EFUA Gossip, Major Events, and Rumors (IC Knowledge)

[Letsplayforfun]

Undead crows filled the skies of the ziggurat, and though the defenders held their grounds, many colonists did not find shelter quickly enough to survive the onslaught, more so as others locked themselves safely inside.

But this was to be just a test of the defenses of the dominion, for soon after, unholy magic pulled wrecks and cursed crews from the sea bottom, and the unholy armada attacked the dock's beachs.

Defenders were quickly divided into two groups: those who stayed ashore, and those who dared brave the unholy wrecks to destroy the source of the haunted wrecks.

The docks beachs are now littered with bodies, and the waters littered by the wrecks that have sunk back into the sea.

Hopefully, they will not rise again...

[core]

Militia camps begin to emerge around the Dominion following an announcement by Duke Antoine Trenada that all able-bodied men are to be drafted into service. Campfires light up a steadily more fortified Ziggurat, a post at the front gate scrutizining who enters and exits. Another has appeared near the Warden's District, demanding that refugees from the Docks enter service in the Militia immediately. Yet another ostensibly seeks to safeguard the Dwellings though rumours of blackmail and corruption are rife.

[Halfbrood]

In the early hours of the morning, a great blanket of Mist slowly descended upon the Colony. Many folk comment that the Mists are the thickest they have seen for a long time, provoking worried talk amongst the commoners. As the night wore on, travelers and adventurers brought news of the Mists from throughout the Isle; apparently, the Mists have begun to settle thickly across much of Ymph. Many people whisper in worried tones, and rumours talk of bad Omens and dark times ahead, many more people sneer at such talk, branding it idle chit-chat for fisher wives. And yet, as dawn approached, and the warm embrace of the sun promised a bright, new day, many would note the Mists do not fade...

The same night, Jim Dowd of the Longshoremen took to the Docks stage to address the common folk of the district; though not a man of flowery words or great, inspiring speeches, Dowd warned that though the problems the Dock faces are many, the greatest of all is the looming threat of internal-conflict. He went on to appeal to the people to stand together, in these dark times, a comment that inspired much talk amongst the crowds. Some advocating Dowd's vision and others laughing it off...

[Halfbrood]

As night fell upon Nebedzzos last eve, and the Mists continued to cloy thickly to the shoreline, those brave few fishermen attempting to earn their way from the dangerous, shrouded waters reported seeing the flicker of torches in the darkness, and hearing the raucous laughter of some unseen enemy within the shroud.

These rumours inspired many of the locals to retreat indoors, barricading themselves in their homes and Inns whilst a ragtag band of patriots, adventurers and do-gooders remained to stand a vigil against the darkness through the night.

The defenders waited nervously, with no sign of their unseen enemy beyond the monotonous thumping of steel on wood. Then, after a long silence, the slaughter began. The Grey Mist Raiders descended upon the Docks Ward with reckless abandon, baying for blood and sacrifice. The Raiders drove the defenders deeper and deeper into the Docks, slaying any man who dared stand in their way; with the defenders locked in a savage battle, a band of Raiders stole their way deeper into the District, secretly, and breaking down doors, forcing their way into the homes of those common-folk who sheltered within. The entire district seemed to erupt in screams and cries of anguish and woe, yet was drowned out by the manic laughter of the Raiders as they carried their prisoners back to their Galleys.

As swift as they had come, the Raiders disappeared back into the Mists, women and children slung over their shoulders; yet not before putting several buildings to the flame, and vowing to return within the twoday for those innocents who yet remain.

As the flames threatened to burn the entire District to the ground, those whom stood in its defence set out to quench the flames. After the smoke cleared, flames died the Mist settled once more, and throughout the Docks a sense of muted despair and worry is felt by all.

What the future will bring, none know, but all the Omens point to dark days ahead...

[Howlando]

Deep in the forests and jungles of Ymph, the talking drums and swirling great eagles signaled the start of a grand moot and gathering between all the many Totem Tribes of the Stargazers.

As the meeting progressed, the slow rhythmic drumming turned rapidly to drums of alarm and battle as the forces of H'Bala struck against the savages and their widlling allies.

Even as the great eagles wheeled and evacuated many of the little pygmies away to a place of safety, a terrible battle raged on the forest floor. Judging by the horrible many-tongued howls of the Agony of the Hunt, and the terrible sound of immense crashing trees, there can be no doubt which side was the victor....

A few rumors, some contradictory, have begun to reach the Dominion and Docks describing the events that occurred.

Some say that it was not actually a battle, but rather an orgiastic ritual in which the depraved savages summoned forth the forces of H'Bala to whom they sacrificed their children and elderly. They describe the Savages as the unrepentant servants of the Lichess, and as vermin to be destroyed as soon as possible.

Some rumors say that it was the Order, or maybe slavers from the Dominion, that attacked the stargazers in a surprise assault.

Yet even other rumors talk about how in the midst of their Moot, a tremendous White Stag appeared, which soon transformed into the figure of the near-mythical Great Druid Naholopet Ymph; who is said to be descended from the Netherese explorer Zephulot Ymph who discovered and names the Islands. It is said that this Great Druid offered advice for how H'Bala might be fought, or at least be contained.

Some say that the Druid was murdered.

Some say he escaped in the battle.

Some say it was only a cunning disguise, and he was H'Bala all along, playing another trick upon the foolish wildlings.

[Halfbrood]

In the early hours of this morning, rumour spread swiftly amongst the Docks. The Gangs were gathering at a Summit, at the behest of the Sons of Sabuth, to discuss the increasing threat of Mist Raiders looming within the Shroud.

Little is known of what was discussed with the Laddermen Hall, though many folk agree that it cannot have been good as shortly after its beginning great shouts erupted from within, followed by the clash of drawn steel. Shortly afterward, Jim Dowd was seen stalking from the building with a scowl, before barricading himself within the Longshoremen headquarters. The summit, it seems, was sundered and as if sensing its failure, a thick blanket of Mists settled upon the Docks.

Horns blared from within the Mists, and the sounds of beating drums echoed across the Docks. Women and children alike fled inward, barricading themselves in homes, and some even huddling together, fearfully, in the Wastrel.

The Raiders had come for their tribute.

The Raiders fell upon the Docks in a bloody battle, forcing their way through the line of brave defenders, tossing firebrands into houses setting them aflame. Butchering any who stood in their way, the Raiders brought the Docks to its knees. Buildings collapsed, consumed by flame, and the streets were awash with the blood of freemen.

Though strangely enough, the District's women and children were left unharmed, the Raiders seeming content to let them huddle within their homes. The battle raged for a long while until, finally, with the Docks crippled, a horn blared once more from within the Mists and the Raiders retreated to their ships. A sigh of relief went up from the defenders, as they thought themselves safe. The defenders begun to celebrate, despite the heavy losses and the Docks Ward being left burning, more than a few buildings having been consumed by the flames...

... yet their celebrations were short lived, as gliding from the Mists came a single galley, which landed upon the shores. A huge Raider disembarked, alongside a large band of his men. A band of defenders lead by the Son of Sabuth Sir Gerold Valdimar met them upon the shores, where they were seen to exchange a few short words, before returning to the Docks.

What happened next shook the entire District to its core; the Sons of Sabuth being seen rounding up a large group of women and children before leading them to the shore, ignoring the angry protests and pleas of the gathered adventurers.

A valiant attempt by a band of adventurers to slay the Raiders upon the beaches was short-lived, the leader of the Raiders being seen to defeat them all almost single-handedly. The adventurer leading the foolish assault was seen to be beheaded, his corpse given to the Mists and his head tossed at the feet of those gathered to witness the event.

This final attempt at defiance having failed, the Docks was finally brought to its knees. The Sons of Sabuth handed over their Tribute of women and children, and the leader of the Raiders disappeared back into the Mists.

The district is in uproar; gang fights, back alley murders and riots are common place. It seems this free district has finally descended into Anarchy.

Some commend the Sons for making the hardest choice possible, whilst others curse them to the Hells believing it simply opens them up for further Raids, some even going so far as to say that a small detachment of Raiders remained behind, to ensure further Tributes are given without protest. Whether this is true, remains to be seen, but one thing is certain, the Docks are in no condition to fend off further assaults...

[Talir]

Second of Alturiak, 1378 DR

In the aftermath of the large raid made upon the Docks, a coalition between the Merchant Guild, Longshoremen and Freemen has risen in the Docks to protect the citizenry. Propagating order, compassion and taking a stand against the sacrifice of children; the movement met with much approval from the gathered that had come to listen to the trio responsible: Hortense Higgins, Jim Dowd and Cyrus Doors. Soon after the proclamation, an assassin attempted to take down Dowd but was defeated by the watching Docksmen. The assassin, dressed as an Infantryman of the Armada, was handed over to the Sons who later attempted to extort him to the Dominion.

Rumours speak of the confrontation between the coalition and the Sons when the Infantry was handed over. It is said that they spoke out against the Sons' latest actions and condemned them for handing over the children to the Mist Raiders. In all but declearing war, it is clear that the coming days may see greater strife as a measure of order is attempted to be stabilized out of the anarchy of the streets to assure protection, improvement, defense against the Raiders and - some say - finally contest the Sons for rule in the Docks.

[core]

The arrival of the Manchakan Enclave has caused a stir in the Colony. Though they come under the auspices of aid from Old Port, the quarantine of Isle Ymph sends a mixed signal - immediately upon arriving, it is said that the Enclave announced Old Port to be henceforth closed to travel for any vessel flying Ymphian colours. It is said that a trading ship which had already left port was boarded and all on board were detained at His Excellency's pleasure that very night.

The Enclave's Retainers, however, have been granted the status of Patrician and seats upon the Duke's court. Rumours trickle from the Patrician caste of the Count issuing a summons to the Duke and his loyal retainers such that the Ymphian situation can be discussed, though as ever there are darker murmurings...

[Halfbrood]

In recent days the Witch's Host has been spotted abroad in increasing numbers. Where once the creatures of H'bala avoided the Nebedzzos Ruins, they are now seen in great numbers just beyond the walls. Her ravens circle the Ziggurat almost daily, and her agents watch closely from the shadows.

Not two days past a lone mounted scout was seen making haste from the forests, toward the Armada Citadel. It is said he brought dire news of a column of Loyalists on a routine scouting mission into the forests beyond being set upon by a Host of H'balan creatures. Not long afterward what remained of the Militia Column was seen making its way from the wildlands battered and broken.

At their heels, a great army of H'balan creatures. They descended upon those whom rallied to the Gate's defense with howls and roars of anguish and despair. What followed was a bloody battle, with all manner of creatures taking to the field. Some rumours even speak of H'bala herself marshaling the assault, yet such talk is swiftly dismissed by those in power.

As the dust settled, what was revealed was a scene of bloody devastation. The defenders had held, albeit barely, with many dead at the hands of the undead Host, the rotting corpses of the Witch's minions were piled high and put to the torch; a blazing beacon of hope to those who would stand against the Witch.

A day after the bloody battle at the Gates of Nebedzzos, once more the Witch's Ravens were seen to take flight into the skies above Ymph. This time, they made directly toward the fief of Lord Blackhearth which, for the most part, had been spared her wrath.

Lord Agravain's Templar were swift to react, fearing the dark tidings the Ravens might bring. They rallied all who would would stand against the darkness under their banner, and waited.

Yet, all that was to follow as they stood their vigil on the Castle's walls was an eerie silence. No sign yet of the Host they feared was coming.

Until...

A lone scout came to the Keep, demanding the Gates be thrown opened. Many were seen to demand news of him, and yet he spoke to none. He disappeared inside for some time, before emerging at the flank of Lord Blackhearth himself.

A great Host, greater than any that had been seen before, was bound for Vortgyn's Rest. He declared the Rest a lost cause, and commanded that the people be evacuated and brought to Blackhearth Keep. The roads were far too dangerous, and so the defenders were asked to hold the line whilst the tunnels under Blackhearth Keep were completed; and so the defenders made for the Rest, bringing news of Lord Blackhearth's command. Swiftly, the people began to grab what few provisions they had and packed them away, huddling in the centre of the hamlet, whilst their valiant protectors stood the line against what was to come.

The forests erupted with the howls of wolves, the skies echoing with the shrieks of the Witch's rotten ravens, and so the assault began.

The battle was to last well into the night, the defenders standing stoic in the face of Death. They piled the corpses high at their feet, and would not be moved. Where one man fell, another would take his place in grim defiance. The ground was slick with the blood of living and dead alike, illuminated by a roaring pyre in the centre.

Three waves of beasts fell upon the defenders, rumours even speaking of Lord Agravain taking to the field to deliver a rallying speech to the weary defenders. Three waves, and still they came, pouring in what seemed limitless numbers from the woods surrounding the hamlet.

And then, what all men feared came to pass. Cries of agony erupted from the forests, nature itself calling to be slain. The ground shook, and trees were torn up by the roots...

The Agony had come.

Whilst the defenders braced for the end, the Blackhearth engineers completed the tunnels beneath them and the battle turned into a retreat. Women, children and wounded were evacuated into the tunnels, followed swiftly by those defenders lucky enough to escape the Agony of the Hunt. Those who remained in a foolish attempt to slay the beast lay dead, no living thing stirred amongst the ruins of the hamlet.

Vortgyn's Rest had fallen. Ymph was death.

[core]

Blackhearth is besieged.

Anticipated for an hour if not two and heralded by the arrival of the erstwhile Great Druid Ar-Moengul Ymph upon the back of a rotting wyvern, his own form withered and dead, eyes glowing from out his skull.

Calling to the defenders upon the walls, he parlayed but briefly with Knight-Champion Jacques de Villiers who held command in the absence of Lord Blackhearth, said to be leading a sorty in the Mountains west.

De Villiers roundly refused to surrender as was demanded, and so began the Siege of Castle Blackhearth. Catapults were positioned, great flying monstrosities hurled themselves at the walls as strange, rotting orcs scaled them - it would seem the Maiden has discriminated not at all between the various denizens upon Isle Ymph in building her mighty Host.

Holding fast against a sustained assault, de Villiers eventually announced to the weary defenders the rumours of a shambling Orcen host marching to tip the siege in favour of the Maiden. It is said that he mustered men and women of every political alignment for a salient and promptly made for the woods.

From here, details become hazy. Some say that the group was felled in its entirety by an animated orcen beast referred to as 'The Ironjaw', legendary in the Old City and amongst the Order Numinous. Others dismiss this as nonsense, that there is no way the Maiden could have gotten her hands on that particular corpse - whatever the case, what occurred next is more or less undisputed.

A mighty orc charged into the fray as the fallen defenders were to be turned to the service of H'bala, de Villiers among them, and drove the alleged 'Ironjaw' and all of his servants from the field of battle in a terrifying display of strength. Upon turning and telling the captives to bring word to the stone of a 'march of salvation, merciful and unstoppable,' the Spirit that Sings stalked off to the treeline and disappeared into the mists.

The siege of Blackhearth continues regardless, a bitter trade of blows. Though the bloodied and battered de Villiers curses it for folly, rumours spread like wildfire from the beleaguered Order at the Castle to the Ymphian Colony of the return of the legendary Spirit - and what his salvation could mean.

[core]

The dusk of Alturiak the 7th began eventfully and continued in that same vein.

Rumours spread throughout the Colony of the impending departure of Duke Antoine Trenada and his retinue for the Old Port, Patricians and Stygians both gathering for a march through the Docks to the Piers.

Unsurprisingly, the Stygian Commandant's party was ambushed a number of times - it is said that they killed more than their fair share of Docksmen, but there was little resistance of note.

Upon arriving in the Old City and meeting with Scion Edward Gravenheart on the shore, details become hazy. It's said, however, that the Duke was slighted a series of times, including being forced to stand in the rain outside of the Grand Arena while the Count supposedly bore witness to gladitorial games - though the Arena itself was wholly silent.

Finally allowed to enter the Arena, they found it to be true - there were no spectators, no blood staining the sand, just a ring of elite Comital Guard, three Rubies and the Count - sitting high above the Arena and flanked by his Grand Vizier, a Master Ruby and a drow, said to be highly placed in House Jultar.

Though the Count refused to even set his eyes upon the Duke, Trenada and the Vizier spoke for a time of Ymph - a show, it's said, merely intended to slight Trenada further. The Grand Vizier ommanded him to go and speak with the Count's Rubies of strategy to win the battle against the Maiden, yet what actually happened happened too fast for the details to be clear-

What is known, however, is that after the dust settled, the Duke lay bloodied and bound upon the sand. Scion Edward Gravenheart was felled, his guts spilled and groaning, dying. A female Ruby was reportedly choked to death by Trenada using his own chains - though many dispute this as brazenly untrue.

It is known, too, that Trenada himself was savagely and brutally lashed.

Commanded to return to Ymph and not disappoint His Excellency again on pain of death, the retinue limped home. Trenada, bloodied but head held high, gave a speech atop the Ziggurat announcing his disdain for the Count and for Old Port alongside his intention to march upon H'bala.

In five days, he states, the Siege of Blackhearth will be shattered — the Maiden's Tower will fall.

[Halfbrood]

Last eve was an eventful one.

It began quietly, as the Mist was seen to swirl and settle atop Blackhearth Keep, enshrouding the highest battlements from view. Shortly afterward, a lone Templar was seen to make way to the Mythallar Chamber. Calling himself the Grand Master's Herald, he spoke of the Champion of Ymph, Brok'Tor, and a duel to occur against the Bloodreaper Nethzerim, the imprisoned soul of an Order Acolyte.

Many adventurers and interested folk gathered to bear witness, making their way to the Temple District and into the Shrine of Targus taking a portal to the Arena therein. Within, the Bloodreaper Nethzerim paced angrily about the Arena, demanding to know whom dared to challenge him.

It was then the Brok'Tor, the Champion of Ymph arrived, striding forward in ancient and rusted armour. A tabard hanging from his shoulders, the White Stag of Ymph displayed proudly upon it. Strangely, Nethzerim greeted the Champion as an old friend, and bade him join with him in the Arena.

The Champion took to the sands, drew an ornate and ancient blade, and after some short words, as is customary, the two Champions did battle.

The battle was long and bloody, each of the two Champions almost proving the victor, before by some turn of Fate their adversary would begin the onslaught once more. Yet, Nethzerim was to finally prove the loser, after a relentless assault by the Master's Champion. He was laid low, his lifeblood spilling across the sands. As he lay there, gurgling his life away, the Mists began to descend.

The entire Arena began to shake, and from Nethzerim's broken body a huge, terrifying spirit erupted in anger. Whilst the spirit roared furiously, the Mists spirited away Nethzerim's broken form and where the Champion had once stood as a stout bastion against this threat, his armour fell from him, useless, and rusted into nothing. He stood naked and alone, facing down the great spirit who was named Zhanarruk.

The spirit knelt before the Champion, acknowledging his power over death and bloodshed. He then arose, and thrust his great zweihander into the Champion's chest. Again, the Arena began to tremble as the blood gushed from the wound. Slowly, the Champion was overcome with agony and blood, as the Spirit of Zhanarruk consumed him fully. The Champion gasped, turned on his audience with cold, dead eyes, before he stalked deeper into the Arena's catacombs.

Some time passed before rumours began to circulate. The Champion of Ymph, Brok'Tor, had been spotted in the Temples. Many folk gathered to see what had become of him. And yet, what they beheld resembled the sacrificed Champion in nothing but his looks. He was wholly consumed by bloodlust and hatred, where once there was kindness. He named himself before the gathered, Bloodreaper Brok'Tor the Glorious, anointed servant of Targus. Whatever remained of the valorous Champion was no more, what stood in his place being a pale imitation of his previous self. He preached glory to Targus, and how bloodshed would spread and consume the Isle. He promised glory to any of those who would shed blood in honour of his God, and defied any who would stand against his wishes. Thus ended the fall of Brok'Tor, and thus began the rise of Nethzerim ...

... Soon afterward, a horn blew from the Gates. A Host of Templars rode to the Gate, the Grand Master's banner flying ragged and proud at its head. The Grand Master himself had come to Nebedzzos, and 'pon his flank - Nethzerim, now known as the Awakened.

They brought word of Nethzerim's waking nightmare in service to the God, Targus, and how between bloodshed and the butchering of innocents and defilers he had witnessed the Apocalypse in all is terrible reality.

"I have SEEN. Untold agonies! Untold, untold! A thousand futures! Thousands upon thousands, all ending in the skies sundered and the earth breaking beneath us."

- Nethzerim the Awakened

Finally, the Grand Master declared the End of Days had come to Ymph, and that the Order, oft ignored, was its greatest hope. Yet, in its current form the Numinous Brethren were too few, and so the Grand Master declared a new rank was to be created amongst the Order, and those Templars faithful to the Three would make up the new Knighthood. A banner of the Footman is to be raised, and a Host of men from all walks of life and all faiths and creeds rallied beneath it. Together, with their belief in the Master's Apocalypse, they would stand against it and turn the Hand of Fate...[/i]

[core]

The chastisement from Thrask Morv for denying them more time to prepare still ringing in his ears, Duke Antoine Trenada departed avowed to form a salient against the Maiden's Tower. A contingent of Militia supplemented by adventurers and commanded by Infantry Aishê Nafrémetit formed to shatter the Siege of Blackhearth.

The attack upon H'bala's Siege Camp is said to have been gruelling. In a bid to create time, the Order Numinous set the fringes of the Tangled Wood alight, the orange tinge to the horizon heralding the beginning of the struggle.

The Dominion vanguard are rumoured to have encountered remnants from the razing of the Starwood - animated to serve the Maiden. Murmurs are also heard of the "Ironjaw", marshal of the H'balan Siege being struck down after a particularly brutal engagement.

Whatever occurred, the Siege of Blackhearth is ended and the Duke's first move against H'bala is a triumph.

Mere hours after the end of the Siege, Knight Templar Jacques de Villiers was seen arguing bitterly an unknown officer of the Dominion. He departed the Castle in the early hours with a column of Templar. Meanwhile, caravans guarded by Militia and Manchakan guards are seen transporting crates towards H'balan lands - siege devices for the Duke's efforts, it's said.

An announcement from the Duke or one of his retinue is expected, though he has been notably absent since departing the Colony. Nevertheless, the mood within the Dominion has improved for now since the news of its first triumph against the Witch.

[core]

A King rises.

In the wake of a series of tumultous assaults upon Trenada's own siege camp, aid was summoned from the Armada forces still posted in the Dominion. Marching to relief at the head of a column of Militia, the Infantry repelled a brutal assault from the Maiden, following which Trenada began to speak.

In the middle of his impromptu speech, however, a Stygian Infantryman - now rumoured to have been an agent of the Count, and aspiring Ruby alongside - loosed his steel. As he made to strike at the Duke, Veteran Kedrian threw himself into the fray without a second thought, brutally and mercilessly cut down by the would-be assassin.

He would be this agent's only victim, however, as he was soon overwhelmed by the defender's combined efforts. Dour and somewhat forlorn, the Duke bid them herald his return, that he might make a declaration 'long overdue'.

Following his return to the Dominion, what is said to have been a heated exchange in the Duke's own office with one of his Lords, he ascended to the Ziggurat's apex to make his speech. Aside him, unusually, stood Lord Agravain Blackhearth, their aides and advisors arrayed around.

As the sun crested upon the horizon, Duke Antoine Trenada spoke of the heroism of fallen compatriots, of the complicity of the Count in the Colony's decline and of impending victory over the Maiden. His would-be assassin was executed summarily by the Duke himself.

With the blood issuing from the stricken man's still-gurgling throat spilling against his greaves, the Duke declared that the sun rose over an Ymph renewed, an Ymph to which salvation had come.

With fire to his eye, Antoine Trenada proclaimed himself King.

Turning to Agravain Blackhearth, he once more condemned the Count as decadent and remiss in his duties, going so far as to declare he and his agents traitors devoid of legitimacy. As the scion of the Four Houses, he conferred upon Agravain Blackhearth the title of Prince and the rulership of Old Port.

Though the Isles' newfound King strode away, his final declaration of his impending victory over the Maiden and cries of 'King! King! Glory to the King!' ringing in the ears of his subjects, yet more questions are left in his wake.

Some ponder why Lord Vladimir Khavenko, on foot of this declaration, appeared to declare the absorption of the Loyalist Militia into the House Khavenko, though this was swiftly followed by a sending from the Stygian Armada declaring that Khavenko held once more the title of Patrician.

Whatever the case, most welcome the Duke's 'ascension' in light of growing bitterness towards Old Port, though some murmur of food supplies growing desperately short and claim it noteable that Trenada has not provided an answer as Duke nor King.

[Halfbrood]

For days, word has continued to filter in from King Trenada's front lines. Scouts and messengers forever bringing news of the King's campaign across Ymph. The King, it was said, is winning. The Maiden's Tower crumbles at his bombardment. Every counter-assault, every bloody attack, repelled by His Majesty's column. The pyres burn fiercely, and in great number; within the tenday, the King promised, the Maiden would be dead, her tower sundered and her Host scattered into the darkness, never to return. Ymph would live again.

And then, upon the last eve, new word was spread amongst the King's People...

Word of bitter defeat.

It is said that the King, believing his victory imminent, planned to lead a devastating charge against the Maiden's Hosts. He sent word to his people in the Dominion, and gathered those sworn to his name, and even making a call for masterless men, the honourless and depraved, to march under his banner, to bring victory to his Kingdom.

The gathered Host made for the siege lines, and from there, the front lines. Trenada's column, having heard word of a great Host of the Maiden's creatures amassing closer to her Tower, had pushed forward, setting up catapults and siege weaponry, they were preparing themselves for the final assault.

"We need only hold them," the King would say. "For when their Host lays battered and broken at our feet, and the People of Ymph stand defiant, and unyeilding; it is then that we shall strike, and tear victory from their rotting maw."

And yet, the time was slow to come. The Host continued to fling themselves, senselessly, at the defender's shield wall, each attack more bloody than the last. And after each the King bade them hold, and so they held.

Always, above, the Maiden watched. Ravens circled the bloody battle, leering down upon the field hungrily, as fresh carrion was added to the pile. Yet even as the defenders became ever more desperate with the next attack, the shields held.

Finally, the Maiden's Host seems to slow, and no longer could she sustain an the assault. The assault was broken, and so the King signaled the charge. The shields broke, and what followed was a fury fueled by vengeance. The King's column broke through the Maiden's line, and tore it apart from within. Defeated, the last of the deathless creatures quit the field, and skulked back to their Maiden's embrace.

"The day is won," was the call, "Life flourishes!"

Yet it was not to be so. As the King marshaled his column ever closer to the Maiden's Tower, catapults in tow, the mass of crows above grew ever larger...

From the forests, a figure emerged; a rotting husk of a man, bearing a bloody sickle, and a malevolent gaze in his glowing eyes. The figure, it is said, proclaimed himself Ymph itself. He seemed pleased to see the King and his column, going as far thanking King Trenada for "the part" he played "so well".

"Ymph is death", the figure proclaimed. And with this final word, plunged the sickle he held into the sodden ground. Dark, sinister magics erupted about the battlefield; bodies burst, spitting gore over Trenada's men, and the skies above darkened. Clouds gathered, and the ground began the shake. The figure disappeared into the forests once more, leaving Trenada to his fate. From the trees, a great mass of dead and dying things erupted, begging any man who could to slay him. Hounds yelped, and whined for death, birds called desperately.

The Agony was come.

What followed is not quite sure. Great confusion, and a bloody rout. Word spreads that the King was first from the field, cowering and sobbing his defeat, yet others say the King was the last from the field, sustaining many a wound from the beast, before retreating, angered. However, what is sure is that this is where the battle was turned.

The Agony emerged, and with it brought great death upon the defenders. Trenada ordered his catapults winched, and trained on the creature. The defenders were barely holding the beast, and Trenada made the call to fire...

The entire battleline of catapults erupted in flames, exploding from within. Dead militia were flung far and wide, and those who were to survive took one look at the devestation about them, and turned to flee.

Chaos reigned; the Agony tore through the defenders and slaughtered without care or rhythm. The King's men attempting the hold the beast at bay faltered, and the slaughter begin. With the line broken, the retreat was sounded. Those remaining alive broke, and retreated to the siege camp, the beast snapping hungrily at their heels.

A last and final stand was made in the camp, where more catapults were loaded and trained on the great beast. These too exploded in flames, consuming the foolish who stood close by. All was lost, and death was soon to come as the Agony descended upon the remnants of the King's column, to finish them and feast at last.

And then, a horn blew from the western forests. Flaming arrows loosed from the trees, peppering the Agony with burning shafts. A ragged banner emerged, bearing the Grey Questing Dragon of the Numinous Order. At its foot, the infamous Knight-Templar, Jacques de Villiers, and in his wake, a small force of Templars came bravely to the field.

Continuing to loose their flaming arrows upon the beast, drawing it away from the King's last stand, so they might escape. As the King and his force escaped, and with a final, contemptuous smirk over his shoulder, de Villiers hurried his force into the forests, the Agony bounding after them, begging for death...

The King's column limped home, their mouths soured by the bitter taste of defeat. The column was silent, and the King was seen to disappear, broodingly, into the Citadel. He would not be seen to emerge.