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March of Kazros - Legends of Nisdharil, Chapter I

Zeph

from up here the sky is my thoughts
Pronoun
he
Click here for the OOC thread. You must join there to roleplay here.

As a note to all players - To begin, your character will most probably be undergoing usual everyday activities, so don't worry about trying to advance the plot until it's needed.

To all Goblin-players - it should be obvious what you should be doing after reading the below.

---​

The sun was setting, slow and bright, on Fort Kazros. Sinister Hak was standing, waiting, in a large, circular room in the fort's central tower. He paced left and right, his malicious mind in deep thought as he approached the huge window on the room's north side. He looked out, down the slopes of Mount Gjashpiik, and observed the seemingly endless crowds of Goblin soldiers, being arranged - and, in some cases, punished - in perfect ranks by members of the Sinister Guard, his personally-chosen favourites, his elite fighters. He watched as the soldiers - or pawns, as he liked to call them - lined up in units, serrated scimitars in one hand, and triple-spiked pikestaffs in the other.

He lowered his vision and saw his second-in-command, the head of the Sinister Guard, Brandhyr, watching much like Hak was from the north wall of the Fort, occasionally screaming down orders to certain soldiers. Hak saw, with anger, a slacker, leaning lazily against his pike, who Brandhyr had not yet noticed. He wished he could smite the slacker, destroy it, bring down fire and a thousand bolts of lightning upon it - but he could not, for magic was the only power he did not posses, his only weakness... Brandhyr would deal with it soon, anyway...

Hak turned away and crossed the room to the other window. Now he could see down the south slopes of Gjashpiik, all the way down to the ocean, tainted black by the powers of Fort Kazros. On these slopes were the Sorcerers, around a thousand of them, all shrouded completely in black hooded robes, arranged in order with no slackers, each one of them slowly chanting, swaying, twisting and waving their arms in perfect unison, practicing spells under the lead of the Seven Sinister Sorcerers who, like Brandhyr had been, were standing upon the wall and looking down of them. The Seven were leading the Spellcasting, executing the movements and incantations with such perfect timing it was as if they were telepathically connected - which they probably were. Oh, how he envied the sorcerers -

No. He did not envy anyone. He was Sinister Hak, leader and commander of the Goblins of Gjashdil. Nothing made him envious, nothing.

He sighed, and heard footsteps coming from the spiral staircase that lead downstairs.

"Your Sinisterness," came a gruff voice. He turned and saw a head wearing a black-plumed helmet looking at him from the floor.

"Brandhyr. What is it?"

"Well, my lord, the army is almost ready to advance."

"Good. What is the plan?"

Brandhyr climbed up the last few steps and stooped into the room. Hak scowled. Brandhyr was a very big goblin, and was at least a head taller than the Sinister. Brandhyr unrolled a dark scroll in his hand, and showed Hak a map of all of Nisdharil.

"First we will march to Gjashmraw," said Brandhyr, pointing to the peninsula at the south-west of Gjashdil, directly west of the Fort. "From there, we will sail - we have prepared many large galleons to take the soldiers, but some may have to resort to swimming..." he smirked slightly. "Anyway, we will sail to the North-West side of Banari, and from there it should be obvious. We will send around quarter of units across the Monari, too."

"Excellent. When shall we leave?"

Brandhyr looked at the sunset, which was almost over.

"In about ten minutes."
 
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Salty wind lightly buffeted Kerserth's breast and wings as she flew over the great hills of Modari. Coastal human villages dotted the land under her, but she didn't care about them. She scanned the land below her, looking for anything of interest, or anything that could be.
She found this in a small boy that was looking up at her, a gaze of awe on his face.

She changed the flow of the wind ever so slightly, tussling the boy's hair and blowing his hat off his head. He looked down angrily, chasing it.
An item of worth?
She promptly blew the hat off the edge of the shore, throwing it into the sea. A wild caw escaped her beak. The boy scrunched his face, and began to cry.

Hahaha, though Kerserth, He wants it back. Too bad.
She took a moment to wonder how long she had been flying. Week? Fortnight? Probably something like that, as she was above the northeastern coast and she had started from the south.
This body probably needs rest. Annoying.
While she generally didn't /need/ rest or food, it was generally a better idea to keep any body she was using at least slightly healthy, in case she was attacked. A body about to rot or die would force her out of it, putting her back to a state of raw, unfettered magic. Though this wasn't a /bad/ thing, it would leave her prone to any mages attempting to use her power, which she hated.

There were probably spirits out there stronger than her that didn't need to abide by this rule, but that didn't matter to her. She did, and it was her problem.

She began a dive, falling at a great speed, flaring her tail and opening her wings out wide at the last moment. Naturally, she controlled the wind for a perfect landing on a large branch of a tree, giving her a moment to rest.
 
Acacia surveyed her work happily. Dozens of different colors of flowered were growing around the human village. She thought it looked very pretty and hoped the humans would agree. More importantly, some of the plants she had created could be used as medicine for colds and the like. She called "Bye!" and left, returning to the forest. She climbed easily to the top of a tree and looked around at the different squirrels and birds, eating an apple from the tree. She didn't need to eat, but it was something to do, at least.
 
Kojol was floating through the woods, as if there wasn't a care in the world.

How long, he wondrered, had he been exploring this land? All he could remember was waking up at the forest's edge, and the only thing he felt was a nesscesity to never let go of his staff- why, he was unsure. He guessed that there was someone, somewehre who could give him the answers he needed, so it was because of that that he set out into this unknown forest...

.. and now he was hopelessly lost.
 
Moss, meanwhile, was assorting her pile of various gems, a pasttime she much enjoyed. She angled them all so that their best parts shined in the dying sun.
As she picked up a particularly interesting piece of coal she had once found, with silver hairs winding around it, her stomach grumbled. I'm hungry.
She poked her head out of the cave and sniffed. To her disappointment, no edible meal was nearby. I suppose I'll have to hunt, she decided.
She launched herself into the air, her green scales shimmering in the sunset.
 
[REMINDER]Mark is Human, Trox is Goblin.

Mark was walking down a dirt path that was overun by weeds. On a sudden whim, he called up the force, the energy, the Magic all around him, in the air, in the water, and even in himself. With a little mental guidance, the Magic flowed from his fingers and into a patch of ugly weeds. A sudden metamorphosis overtook the plants, their ugly buds unfurling into wonderful leaves and breathtaking flowers. A little overflow, a testament to his informal training, pooled around a drooping sapling, which perked up a little at the energy. Mark smiled at the sight, until the little tree exploded, sending a branch deep into the ground. He picked up the branch, and decided to keep it. With an idea forming in his head, Mark walked off towards his modest home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Trox was indignant. He, the most wonderful Goblin ever hatched, recruited as a footsoldier! The very thought of it made him feel like wretching. He slumped against the pike he had been issued, scowling.
 
Arjan laid down in the pleasant field. He sat up and sighed a bit, then spotted another human strolling down the path that lead through this particular plain. A patch of weeds near the young man's feet suddenly sprang forth and transformed into a group of lovely flowers. A little sapling nearby suddenly exploded. The man gathered something, a stick, then walked off. Magic wasn't something Arjan practiced, but he respected it's might nonetheless. He suddenly thought about Mideran again. Maybe I should return sometime.
 
Phantom swirled about in the light. It was the sun, its very presence, that drew him upward. He never wanted his feathers to be hidden from its warmth. The golden substance soaked his fiery plumage in heat, and he whirled around, doing flips happily about. His round, broad wings easily kept him aloft, and the downy feathers on his chest comfortably concealed the sensitive skin underneath. His sharp, hooked beak seemed to slice the very air, but that would cause a nuclear explosion.
 
Firesong flared her wings, waking to the sunset. She had taken a nap that day, and just now had awoken. Maybe now would be a good time for a... flight in the night...

Immediately, she took off into the sky, gazing at the land below her. Her fire-cloaked wings flickered against the night's mural that stretched across the space above the planet. She could see many other creatures below, and wondered what they thought of her.

It felt good for Firesong to flap her wings again, and she sang a few notes. Soon, she broke out into song, singing an aria that she had made herself. It started low, and slowly got higher, until her lungs almost burst, and she sang the final, low note, and landed on the ground, pecking at the grass. Oddly... it tasted good. She wasn't sure about bugs, but maybe, she would try some...
 
His sharp, hooked beak seemed to slice the very air, but that would cause a nuclear explosion.

((It doesn't...really work that way, but whatever.))


((ZC, I'm letting you know right now that due to NaNo my posting will be very limited over the duration of this month, especially during school days when I have significantly less free time. And even then, though I will try my best to post as frequently as possible, my writing here will likely be somewhat lacking in quality. If nothing else, however, I guarantee I will get something up tomorrow.))
 
((Alright, Leviathan, thanks for letting me know.))

Ξ​

As Brandhyr descended the staircase through the tower, Hak looked out of the window again. The slacker still had not been dealt with. He glared down at the vermin, at the cocky scowl on its face, and watched with glee as Brandhyr swooped across the rocky plains towards it.

"You," Brandhyr growled, his voice full of rage, grabbing the slacker by the neck and lifting it into the air. "What is your name?"

Without waiting for an answer, Brandhyr cruelly shook the goblin, tightening his grip on its neck. "How dare you? How dare you even contemplate that? You're not here to just lounge around, you know!"

He spat in the soldier's face and threw it whole to the ground.

Ξ​

Meanwhile, at the summit of Banari, in the Crowning Fortress of Humans, King Leion gazed out across the ocean from one of the tall, stained-glass windows in his Throne Room. If he squinted, he could see Gjashdil poked over the horizon, and Fort Kazros's tower, too. He had heard certain... rumours, concerning strange activities at Kazros. He'd always been suspicious of the Goblins, from their nature to how they named their locations - for example, 'Kazros' came from the Grey Nisdhata 'Kad Sros', meaning 'Dark Place' - and if these rumours were anything to go by...

He sighed, and moved to another window, looking at the opposite horizon towards Monari. He would rather his castle was somewhere there, maybe on a lush green hill, or in a forest, but no, his ancestors had decided it more appropriate to have it on top of a mountain. The main thing that made him feel so uncomfortable was how close the Crown was to Gjashdil.
 
Mark arrived at the humble cottage that he lived in and sat on a log in front of the house. He pulled out a knife, not his favorite blue-silver dagger, but an iron carving knife, and began to chip the bark off of the stick he had taken. Once all of the bark had been shucked off into the grass, Mark shaped the head into a rough likeness of an owl, its wooden ears perked up, its eyes large and wise. He then started a small fire, and hardened the staff over the flames. After dousing the flames, Mark wiped off the soot and ash from his new staff.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Trox stumbled up, gasping for air. His windpipe was hurt badly, and his arm was scraped. Out of sheer necessity, but absolutely no respect, Trox stood up straight, trying not to show his anger. He had been attacked because he was better than any of them! He just barely prevented himself from scowling again. He had been taken by surprise, that was all! Surely no force in the universe could defeat him in a fair fight...
 
Kojol looked around. The path ahead of him split into three directions.

Two of them no doubt will get me in an even worse position, and one might have a chance of getting me somewhere that isn't here.

He decided to go with the middle path. Continuing to float, he reached a clearing where a dirt path stretched ff into the distance. He saw something at the end- a village.
 
Fassar strolled on his ocean, smiling down fondly at his fish swimming below his feet. He had been wandering for days now, ever since that pesky elven girl had found the village he'd been residing in. True, he could have simply transformed from his elven form, but he didn't want to. Elves were better-looking than the other forms he could take. If he wasn't going to change, then, it was more prudent to leave.

And so he had, disappearing under the cover of the night.

Now, though, land was within sight, as was a settlement that could probably be useful to him. As he stared a head, he caught sight of something floating on the water. He approached it and picked it up.

...a hat?

With a small chuckle, he put it on his head and kept walking.

There had been rumours of a large fleet of ships, in the village he had been practically chased out of. He honestly didn't care what the fleet wanted, but he planned to see if they performed a sacrifice to appease him (or any gods they worshipped; it came to the same thing). If not, he'd have no choice but to make them regret it, pounding at their ships with massive waves, but if they did, he'd leave them be. If the sacrifice was pleasing enough, he'd even help them, perhaps, calming any storms and allowing them to drink from his ocean, if they knew he'd purify it.
 
Hak smirked as the slacker was punished. He turned on the spot and crossed the room yet again, this time however going down the tightly-spiraling stairs to his Throne Room.

The walls were made of dark granite, inlaid with veins of shimmering obsidian, and the floor was the same, with glimmering concentric circles of the obsidian, the smallest of which encompassed the pedestal upon which his throne, made of iron, rubies and yet more obsidian, was standing. But he did not head for the throne, instead throwing open a set of doors at the other end of the room and stepping out onto the south balcony.

From here he had a closer view of the Sorcerers, and was mere metres above the Seven, with their leader, Shfreik, directly below and slightly in front of him.

"Shfreik," Hak called down, interrupting the Spellcasting. The head Sorcerer faltered in his movements, and by effect so did every other Goblin, each one of them looking up at Hak just as Shfreik did. The thousand or so Goblins before him bowed in unison, lowering and straightening up at exactly the same speed.

"Sinister," they all muttered in such similar tones it sounded as if there was only one voice.

"Shfreik, we are ready. If you are - and I expect you to be - I want you all in front of the Fort, immediately, ready to leave."

Without waiting for a reply, Hak span round and went back inside, allowing the doors to slam loudly behind him.


After a few minutes, every last Goblin - save the women and children, who were not permitted in the army - was assembled, ready to leave, in front of the gates.

Hak, with Brandhyr on one side and Shfreik on the other, was observing them all from the north wall. There were no slackers now.

Shfreik intoned two words, and Hak felt a tingling feeling in his throat. With his voice magically boosted, he spoke to the army.

"Goblins of Gjashdil," he boomed, red eyes glinting through the early night.

"I thank you all for volunteering to aid in our efforts," he continued, although there had been no volunteering - every male Goblin was destined to serve Hak in the army, and execution was the only other choice.

"As you know, we are launching an attack upon the Elves as revenge for wrongly outcasting us, all those centuries ago, and angering the great Frawesros, the almighty power that runs in the superior blood of Goblins.

"Each and every one of you shall take part in the attack. Any cowards are to be killed without second thought.

"Our fleet awaits us as Gjashmraw. That is all. Now go."

No-one moved. Then Brandhyr spoke.

"What are you waiting for?" he screamed. "Quick MARCH!"

Brandhyr ran down a narrow staircase to the ground so he could lead the army, and Hak looked at Shfreik. "Teleport us to the boats," the Sinister ordered, and Shfreik nodded, before muttering more magical words. Hak was overcome by a weird, pulsing, warm sensation, and everything around him faded to complete whiteness. When the area around him reformed, he could hear and smell the ocean, and he turned on the spot, seeing around fifty huge galleons docked here, the sail of each one emblazoned with the emblem of Kazros - a dark tower upon a red circle, all surrounded by a black wreath of spikes.
 
From her aerial view, Moss saw a peculiar sight. A cluster of gray-green moved on the edge of another island. She quickly ran through her mind.
That's... um... Gjashdil? And that's where the Goblins live, right? Yeah, I think so...
She suddenly became interested; she'd never seen Goblins before. In her opinion, they looked ugly, but that wouldn't matter. She had always intended to go to Gjashdil and see what kind of rocks they had there.
Wait, she thought. If I tried to go there now, they'd probably shoot me out of the sky. I guess I'll have to wait until another day.
She sighed and shifted her attention to the rocky terrain below. She almost always hunted in the mountains; she didn't much enjoy the deserts. They were dull and sandy, hot, and the food there wasn't at all to her taste.

(Err... Do mountain goats live on the mountains here?)
 
Kerserth stared out over the sea. Night was fast approaching, and she loved the many colors that it brung.

She noticed an odd sight on the very far line of the horizon, a clump of black contrasting against the sunset, moving ever so slightly from Gjashdil.
"Huh..." she muttered, ready to investigate.
She opened her wings, changed the direction of the wind, and took off. She didn't stick around for long, wanting only a glimpse of what was on the horizon.

As she got closer, the black shapes took the form of ships. Many armed ships. Enough ships to conquer a country, and easily enough ships to shoot a lone phoenix down. Kerserth turned immediately, going back to her branch.
While doing so, she saw what looked like an elf taking a stroll across the water, as f it were a solid path. He wasn't a mage, she decided, as he was wearing the hat that she had thrown into the sea only a few moments ago.
 
I think I see land far ahead in the distance, Thrax said telepathically. Jinijin breathed a sigh of relief. He and Thrax had been travelling for days, lost in the ocean in but a small canoe. They had almost run out of food. At last they could land.

"Do you know exactly where we are going to land?" Jinijin shouted out to Thrax.

You don't need to yell, you know, I'm not that far away, Thrax said, irritated. And I don't know where we're going to land. Probably somewhere in Monari or Banari.

Jinijin groaned. His hometown in Monari was a seaport town. If they landed there, it was quite likely that someone would recognize him and he would have to see his family again. That definitely wouldn't be as joyful as one would think. Thrax had flown back and perched on the edge of the boat.

I know you don't want to see your family, Thrax said, but who knows? They could be dead for all you know! Jinijin shot a glare at him. What? I thought you didn't want to see your family?

"Yes," Jinijin said, "but I don't want them to be dead!"

You elves and humans can be so odd sometimes, Thrax said. I just don't understand it. It's much easier to not have a family to manage.

"Oh brag about it why don't you," Jinijin snapped back.

I will, thank you, Thrax answered.
 
The sulfurous wind howled across the barren slopes of Banari, unhindered by any form of housing or construction. Beneath an overhang of rock, however, there is a humble collection of belongings, mostly stacks of volumes upon volumes of books piled at the side of the cave, along with a mirror and a cupboard full of various artifacts and knick-knacks. Suddenly, blue light began to emit from the back of the makeshift dwelling, and when it finally past a dark-skinned elf standing there with a particularly heavy-looking book in his hands.

"And the angelic chorus did speak to him, our lord and savior, of the hardships of man and the sins among...blah, blah, blah, these human preachers are all full of the same tripe."

Kelras tossed the book into the least orderly of his book collections, the junk pile. "What happened to the old days, when pixie sages still inscribed their lore on spectral manifestations in the fabric of reality itself?" He walked over to where the cupboard was, then reached in and pulled out a large bag. "At least back then I didn't need to bother with this obsolete physical form." He turned to face the pile on the floor, before realizing just how much was there - 73 books of varying size, to be exact. It would take so much time and effort to gather them all into one space; best to shorten that a bit. Kelras idly snapped his fingers, and the books disappeared with a flash of blue before reappearing in the now-full sack. "But it's not like those works were any less boring either..." And he disappeared.


Mere seconds and several hundred miles later, the elf materialized somewhere in the snowy wastes of Vurtox. He tossed the bag of books into the snow carelessly; he wondered for a moment where all the others were, although those thoughts were fleeting in the quick pace of Kelras's mind. He vanished again almost immediately, leaving the question to be answered by whoever came upon this area.

It just so happened that such a situation would be happening quite quickly. A monstrously large figure walked out of the raging blizzard, covered completely in a coat made of rags stitched together. The hood turned to each side with the head within, as if the creature was checking warily for anyone who might be watching. It snatched the bag with a hand that emerged from the sleeve before returning the way it came.

The figure trudged through the snow without any signs of fatigue, until the sound of deep, guttural voices could be heard amid the freezing storm, and at last a large metal structure could be seen protruding out of the icy ground. Now inside and out of the cold, Jinzen took his cloak off and tossed it into the corner. The forge had been left aflame while he was gone, and he huddled close to the fire for warmth while emptying the bag onto the dirt floor. He smiled a little at the sight of the many tomes, revealing his sharp and painfully yellow teeth. He lifted one up and squinted hard at the title; he didn't know what it said, but he could at least to pretend to understand. After that massive weapons order the goblins had demanded of all the finest troll smiths, he had plenty of free time to make an attempt to learn from his collection. Now if only he could actually make some degree of progress in his studies...

((I'm soooo behind. D: ))
 
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