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Post by Alpha Pancake on Nov 1, 2009 15:15:49 GMT -6
A hundred years ago, a war began between Heaven and Hell, a battle touched off by what the demons felt was an unfair distribution of power between themselves and their Heavenly counterparts. This war, while it was fought very strictly between gods and demons, took place on a battlefield unfortunate to find itself the only ground between the two warring factions: Earth. Gods and demons alike perished fighting against one another, until finally, both sides knew that neither could win. A treaty was formed, distributing rule over Earth much more equally between Heaven and Hell. It was also agreed that to prevent further conflict, all of Hell would not be held accountable for the actions of one of its residents, but instead, that resident would stand alone under scrutiny for their actions, and likewise with Heaven. With these precautions in place, both sides settled back into an uneasy peace.
But a new conflict has arisen, this one caused solely by the residents of a scared and shaking Earth. The year is AD 1300. Ten years ago, an agreement forged by the British and the Scottish to unify their lands fell into ruin with the death of the Scottish heir, eight year old Margaret, "the Maid of Norway." The series of events that followed lead up to a war which began in the year AD 1296 with an English invasion of Scottish lands. They have campaigned against each other for several years, and now the conflict has reared its ugly head yet again, this time in an English invasion of the Scottish lands. This conflict, very much like the one they've just resolved, seems to have drawn the interest of gods and demons alike. Now Heaven and Hell are astir again, chomping at the bit for an entirely different cause.
Heaven
Silence.
Above all, what the Heavenly Rulers needed was silence, or at least control of the noise they were faced with. The older of the two sisters (or at least she liked to think she was older, something her sister had never argued except when it was important) was especially fond of silence, so when they had arrived and the war between Heaven and Hell had ceased, she had been more than happy; she'd been ecstatic. Still, her sister's words rang sharply through her head, more than a little unsettling to an already weary mind.
We're going to have to fix everything, piece by precious piece.
The argument had gone on for several hours with no real victor. After all, both sisters knew who was right, and that made it much more difficult to argue properly. Shira rested her head against her arms, gazing into the little pools of light that collected on the stark-white heavenly floors. It was bad enough to hear Calyen's voice echoing inside her head, reminding her of the point the younger sister had been trying to make. It was even worse to know that she was completely correct.
There was something surprisingly hostile about the space near the Heavenly Rulers' rooms, something Kyren dared not tempt for himself. Peeking down Heaven's spacious, accommodating halls, he could see the frame of the newly-erected doors shudder, the attentions of those willing its existence diverted farther than perhaps they should have been. Ever the morbid individual, he wondered if they would forget the existence of something even more important in a future argument.
He wondered what it might be when the time came, running over a lengthy list of things that ought not be forgotten. Finally, satisfied that he had explored every venue, Kyren stuck his fingers in his pockets and fled, nervously clutching the cloudy glass sphere in his pocket.
Earth*
Hell*
*To be continued at some later date when I don't have a 5 page history paper and 1000 more words of NaNo hovering over my shoulders! If you want to go ahead and write for either of these two areas, however, that is fine, feel free, you win, I love you, have a cookie, kthnxbai
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Post by Parabola on Nov 6, 2009 18:43:12 GMT -6
Moiraine Damodred stood by the throne of Edward I, waiting for a signal from him to step forwards as he discussed with his military advisor about the current situation in the war against the Scots.
"But my Lord, surely it would be wiser to aim for this area, where the scottish forces are weaker, as opposed to striking right where they expect us to?" the tall man asked, fingering his mustache.
The King chuckled "Ahh, who says I intended to send everyone to that location. I intend for a distracting force of no more than ten thousand men to engage the scots in a skirmish, using hit and run tactics to keep casualties to a minimum." he said, sliding a marker on the map table "Then, while the enemy is focused on that assault, another force will enter via this pass" he moved another force towards the weaker area "This force will be like none the enemy has ever encountered, for heading it will be none other than Moiraine herself." he said, and Moiraine suppressed a gasp, stepping forwards
"M..my Lord? You wish for me to lead?" she asked, shocked.
"Indeed Moiraine, I hope this does not present too much of a problem, I thought that as I had a magic wielder in my service it would be wasteful were I not to employ your skills on the battlefield. Do not fear, you will be kept from the front lines, I trust you can work as well from a distance?" he asked.
Moiraine nodded reluctantly "I can my King, but I am inexperienced as to using my powers in battle... perhaps it woul..." she began, but the King cut her off with a gesture
"Nonsense! Experience has to start somewhere! The scots will never be expecting it, and you need not direct the battle yourself, I will send my best general as well." he said.
Moiraine nodded resignedly "It will be as you say, my King." she said, and the man went back to planning with his military advisor.
That was how, weeks from then, Moiraine rode her white mare, Spirit, an army riding before her. Her own retinue rode around her, made up of two other magic wielders besides her, both women, and eight armed men. One of the others, Cadsuane, a forceful woman with little temper for nonsense, rode up next to her, radiating disapproval.
"It is most unwise of you to do this, my lady." she said, frowning at her.
Moiraine sighed "I know Cadsuane, I know. But what choice do I have? A direct order from the king is a direct order from the king, mage or no mage." she said, and the other woman sniffed, turning away and returning to her position. The other, a gentle woman named Alanna, was next to approach her, sighing lightly.
"I must say, I am not looking forwards to using my power to kill." she said - she was an earth mage, with the power to topple a mountain, yet she wouldn't consider using that power to fight had she not been ordered to.
Moiraine placed a comforting hand on her shoulder "None of us are Alanna, but we must endure, for the good of the order and our country, we must endure." she said, and the woman also returned to her position, satisfied. Moiraine wished her fears and doubts could be as easily quelled, yet she feared it would not be so. Was this her destiny? To strike down men from afar with almost Godly powers, dead before they knew what was happening? If it was so, Destiny was a crueler mistress than the faith dictated...
The Countess Ailil Cairhien rode several ranks behind the women, her dark eyes staring directly ahead. The Countess' mounted retinue rode a few paces behind her, all knowing better than to interrupt her silent thought, for she had a short tether with those who did. Behind them, the infantry soldiers of Cairhien marched in an orderly column, led by banner men and captains, pristine in their gleaming armor, and followed by the equally resplendent cavalry.
Adjusting her specially divided riding dress, the midnight blue silk embroidered with Cairhien's stars and moon, Ailil thought on the coming battle. The mages riding ahead would make the battle much more interesting, though the Countess could not help think it was somewhat dishonourable of the king. Magic at its best would give them a great advantage, and most likely make the battle more of a slaughter.
"Victory is victory, Countess, is it not?"
The melodious voice of Ailil's personal maid broke into Ailil's thoughts in the way it often did, the woman knowing Ailil well enough to be able to tell what she was thinking of, and rarely wrong.
"It is, Thera, you are right. These barbaric scotsmen do not deserve our mercy. Please, though - leave me to my thoughts. If I am to command this battle, I must think upon how to use these mages well." Ailil replied, smiling to her maid to show she appreciated the gesture.
The maid inclined her head "As you say, my lady." she replied, pulling her horse back a few meters. 'Thera' or 'Amathera Wynneval' gazed upon the countess from there, a subtle smile growing on her lips. Smirking, the Demoness Tuon adjusted her own riding skirts and subtly moved her horse away, directing it in the direction of where the mages rode. She had much to do, if this conflict were to turn out how she intended it.
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Post by Alpha Pancake on Nov 30, 2009 15:23:22 GMT -6
It was a strange package, the likes of which the courier had never had to deliver before. Wrapped in brown paper and tied off with a scant amount of twine, it was oddly shapped and even more odd to the rest of his senses; something about the suspiciously warm feel of the paper beneath his fingers made the poor boy nervous to even hold the thing in his hands. Even the name scrawled menacingly across the paper covering, instructing him as to whom the parcel was supposed to be delivered to, seemed odd, as though it was out of place somehow. To Be Delivered To One Marcus H. Crowley, his lord knight's delicate scripting instructed him, the careful regard with which it had obviously been written seeming more than a little out of place.
As two of His Majesty's favored knights nad warlords, Sir Richard and his father Sir Edgar Burnell had been called to serve His Majesty's cause as soon as the first indications of war had reached his court. The boy himself, a young squire in the service of the junior Burnell, had accompanied them at the beginning of their campaign. But the elder knight, Sir Edgar, had been struck with a mysterious illness several days into their endeavor, and it had quickly claimed his life. His grieving son had had hastily thrown together the mysterious package and given it to his pageboy, with terse directions and the cryptic warning, "Beware of monsters." Recognizing that his young lord was deeply troubled by the death of his father, the boy had simply done as he was told, fleeing back the way that they'd came, back towards civilization.
To the best of his knowledge, there had never been a house in the spot where Sir Richard had directed him to, but it stood before him, ghostly in its unfamiliarity. It wasn't far from his own home, an area he should have known well, but Sir Richard's directions had been clear and concise, and here he was, standing before an alien doorstep to a house that did not look as though it belonged in this world. He had ever right to be nervous.
He might have had even more of a right to be nervous if he'd been privy to the contents of the strange, uncooling package, seemingly untouched by the cool springtime breeze. Inside, carefully kept from rotting by a simple infernal order, lay several sizable field mice, arranged very much in the fashion of a bouquet. Upon closer examination, the boy would have found glass rods inserted into the unlucky rodents' tails, and a stiffly folded note that read as follows:
I meece you. You should come and visit me. I've found some trouble that could use a bit of tending; it'll be fun. Just make sure you pick out some nice little victim on your way, and make it look like a bite. Hate to have my little charade ruined, you know.
Do whatever you want with the boy. I don't have any other use for him.
See you soon?
Salem
The scripting on the note was much less delicate than the addressing on the package. In fact, it could hardly be called scripting at all.
~*~*~*~*~
So far, Salem had found his place in Sir Richard's stead to be peaceful and pleasant, something he could hardly bare; wartimes were not meant to be so quiet, but it seemed that nothing had really touched off just yet. The army's march from the center of their country to the borderlands was a long, harsh one, but the king's forces were just as happy to serve him, it seemed, as they might have been to serve God himself. The poor slobs, the demon couldn't help but pity them, trying to make a difference in their little world and playing right into the hands of any demon with a mind to play games.
Sir Richard was a trustworthy member of His Majesty's court, but thankfully, he was reserved enough that he had spent the majority of his life in the countryside. It would be difficult for anyone to spot that Salem was a wolf in sheep's clothing, if not impossible. That only left the job of moving in on his target, a young mage who seemed to be reluctant to do her duty. She was doubtful, it looked like, of the moral outcome of the battle—the perfect cantidate for a bit of fun.
Marcus would have to join him swiftly, or else miss out on all the fun to be had. That would be unfortunate, wouldn't it?
~*~*~*~*~
One of the Lords of Hell shifted uncomfortably, flicking his eyes from one side of the room to the other. "Well?" the Black Lady asked, raising one eyebrow to show that she was less than impressed. It had been ages since she'd been treated in such a manner, called to the home of the Lords of Hell to discuss whatever matter it was that they had on their mind. Why, it was almost insulting, the way they'd dressed up in their full regalia, black armor gleaming in what little red light leaked through the windows of their bastion. Viriia thought that they could do with a little lighting, and perhaps curtains to make the cold, unassuming windows seem a little less like a contrived attempt at menacing design.
But what could the Black Lady possibly know of these matters, anyway?
She crossed her arms and waited for them to speak, more than privy to the nervous set of their jaws and the uncomfortable twitches sweeping through the whole of the room. "I'm waiting, My Lords," she reminded them, her voice dripping with impatience and sarcastic respect.
A nervous cough went round the table. Someone, somewhere, was going to catch hell, pun not intended, for how very, very bad an idea this had been.
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Post by Parabola on Dec 13, 2009 8:26:54 GMT -6
Moiraine shuddered as the enemy came into sight, though their approach had been unexpected it was impossible for an army of the size theirs was to penetrate this far into enemy territory without notice, and the enemy had formed up to meet them in the pass. Riding far back from the front lines, Moiraine could not imagine the fear in the men at the front, given hers was so strong. But then, they had likely faced this before, and knew what to expect. Though along the journey Ailil had attempted to explain some things about battles to her she was still relatively ignorant, and of course what she knew was only theory.
Countess Ailil rode up alongside Moiraine, her ever steely gaze turning on her for a moment "Is all well, Lady Damodred?" the woman questioned.
Nodding, Moiraine looked back to the enemy army, "It is, Countess, I was merely lost in thought." she said
"You aren't a very convincing lier." Ailil noted "We outnumber the enemy two to one, your magic may be unnecessary, if you do not wish to use it."
Moiraine shook her head "My magic will save lives amongst our forces, I won't allow men to die if avoidable. Cadsuane! Alanna!" she called, and the two women rode over "Take your positions on the flanks, protect the side of the army you are placed on, and let's make this quick." she said, and the pair nodded swiftly, before heeling their horses toward where they were ordered, their own smaller retinues following.
Slowly the two armies approached each other, and Moiraine wondered how it would begin, was there some sort of declaration? A sounding of trumpets? Her musing was interrupted at cries from near the front, arrows had begun falling from where the enemy stood. Just like that. It had begun. Even as their forces surged forwards, Moiraine raised her hands, directing flows of air to protect from the arrows, directing them away from their forces and back at the Scots, limiting casualties to a minimum amongst their men, and damaging morale in the enemy greatly.
Then the front lines met, and all hell broke loose. Cries and shouts filled the air, the wailings of wounded men and the shouts of orders and taunts filled Moiraine's ears, even as she brought lightning down in the rear of the enemy, not wanting to risk harming their own forces. Cadsuane apparently had little of the same concern, as fireballs rained down on her flank, striking throughout the enemy's forces, strangely they seemed to be forming further forwards... Moiraine cursed, it would be just the kind of thing the fool woman would do, to join the front ranks where she could be just as effective from the rear. It could not be helped now, as she glanced over to the other flank, where Alanna's magics moved the earth under the enemy's very feet, sending them toppling, or launching them into the air, or even depositing them in cracks that quickly closed, crushing them. It was sickening to watch, the enemy were being torn apart by an enemy they could not hope to combat. She steeled herself to that fact, she must serve her king how he chose, however she felt about it.
As the battle drew on, it was plain the English were to be victorious, though casualties still mounted. Moiraine lowered her arms as the remnants of the center of the Scottish army broke and ran, there was no honor in striking a fleeing foe. The situation was similar on the left flank, where Cadsuane launched fireballs with no worry for honor. The right flank had been strongest however, and was holding well against Alanna's earth magic. Moiraine gasped as she saw an officer burst through the soldiers surrounding the woman, his sword raised. Thankfuly, Alanna was alert, and gestured, a spike of Earth shooting up and impaling the man through his chest, killing him instantly. At the sight of the death of their captain, the right flank finally broke, fleeing in a disordered mess to a cheer from the English forces. Moiraine's smile was less enthusiastic - they had won the day, but at what cost...
Ailil sucked the air in through her front teeth in an expression of disgust. From her vantage point on a hill to the rear of the battlefield she had observed the fall of the scottish army. It had taken no more than five minutes. She would definitely need to speak with the King about this, the use of magic in war had been forbidden for centuries, and for good reason. It was safe to say that Ailil would not be employing the mages again, no matter the king's wishes. Her maid sat silently next to her, apparently indifferent to the chaos below.
"Thera, I want you to tell me this truthfully. Do you believe this to be a just war?" the Countess questioned.
"I believe that there is an end that is necessary for the peace of our home, and whatever means needed to reach that end are justified. Do not allow such doubts to break your resolve. You must be strong for your people." the maid replied.
"Yes. You are right of course. Come, let us greet the victorious mages." Ailil said, banishing her thoughts and turning her horse toward the field...
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