since when have I been dignified?" He replied with a smirk.

The spider's small eye looks the goblin's form up and down, its metallic legs scuttling away from the creature's grasp. After having darted from its grasp for a few seconds, the spider scuttles away and its small eye looks to the left and to the right, examining the large and small beasts of the Vos Valkear campsite. Its form would scuttle underneath and into tents and on top of settled objects, its eye snapping towards each passerby.

Cyrille's right hand lifted upwards, adjusting her headclamp, then her goggles, then the oddly shaped backpack on her back. Cyrrile's boots slow to a stop, as she lifts a hand upwards in a greeting, "Hey there. Say, you're really pale. Get out much?" Cyrille's form tilts to the right, her gaze drifting past the male, as her right feline-like ear flops over, "Did you come out that cave?"