Can I make an assumption here? The children of the "Eye" are Humans. Can the time of the Humans come?

>>3702151
then sign me up for the human army of opposition

>>3702113

There is room for only one power in this world; who will you lead?

The Free Peoples of Aesan: Dozens of Races, each carefully sculpted in the hands of their God, blessed with skills of their domain, they were the dominant force in this world; but not disunited, as petty lords rise to squabble over the remains of the once unified continent, their continued existence rests solely on those ambitious enough to seize the reins of power and lead Aesan into a New Age of Prosperity.

The Anathema: The original inhabitants of Aesan; these forsaken creatures were absent of magic, though similar in appearance to many of the Old Races, their very presence was enough to pose a risk to the stability and sanctity of the Pantheons’ plans, but with the Gods now absent, there is nothing blocking the Servents of the Eye from reaching the Age of Ascendency


Voting is now Open: It will Close in 2 Hours (19:00 EST)

>>3702217
>Servants*

I should not rush post, and use something besides notepad.

>>3702217
>The Free Peoples of Aesan.

>>3702151
You would be correct.

>>3702217
>The Anathema: The original inhabitants of Aesan; these forsaken creatures were absent of magic, though similar in appearance to many of the Old Races, their very presence was enough to pose a risk to the stability and sanctity of the Pantheons’ plans, but with the Gods now absent, there is nothing blocking the Servents of the Eye from reaching the Age of Ascendency

>>3702217
>The Anathema: The original inhabitants of Aesan; these forsaken creatures were absent of magic, though similar in appearance to many of the Old Races, their very presence was enough to pose a risk to the stability and sanctity of the Pantheons’ plans, but with the Gods now absent, there is nothing blocking the Servents of the Eye from reaching the Age of Ascendency
F*CK casterfags

>>3702217
of the two which are human/human-like?

>>3702396
The Free Peoples are multiple Races, ranging from Elves, dwarves, goblins and even hobbits,
In distant territories and grasslands dwell centaurs and inside the established settlements what one could consider "Demi-Human" - They are numerous and vary widely.

The Anathema are baseline humans.

>>3702217
>The Anathema: The original inhabitants of Aesan; these forsaken creatures were absent of magic, though similar in appearance to many of the Old Races, their very presence was enough to pose a risk to the stability and sanctity of the Pantheons’ plans, but with the Gods now absent, there is nothing blocking the Servents of the Eye from reaching the Age of Ascendency

FOR THE GLORY AND FUTURE OF ALL MANKIND!

>>3702217
>The Anathema
Supremacy time

>>3702217
>The Anathema: The original inhabitants of Aesan; these forsaken creatures were absent of magic, though similar in appearance to many of the Old Races, their very presence was enough to pose a risk to the stability and sanctity of the Pantheons’ plans, but with the Gods now absent, there is nothing blocking the Servents of the Eye from reaching the Age of Ascendency

File: Awaken.jpg (308 KB, 1024x768)

308 KB JPG

Vote Closed:

The Anathema:
>>3702476
>>3702470
>>3702463
>>3702362
>>3702350

The Free Peoples of Aesan:
>>3702293


Result: Playing as the Anathema.

File: Foundry of the Empire.jpg (369 KB, 1920x817)

369 KB JPG

>>3702558

>Men were blessed with Iron to make war - Quote from the Imperial Meditations.

The massive ships of the Man have, but one destination; the mysterious continent of Aesan.
The will of the Eye is total, even if many a previous expedition was met with failure and total silence, men and material have been quickly mustered for another attempt by the various vassal states and territories of the sprawling Empire.

Though the question arises, who has been given a chance to die for the Eye?

>A Horse Lord of Francia
Honour, Duty and Chivalry, the oldest and most venerable bloodlines of Man reside in this fertile land, wearing the greatest armour made by men and charging into battle without hesitation, they are truly the greatest warriors of Man.
(Gain Special Unit: Francian Knights: Super Heavy Cavalry)

>The Powder Lords of Anglia
Lacking in population or fertile land, Anglia is used as a massive factory by The Eye, where the arms and materials used to feed the growing Empire is made, forever cloaked in darkness of heavy smog that takes the lives of many a man in their prime, Anglia breeds a dour people who have little fear of death, though a poor diet and environment means that they are no true warrior; instead they employ the use of gunpowder, wielding long tubed instruments that spit smoke and lead with such lethality that steel crumples like paper beneath the disciplined fire of Anglian Line Regiments.
(Gain Special Unit: Anglian Line-Infantry: Elite Ranged Gunpowder Unit)

The Warlords of Krieg:
The last of the territories to be incorporated into the Empire, the people who now inhabit the lands of Krieg, are a war-loving people, fiercely independent they fought against The Eye for numerous generations, only submitting finally when all their cities were raised, and their people scattered, making their living as mercenaries and bandits, their love for battle now their sole means of survival.
(Gain Special Unit: Krieger Armsmen: Heavy Shocktrooper Infantry; Short-Range Gunpowder Unit)

>THE IMPERIAL BLOODLINE
Orphaned children of rebellious nobles, taken from the dying arms of their parents, spared only by the benevolence of The Eye, these men exist only to serve their God and Master, secrets abound of mystic rituals that tie their souls to The Eye, giving them great powers, at the cost of their very being.
(Gain Special Unit: The Black Guard: Heavy Pikemen Unit)
(Gain Special Unit: The Iron Guard: Heavy Halberdier Unit)

The vote will close in One (1) Hour.

>>3702729
>>The Powder Lords of Anglia
>Lacking in population or fertile land, Anglia is used as a massive factory by The Eye, where the arms and materials used to feed the growing Empire is made, forever cloaked in darkness of heavy smog that takes the lives of many a man in their prime, Anglia breeds a dour people who have little fear of death, though a poor diet and environment means that they are no true warrior; instead they employ the use of gunpowder, wielding long tubed instruments that spit smoke and lead with such lethality that steel crumples like paper beneath the disciplined fire of Anglian Line Regiments.
>(Gain Special Unit: Anglian Line-Infantry: Elite Ranged Gunpowder Unit)


GUNS

>>3702729
>>The Powder Lords of Anglia

>>3702729
>A Horse Lord of Francia
All of the choices sound cool though

>>3702729
>A Horse Lord of Francia
For that legendary horse charge

>>3702729
>The Powder Lords of Anglia
Lacking in population or fertile land, Anglia is used as a massive factory by The Eye, where the arms and materials used to feed the growing Empire is made, forever cloaked in darkness of heavy smog that takes the lives of many a man in their prime, Anglia breeds a dour people who have little fear of death, though a poor diet and environment means that they are no true warrior; instead they employ the use of gunpowder, wielding long tubed instruments that spit smoke and lead with such lethality that steel crumples like paper beneath the disciplined fire of Anglian Line Regiments.
(Gain Special Unit: Anglian Line-Infantry: Elite Ranged Gunpowder Unit)
gotta get guns

Vote Closed:

Powder Lords of Anglia:
>>3702739
>>3702764
>>3702901

Horse Lords of Francia:
>>3702877
>>3702863

A Powder Lord is in command.

File: Hand of Destiny.jpg (693 KB, 2880x1800)

693 KB JPG

The ship moves lazily, drifting to each side for a few moments, the waves pushing against the wood.
Ever eager to overtake the vessel, but finding no purchase and sliding back down a few moments later, the only evidence of their passing is the nauseous looks that have plagued many an Anglian's face.

But even with the ominous creaking of wood and the violent regurgitation of meals by some of the more ill soldiers, the air is thick with anticipation, men climbing onto the deck to cast their eyes on the blurry shapes in the distance, the mythical lands of Aesan, where no man has tread before.

Already captains and sergeants are martialing their men, the numerous transport ships, engorging men from the lower decks, their pikes standing tall and muskets covered carefully in their sleeping tarp.
Their shouts intermingle with the cries of seagulls and the loud cursing of sailors who have been conscripted into manning the landing boats.

Soon enough, men stand in perfect blocks, each column sufficient to fill a large rowing boat, waiting patiently as the ships begin to furl their masts and slow to a halt on this gentle day, the shore now noticeable, with all the shrubbery and sand that comes with it.

Then, from the lead ship, a massive man of war, comes the signal, a long mournful sound from a traditional bone horn; men begin rappelling down onto the rowing boats, cursing and murmuring as pikes smack into their fellows and a number of precious gunpowder crates are cut loose too soon, their contents lost in the azure waters.

Where are you Landing?

>A township, showing signs of life and activity, the presence of the armada having been noticed quickly by fishing boats, already the docks have been deserted, an excellent landing site as any.

>The forests conceal much of this village, but the timber of artificial constructs stick out by their coloured roofs, figures take refuge in the foliage as the boats begin row gently towards the dense tree-line.

>An island, near to the shores of the continent is a perfect landing spot, though populated it will serve as an excellent base of operations and springboard to the mainland proper, all you need to do is clear away the armed mob that has appeared on the shoreline.

>>3702958
>A township, showing signs of life and activity, the presence of the armada having been noticed quickly by fishing boats, already the docks have been deserted, an excellent landing site as any.
PURGE

>>3702958
>>An island, near to the shores of the continent is a perfect landing spot, though populated it will serve as an excellent base of operations and springboard to the mainland proper, all you need to do is clear away the armed mob that has appeared on the shoreline.

once we have the island the conquest of the mainland will be child's play

>>3702958
>An island, near to the shores of the continent is a perfect landing spot, though populated it will serve as an excellent base of operations and springboard to the mainland proper, all you need to do is clear away the armed mob that has appeared on the shoreline.

>>3702958
>>An island, near to the shores of the continent is a perfect landing spot, though populated it will serve as an excellent base of operations and springboard to the mainland proper, all you need to do is clear away the armed mob that has appeared on the shoreline.

File: The Wooden Castles.jpg (439 KB, 1920x1200)

439 KB JPG

Vote Closed:

Take the Town:
>>3702964

Conquer the Island:
>>3702965
>>3702972
>>3702973

Anglian Forces are moving to capture the Island of 'Norvum'.

>>3702995
>inb4 its an island of Demi-Human Forrest critters

>>3702995

Taking the Beachhead: 3 1d100
1 Success = Minor Success
2 Success = Success
3 Success = Major Success

Original DC:
Modifiers:
Positive:
Hand of Destiny (Cannon Support): -10
Wands of Thunder (Gunpowder): -10
Superior Arms and Equipment: -10
Elite Anglian Line-Infantry: (Not in Formation: +5) = -5
Sudden Attack: -5

Negative Modifiers:
Not Trained for Naval Landings: +10
The enemy has numerical superiority: +5
The Kobold 'Dragon Guard': +5

Final DC: 30
Please Roll 3 1d100

Rolled 53 (1d100)

>>3703033
Big win, Big win, come on Big win

Rolled 10 (1d100)

>>3703033
PRAISE ZARUS

Rolled 38 (1d100)

>>3703033

>>3703038
>>3703044
>>3703048

53, 10, 38 = Normal Success

>>3703055
-Musketman Aldus; Duke of Cumbria's Line Infantry-

Man wasn't meant to be on boats, all this rocking and splashing water; you can barely hold your lunch in!
The boat shudders as it strikes the shoal, the sailors (lucky bastards they are) are quick to duck, cowering inside the small vessel as flint arrows fly overhead, clinking into the water as the ugly critters demonstrate their poor aim.

"Onto the Shore! Quick time!" your sergeant shouts out, brandishing his gold-embroidered halberd as he nudges your back with it, an unsubtle sign that he was talking to you.
For a moment, you think of disobeying, but you'd rather not be hanged while sober, hurridly scrambling off the boat and joining your budding band of brothers, who nervously stand in the knee-high water, forming a small firing line of twelve men.

Already other groups of musketeers are discharging their weapons, many a musket jamming from soggy-powder, but it doesn't make a difference, the rat-like creatures, barely reaching your chest are shitting themselves at the sight of your guns, their chittering overshadowing the sounds of muskets discharging.

While few actually died from the volley, the rats seem to hesitate in attacking, something your thankful for as the pikemen are taking their time getting off their boats, taking an inordinate amount of care with those oversized sticks they call pikes.

A few minutes pass, the battle now a shooting match between bow and musket, your group steadily advancing towards the beach proper, linking up with other groups, arrows snapping as they strike breastplates or failing to penetrate the thick cloth of your uniform.

You're already giddy, the teeming masses of abominations don't have the nerve to swarm you, why in The Eye's name were so you so afraid of these oversized rod-
Then they show themselves, the size of a fully grown man, spindly limbs encased in bone-armour of bleached white, and wielding steel swords, clubs and spears, these new arrivals charge without hesitation towards your line, such display of bravery egging on the mob into joining in.

"PRESENT ARMS!" The command echoes across the line, sergeants and captains repeating the order of the grizzled colonel, the bastard son of your Lord, you never liked him, but none could find him wanting in bravery, few men can tangle with another man's wife and live to brag about it.

Your musket rests solidly against your shoulder, your gunpowder is wet, and the pikemen have decided that straightening their line a few feet back is more important than the battle is weighing heavily on your mind, but you don't run.
You may die fighting a rat, but you'll undoubtedly die from a whipping.
"FIRE!"
You pull the trigger, and the muskets force pushes against your shoulder, sending vibrations across your torso as your sight is filled with acrid smoke, your eyes tearing, and your face blackening as you continue following the instructions shouted above the din of battle.

>>3703123
You stopped seeing the enemy three volleys ago, but you continue to pour fire into the general direction of the enemy, the regiment unwilling to enter into arm's length with the ratty blighters, you aren't Francian!
But after another volley, the order to draw swords is called, the Pikemen have disappeared from the field, their officers leading them into the thick foliage, their pikes left behind on the shore.

"Advance!"
Astride his white stallion (How did he get that on-shore?), the posh git points his sword towards the thick smoke, not moving an inch as sergeants and officers begin berating and pushing unwilling men forward.
Your eyes are wide, your sword always moving across your form as you step over bodies carefully, giving some of them a stab just incase.

But there is no surprise attack, there are no remaining vermin, the field filled with the corpses of armoured and unarmoured creatures, some even formed into mounds as survivors sought the cover of their dead brethren, to no avail.

As the smoke clears, you see smoke rising from the settlement in the distance, one of your fellows verbalising what the entire regiment is thinking.
"Those fuckers are getting all the loot!"

>Kobold Tribal Forces Killed or Routed:
>The 'Town' of Norvum has been captured (and looted).

Live is over for today.

Next Live: 29/07/2019 (18:00 EST)/(23:00 BST)

Not sure how you archive or if I should do that for this thread, could someone help me out on this?

>>3703134
suptg
Also there's no need since threads don't auto-sage for first three days
Or so I heard anyway

>>3703407
The first five days these days, and it usually takes two weeks to slide off the board entirely.

>>3703134
Let the thread go on until it starts to autosage in several days. Most people archive via suptg's quest archive ( http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html ) where you can archive via the request form

OY FUCKING VEY, the madlad migrated to qst

OP you brown british hunk, welcome

File: The Orb.jpg (26 KB, 350x420)

26 KB JPG

>>3703128

-The Powder Lord-

Inside the bowels of the mighty Man of War, which continued to belch powder and lead onto the ramshackle huts and structures that make up this island settlement, is a room.
The walls black, though of wooden make, it is bound by unholy magics, a foul-smelling tar-like substance leaking from these unsettling walls, from the eyes and figures etched into each plank, which moves in a ritualistic pagan dance.

Within this shadowed room, cloaked in darkness, there is only a single bastion of light, in the centre where the wooden floor makes way for stone.
The tar moves with a mind of its own, pooling into the circular pool surrounding the orange light, that piercing light that gives no warmth, instead.

Stepping towards the Orb, as figures began to manifest into the shadowed corners of the room, their outlines becoming more noticeable, the voluminous robes that are covered in unreadable parchments, the golden writing emitting a glow as they too advance closer to the Orb.

You feel an unseen weight pressed upon your shoulders, your ears begin ringing as you feel something slither into your ears and crawl beneath your eyes, barely resisting the urge to scratch your blood-shot eyes you persevere and advance closer to the glowing orange orb, that sits innocently upon the obsidian obelisk.

It was never expected for you to need the Orb, but the success of your expedition and the victory soon-after warrants the use of it.
There is hesitation in your actions, this whole room is unnatural, you can not hear the crashing waves that smash against the sides of your vessel, nor the sounds of crewmen going about their duties, or the thundering sounds of your cannons.

Only the whispers, in a language you understand not, a migraine rising as you violently hack up some black phlegm, blood staining your otherwise immaculate uniform as you wipe away your bloody mouth.
The robed figures advance closer, their hooded visages focused on you, growing impatient with your delays, the unnatural priests of The Eye eager to meet their master.

Stepping into the deceptively shallow pool, you plunge into the thick depths, the inky substance clinging to your form, like quicksand, your attempts to resist and escape only speed up your descent.
Hands pulled down as the tar overtakes your form, your head submerges into the viscous liquid, forcing itself into your mouth and down your lungs, the last sight you see is a burning eye, staring down at you before your eyes are crushed.

DESIGNATED
SHITPOST
BOARD

>>3705341

Powder Lord: Character Creation:
Please choose (or Write-in) a name and select a specialisation.
Name:
Example #1: Acton Highcrest
Example #2: Hugh Marshal
Example #3: Stephen Cumberland

Quest Stats:
Diplomacy: Influences the Ability to Persuade and Please People
Martial: Influences the Effectiveness of the Character in Combat
Stewardship: Influences the Effectiveness of 'Kingdom' Management
Intrigue: Influences the Characters' Subterfuge Actions
Piety: Influences the Characters' Knowledge on all that is Magic and Alien

Specialisation:

Military Heritage: In war your family gained their rank, and in war they shall maintain it; since youth, you were prepared for the future expectation of commanding one of the few Anglian Regiments that The Eye had permitted to be raised.
>Bonus: Martial Stat (+5)
>Bonus: Positive Modifier of (10) for military actions.

Nouveau Riche: Ever since The Eye dictated that Anglia become the furnace of the Empire, from which most goods would come from, your family has risen in power and wealth, enough that blood no-longer dictates nobility, a title is cheap, but to create a heritage will be difficult.
>Bonus: Stewardship Stat (+5)
>Bonus: Positive Modifier of (10) for Stewardship Actions.

A Noble Rogue: A lifetime spent drinking and carousing, you were honestly surprised that you were nominated to lead this expedition, it was a great honour, though you have an inkling your family just wanted you out of the way for your younger sibling...
>Bonus: Intrigue Stat (+5)
>Bonus: Positive Modifier of (10) for Intrigue Actions.

Of Blue Blood: Long before The Eye rose on the mainland, your family stewarded the lands of Anglia, leading your beleaguered people through war and famine, though you no longer rule this land, your blood and breeding is not forgotten; indeed, you are the lynchpin in The Eye's control of your island nation.
>Bonus: Diplomacy Stat (+5)
>Bonus: Positive Modifier of (10) for Diplomacy Actions.

Imperial Hostage: The Eye gives, and The Eye takes, you were among the many noble-born sons who were taken by The Eye, insurance that your noble father would not rebel against the Empire, given an education that would leave even the most well-versed scholar green with envy, you understand that some superstitions are all too real and that sometimes you must look beyond what your own eyes see to understand the mysteries of the world.
>Bonus: Piety Stat (+5)
>Bonus: Positive Modifier of (10) for Piety Actions.

>>3705438
Maiar Melkor
>Imperial Hostage: The Eye gives, and The Eye takes, you were among the many noble-born sons who were taken by The Eye, insurance that your noble father would not rebel against the Empire, given an education that would leave even the most well-versed scholar green with envy, you understand that some superstitions are all too real and that sometimes you must look beyond what your own eyes see to understand the mysteries of the world.
Praise the eye for it is the best thing that happened to human kind!

>>3705438
Inigo Montoya
Martial: Influences the Effectiveness of the Character in Combat
Military Heritage: In war your family gained their rank, and in war they shall maintain it; since youth, you were prepared for the future expectation of commanding one of the few Anglian Regiments that The Eye had permitted to be raised.

goal:
Locate missing father who was last seen sailing to this new land

>>3705438
Name: Victor Whitecliffe

Specialization: Nouveau Riche
Ever since The Eye dictated that Anglia become the furnace of the Empire, from which most goods would come from, your family has risen in power and wealth, enough that blood no-longer dictates nobility, a title is cheap, but to create a heritage will be difficult.
>Bonus: Stewardship Stat (+5)
>Bonus: Positive Modifier of (10) for Stewardship Actions

>>3705600
>>3705438
backing this guy

Closing Vote:

Plan: Maiar Melkor
>>3705468

Plan: Inigo Montoya
>>3705520

Plan: Victor Whitecliffe
>>3705600
>>3705627

Winning Vote: Victor Whitecliffe

File: Crystals.jpg (363 KB, 1920x828)

363 KB JPG

>>3705671
You see your youth, feel the emotions that ran through those memories.
The fear that overtook you, when as a child you were taken from your father, a prominent merchant who with money and power purchased his own title, becoming one of the most effective administrators in the Empire's Foundry.

The Black-Armoured men, whose face were hidden beneath visors, revealing only those malevolent eyes of amber, their grip strong and uncaring as they dragged you away from your family, and onto that black-metal ship of theirs.

All those other noble children, whose family names you could recall, friendships forged through adversity and desperation, that by the time you were ushered into the Dark Tower, a massive monolith teeming with life, thousands of men and women living and working in the largest structure ever created.

The Obsidian walls and floors, gleaming under the blue torch flames, every moment spent traversing these terrifying corridors, strengthening you will, as tutors, clad in black robes, their faces hidden beneath porcelain masks, what little skin visible, wrinkled and deformed.

Magic was something of legend, fairy tales and myths that entertained the peasants as they toiled away in their thankless jobs, but through these magisters, you learnt how real they were, of continents being smashed together, of the creatures that dwell in the forests, the gateway to their own realm, playing cruel tricks upon their hapless mortal victims.

Of The Eye, the greatest being to ever exist, whose existence predated that of the world itself.
Knowledge, that was the most potent weapon for a servent of The Eye, especially in this new land, whose guardians now lay dead upon the seafloor, godly protections crushed beneath the power of The Eye.

Humanity is meant for greatness, and The Eye gives such a promise, and so, when the chance came, you volunteered to lead the next expedition to the Mythical land of Aesan, to learn of their peoples, their gods, and their worth.

It was then, as you reached the end of your 'dream', seeing your past self step towards the Orb and the pool of tar, did it speak.
There was no language, no sounds, not even a face, Just The Eye, that moves to stare upwards at your observing form.

This world was not originally gifted with magic, no, it is a foreign virus, that infects and spreads across the land, mutating and empowering creatures most vile and alien to this earth.
The source of this infection; crystals, remnants from another world, forcibly transplanted by malevolent entities who sought to make this world their own.
Find them, you must find them, why? You do not know, It does not tell you, curiosity is crushed beneath the overpowering presence of The Eye.

It does not broker argument; mortals are not meant to question It; So, you obey.

>>3705745

Turn One (1)

The island burns, lighting up the night sky in a macabre show of Imperial Might and Cruelty, the humble settlement built on the shores of this mostly untouched island is aflame, its inhabitants forced to flee or fall beneath the steel of their invaders.

Staring from the bow of The Hand of Destiny, you stare at the flickering shadows and rising smoke with detachment, your mind fixated upon other things, precisely that of the Crystals, and curiosity over your opponents, whose corpses have been left on the beach, carrion, three-eyed crows, hideous reptiles that walk on two legs, waving about stunted arms, and all manner of magical abomination gorging themselves on this free meal.

But soon enough, as the sun rises again, against the backdrop of human depravity, you stare upwards into the skies, darkened by smoke, but carrying an unnatural heaviness to it, the clouds blackened, as if corrupted by the hostilities they have gazed upon so recently.

(Select one option from each Attribute/Topic)

>>3705879
>Military
The Bastard of Cumbria may be young, but he was groomed for command since infancy, for there is nothing else a bastard can do, but die for his family, though this one, in particular, seems to be more interested in making his own, if his tendency to flirt with anyone bearing ovaries is taken seriously.

Finishing the Job: While the main force of these rat creatures was slaughtered, there still were many smaller bands who were either put to flight or chose not to join their fellows in the initial battle.
Now your receiving reports of sentries being killed in their sleep, by these white-furred abominations, who crawl out of the shadows, with stone and tin instruments, ruthlessly butchering your subordinates.
It is time to put an end to their threat, once and for all, scour the island clean of these creatures, so that the island may finally be secured.
(Wipe out the Kobolds)

Protecting our Interests: From rats to carrion to massive oxen, this island is filled with strange and unnatural life, who are already reacting negatively to the presence of your men, attacking supply convoys, and scouting parties, limiting your capabilities, set your men the task of culling these overgrown populations.
(Remove the threat of the native fauna and wildlife, before it collects momentum)

>Diplomacy
The honourable Captain Hawke has served in the Francien Navy for decades, and in that time he has learnt the seductive and suave ways of the nobility; and how to properly use them, after all, it takes great talent to rise so high when born a common serf.

This man is your Friend: Your men have successfully captured a band of these... Rats, whose physical appearances reveal them to be female and a collection of children, it will be a challenging but perhaps rewarding task to try and befriend them, maybe it will pay dividends later down the road.
(Focus on connecting to the Kobold Prisoners; perhaps they can serve as future envoys or servents)

Strength in Unity: The men are uncertain, some even fearful, for most expected not to survive the perilous journey to this mythical land, but having succeeded, they are at a loss, these strange creatures and fauna, the sights and sounds so alien to the common man, it is overwhelming, with some men refusing to leave their fortified camps, afraid of their new surroundings; this problem must be dealt with before it can grow worse.
(Restore Discipline within the ranks of your Army; Boost confidence of your men in you)

>>3705883
>Stewardship
Lacking any professional who could take the role of your 'Steward', you defaulted into promoting the Anglian Line-Infantry's Quartermaster, a dour old man whose friendliness is as lacking as hair upon that shining dome he calls a head.

The Foundations: Now that a beachhead has been established, it is time to construct a more stable setting upon this island, this is the start of the Empire's hold on this land.
(Begin Construction of a permanent settlement)

An army marches upon its stomach: While your reserves of food and fresh water are great, the constant state of conflict that your troops are embroiled in means that they are quickly being drained, you must search for a more stable source of food for your men, before they starve to death in this alien environment.
(Search for Food and Water to supply your army)

Intrigue:
You lack any capable individual who could be your chief of spies, perhaps you will find one amongst your subordinates, or it may be better to leave the position vacant, a man of the shadows can never be trusted, who can say they will not turn their blade unto you?

They are in the trees: These constant raids upon your camps and patrols is growing tiresome, you must locate the source of these attacks, there must be a refuge where these creatures are hiding in, planning their next moves and gathering stolen supplies and weapons!
(Find out where the Kobolds have gone hiding)

Find a spymaster: You command an army raised from the heartlands of Anglia, of course, there would be rogues and thugs within your ranks, you shall comb the army for the most talented one amongst these band of scoundrels.
(Find a Spymaster)

>Piety
The priests of The Eye are a strange lot, smelling of rot and bleeding tar instead of blood from their open wounds, you are thankful they still wear hoods that shadow their faces, you still remember the shuddering, revolting sight of their faces from your youth.

Scrying: The Priests have informed you that they are preparing a ritual that will for a moment, allow The Eye to gaze within the lands of Aesan, even at such a great distance from his tower, all it requires is a sacrifice, and those rat-men will undoubtedly do.
(Sacrifice Ratmen = The Eye's Gaze = PROFIT)

The Bones of a Giant: Your scouts have found the desiccated remains of a giant lizard, the size of a mountain, this beast created a massive chasm in the island from its fall and subsequent death, the bone is incredibly resistant, and the Kobold priests that lived inside its ribcage fought to the end with religious fanaticism to defend it, the Priests are eager to learn what it is.

>Personal Attention: Identify one of your choices as a task that you will personally oversee, providing a base positive modifier of +5 (as-well-as any positive bonuses from your traits and skills)

>>3705889
>Diplomacy
we can use these lesser beings for our own enrichment

>>3705883
>>3705889
So we select one focus from each attribute? If so:

>Military
>Protecting our Interests
From rats to carrion to massive oxen, this island is filled with strange and unnatural life, who are already reacting negatively to the presence of your men, attacking supply convoys, and scouting parties, limiting your capabilities, set your men the task of culling these overgrown populations.
(Remove the threat of the native fauna and wildlife, before it collects momentum)


>Diplomacy
>This Man is Your Friend
Your men have successfully captured a band of these... Rats, whose physical appearances reveal them to be female and a collection of children, it will be a challenging but perhaps rewarding task to try and befriend them, maybe it will pay dividends later down the road.
(Focus on connecting to the Kobold Prisoners; perhaps they can serve as future envoys or servents)

>Stewardship
>Personal Attention
>The Foundations
Now that a beachhead has been established, it is time to construct a more stable setting upon this island, this is the start of the Empire's hold on this land.
(Begin Construction of a permanent settlement)

>Intrigue
>Find a Spymaster
You command an army raised from the heartlands of Anglia, of course, there would be rogues and thugs within your ranks, you shall comb the army for the most talented one amongst these band of scoundrels.
(Find a Spymaster)

>Piety
>Scrying
The Priests have informed you that they are preparing a ritual that will for a moment, allow The Eye to gaze within the lands of Aesan, even at such a great distance from his tower, all it requires is a sacrifice, and those rat-men will undoubtedly do.
(Sacrifice Ratmen = The Eye's Gaze = PROFIT)

>>3705889

>>Military
>>Protecting our Interests
>From rats to carrion to massive oxen, this island is filled with strange and unnatural life, who are already reacting negatively to the presence of your men, attacking supply convoys, and scouting parties, limiting your capabilities, set your men the task of culling these overgrown populations.
>(Remove the threat of the native fauna and wildlife, before it collects momentum)

>>Diplomacy
>>This Man is Your Friend
>Your men have successfully captured a band of these... Rats, whose physical appearances reveal them to be female and a collection of children, it will be a challenging but perhaps rewarding task to try and befriend them, maybe it will pay dividends later down the road.
>(Focus on connecting to the Kobold Prisoners; perhaps they can serve as future envoys or servents)

>>Stewardship
>>Personal Attention
>>The Foundations
>Now that a beachhead has been established, it is time to construct a more stable setting upon this island, this is the start of the Empire's hold on this land.
>(Begin Construction of a permanent settlement)

>>Intrigue
>>Find a Spymaster
>You command an army raised from the heartlands of Anglia, of course, there would be rogues and thugs within your ranks, you shall comb the army for the most talented one amongst these band of scoundrels.
>(Find a Spymaster)

The Bones of a Giant: Your scouts have found the desiccated remains of a giant lizard, the size of a mountain, this beast created a massive chasm in the island from its fall and subsequent death, the bone is incredibly resistant, and the Kobold priests that lived inside its ribcage fought to the end with religious fanaticism to defend it, the Priests are eager to learn what it is.

>>3705883
>Military
Protecting our Interests
>Diplomacy
Strength in Unity
>>3705889
>Stewardship
>Personal attention
The Foundations
>Intrigue
They are in the trees
>Piety
Scrying

>>3705889
>>Military
>Finishing the Job
>>Diplomacy
>Strength in Unity
>>Stewardship
>An army marches upon its stomach
>>Intrigue
>Find a spymaster
>>Piety
>The Bones of a Giant
>>Personal Attention
>An army marches upon its stomach

Removing the intelligent opponents is probably more important than removing the local wildlife
And we can start creating the outpost after we have source of food

>>3706275
>>3705889
backing

>>3706275
Supportin

>>3705883
>>3705889
>Finishing the Job. Personal Attention.
>Strength in Unity.
>An army marches upon its stomach.
>Find a spymaster.
>Scrying.

>>3706275
Backing.

File: The Black Tower.png (2.64 MB, 1024x1442)

2.64 MB PNG

>>3705889
VOTING CLOSED:

Plan #1
Protecting Our Interests
This Man is your Friend
The Foundations (Personal Attention)
Find a Spymaster
Scrying
>>3705923

Plan #2
Protecting our Interests
This Man is Your Friend
The Foundations (Personal Attention)
Find a Spymaster
The Bones of a Giant
>>3705941

Plan #3
Protecting our Interests
Strength in Unity
The Foundations (Personal Attention)
They are in the Trees
Scrying
>>3706247

Plan #4
Finishing the Job
Strength in Unity
An army marches upon its Stomach (Personal Attention)
Find a Spymaster
The Bones of a Giant
>>3706275
>>3706440
>>3707318
>>3707338

Plan #5
Finishing the Job (Personal Attention)
Strength in Unity
An army marches upon its Stomach
Find a spymaster
Scrying
>>3707334

Plan #4 will be implemented.

>>3707857
Rolls:

1) Finishing the Job: DC: 30/60/90
2) Strength in Unity: 20/40/60/80
3) An Army marches upon its Stomach: 20/40/60 - Personal Attention = 5/25/45
4) Finding a Spymaster: 30/60/90
5) The Bones of a Giant: 25/50/75/100

Please roll 3 5d100

Rolled 39, 89, 91, 63, 78 = 360 (5d100)

>>3707884

Rolled 58, 14, 33, 78, 95 = 278 (5d100)

>>3707884
Which roll system are we using?

>>3707975
Bo3 for each task/objective.
In Battle:
1 Success = Minor Success
2 Success = Success
3 Success = Major Success
In Administration/Turns:
Bo3 with varying DC Levels, pass the higher tiers to earn greater results.

Rolled 95, 81, 45, 6, 39 = 266 (5d100)

>>3707884
I strongly disagree with wiping out the kobolds but I have been outvoted

>>3708096
I kinda feel you, I wanted to scry the island.

>>3707884
Rolling Closed.
>>3707946
>>3707975
>>3708096

39, 89, 91, 63, 78
58, 14, 33, 78, 95
95, 81, 45, 6, 39

1) Finishing the Job: 95 (90) (3/3)
2) Strength in Unity: 89 (80) (4/4)
3) An Army marches upon its Stomach: 91 (45) (3/3)
4) Finding a Spymaster: 78 (60) (2/3)
5) The Bones of a Giant: 95 (75) (3/4)

>>3708070
Okay, that makes sense. The multiple DC's did throw me off since I assumed it was still the battle DC system at first.

File: Slaughter.jpg (85 KB, 720x405)

85 KB JPG

>>3708172
>Finishing the Job
The Harrying of Norvum: Part One.

They came from the sea, massive wooden castles, that floated gently towards the shore of our home, their vague silhouettes standing out from the dense fog that hung low across the waters, so distracted were we by their intimidating forms, that we had crowded along the beaches, breath hitched in anticipation as the fog began to slowly dissipate at the command of some unseen force.

Bristling with iron rods, their massive maws decorated with the visages of fearsome beasts, there was murmuring amongst your kin and tribe, who were those strangers? So tall in form, similar to elves yet carrying themselves with none of their grace.
A shout rose amongst the crowd, as they saw the not-elves lower smaller boats, carrying wooden sticks that encircled metal tubes, and long spears, twice their height.

Some of the more curious ones, children and youths scrambled onto the beach proper, eager to get a closer look at these fearsome warriors, a guarded childhood leaving them oblivious of the threat that you and your fellows soon realised was close.
While others struggled to take note of these strangers, your superior sight, a blessing from Oika, the Father of all Kobols, saw their expressions, the same cold face, set with heavy lines that no elf would ever suffer from; but more importantly, you saw their eyes.

Those mirrors into their souls, it matters not their colour, blue, green or grey, you saw through them, into their very being.
And you saw the Eye, The Dark God has returned from his banishment, wielding an army who carried the same fanaticism that turned the once Hero-Priest Ithrin to willingly throw his soul into eternal damnation and torment.

“FLEE YOU FOOLS!” Your rasping voice, chittering the high pitched tongue of your race was lost amongst the cacophony of violence that had blossomed across the beach, the ships belching dark smoke, as they hurled balls of iron and stone into the ranks of warrior and villager.
The screams, the pained wailing of the innocent, frightened cries of children seeking the safety of their parents.

The Dragon Guard, the vaunted Immortal Warriors of Oika stepped forward, standing to oppose the landing of these stricken elves, whose movements were unnatural, quickly clumping together into symmetrical lines and blocks, all but their leaders silent.
The enraged warriors rushed down the slopes onto the beach, fury powering their movements, their armour giving off a dull glow as they enhanced each warrior, and at their back were many of the villagers, eager to seek vengeance for their fallen kin, and drive the invaders from their sacred soil.

>>3708621
>Finishing the Job
The Harrying of Norvum: Part Two

You knew it would be for nought, your people have not fought a war since the Dark Lord Ithrin was cast down, they would be slaughtered.
Stumbling backwards, your old bones protesting your movements, you leaned heavily upon your staff, moving away from the battle, away from the village; to safety.

Those who were called cowards, who refused to join the charge followed you, hoping that one of their village elders would lead them to salvation, or at least away from the acrid smoke and death.

“Present!” The voices of the invaders echoed across the fields, repeated by their officers and some of their soldiers, it was an unforgiving tongue, harsh and painful to hear.
“We must hurry…” Your words elicited chitters of agreement from your worried followers who moved with you into the dense treeline.

“FIRE!”
Your ears rang, even from such great distance, the explosions and lightning forced out from those tubes was mighty indeed, and as the field was obscured by dense smoke, the roars and cries of your tribe growing silent, you knew the day was lost.

“We will recover, and drive the invaders from our shores.” your word rang hollow, even to yourself, but the desperate and fearful were all too eager to lap up your words of hope in these dark times.
May the Gods have mercy upon your soul, for The Unnamed certainly will not.

>>3708629
>Finishing the Job
The Harrying of Norvum: Part Three

The fall of your village coincided with the massacre of the Dragon Guard, their spearmen having taken advantage of the smoke and the intimidating distraction of their fire warriors to make a detour and head towards the settlement instead of taking part in the beach battle.

Mercy was an alien concept to these creatures, who once they had brought down the timber walls and overcame the handful of defenders, began an orgy of murder and looting, Kobolds were slaughtered, uncaring of their age, as children were crushed underfoot and women burned alive with what belongings the invaders saw as worthless.

Holy relics and prayer items were smashed, the valuable minerals inside the bones and books are torn out with glee and greed.
The survivors spoke with such horrified and shocked tones, it seemed as if a part of their minds died along with their homes, even if they managed to escape.

Instead of breaking the will of your people, it emboldened the survivors, as your charismatic voice called for them to lend their ears, speaking of past wars against the forces of Evil, encouraging each Kobold to give themselves to the greater good of the Kobold Race, you led them to the Great Temple, built within the massive ribcage of the Dragon Karzka.

But you were too late, smoke rose in the distance from the now blackened bones of the massive carcass, the cries and sounds of battle audible from your position.
Even with the holiest site of your people taken, your people stood strong, their emotions empowering their will to continue to fight on, to avenge their people and fight for their God.

So they did, in the aftermath of their invasion, the not-elves were disorganised, too busy looting and preparing their campsites, their small patrols and gathering groups were ambushed, swarmed by your people from amongst the foliage, their bodies hacked apart, equipment looted to arm your growing army.

It seemed as if your plan of starving them out was working, patrols became rarer, larger in number and no-longer did the enemy seek to find food amongst your forests and fields, instead, focusing on a single area, digging massive ditches and stockpiling wooden barrels, in preparation for... something.

It was then that you realised you had made a significant mistake.
In your hurry to take the fight to the enemy, you overlooked who was the master of these creatures, The Unnamed One cared not for innocents or collateral, and his new servants did not fight in honourable duals and melees as the warriors of Aesan did.

No, when they finally deemed it necessary to take the fight to you, rather than have their force chipped away, piece by piece, they came with Fire and Sword.

File: No Quarter.jpg (1.27 MB, 2560x1440)

1.27 MB JPG

>>3708731
>Finishing the Job
The Harrying of Norvum: Part Four

They had stood tall for thousands of years, they saw the arrival of your Gods and the rise of civilisations, and now they are burning, dying.
The flames devour all plant life in their path, your enemy putting everything and anything flammable to torch.

You had moved quickly, herding your followers to safety, towards a nearby lake so that they could find refuge from the burning flames and choking smoke.
The lengths that the enemy was willing to take to end your people was terrifying, you did not who they were and what they wanted, and neither did they, you.
But nevertheless, the sheer scope of brutality they inflicted upon everything around them in pursuit of their bloodlust had shaken the will of some of your people.
Untrained as they were, and inexperienced in war, your island was insulated from the horrors on the mainland that raged in the aftermath of the Pantheon's disappearance.

This safety was perhaps your undoing, the sunlight pierced through the dense foliage and treetops as you neared the edges of the forest, only for your heart to sink.
Assembled in a neat line across the small field that separated the treeline from the lake proper, was the not-elves, their coats of red immaculate, breastplates of hard metal shining as the world burned around them.

Standing atop a slight elevation, their barrels of fire and thunder pointed at you, below them stood their brown-jacketed fellows, long spears pointed at you, forming a wall of steel to separate you from them.
With the raging fires to your back and the invaders to your front, the fate of your people was sealed, most of the survivors were amongst you, terrified and afraid, the unnatural silence that descended across the field was strange, invader and Kobold, speaking not a word as the flames flickered and sound out.

"Oika is waiting for us." Your voice bled with resignation, head bowed low slightly, you soon steeled yourself, walking into the open field, brandishing your staff, your kin and tribe following, for there was no other choice.
You'd find no mercy from these creatures, you would either overcome this obstacle or fall, it was in the hands of the Pantheon.

File: what.png (58 KB, 500x428)

58 KB PNG

>>3708783
>>3708731
>>3708629
>>3708621
fucking dark I didn't want this

>>3708783
>Finishing the Job
The Harrying of Norvum: Part Five (END)

Watching from your position behind the bristling wall of pikes and unbroken lines of muskets, you empty the rest of your canteen, the water, a temporary relief against the extreme humidity and heat.

Placed into a situation of life and death, the Rats chose to make battle, as the survivors charged, numbering in the thousands, it would have been an intimidating sight if not for their appearance, tattered clothing, looted armour, broken weapons and emaciated bodies, these were not warriors.

It was a slaughter, lead smashing into the ranks of horde like clockwork, smoke making it difficult for you to observe the battle as they reached the lines of your pikemen, screams and chitters filled the air as man and beast fought, in a pitched battle, the training, armament and physiology of your men proved superior, over the course of fifteen minutes, what was once the last hope of a race, became a mass grave.

White fur covering the blood-stained grass, with a few human corpses amongst them, but your losses were relatively light, what few of your enemy that survived had fled into the burning forests, to choke or burn to death, if any live to see the end of this day, it would be very few.
The Bastard of Cumbria decided now was the time to speak up, his voice joking.
"Pathetic creatures, almost takes the honour away from victory..."

But your mind was taken with another thought, that you may have just snuffed out another race, their culture, history and works, gone to the flames and grave.

File: Spacemood.gif (1.67 MB, 319x238)

1.67 MB GIF

>>3708845
that feeling when you send an entire people into extinction

Sick update OP. I really liked the PoV shift to the kobolds so we could really appreciate them getting slaughtered as well as how great/terrible pike and shot warfare can be.

>>3708855
>But your mind was taken with another thought, that you may have just snuffed out another race, their culture, history and works, gone to the flames and grave.
Yes, the felling of a job well done for good cause truly is exquisite

QM, where are you ?

>>3714616
He might be busy with unexpected IRL stuff. More likely, since this is /qst/, the quest is deader than disco. Hope QM will continue though, this is good shit

>>3714726
hey man disco isnt totally dead

File: Anglian Men at Arms.jpg (538 KB, 961x1920)

538 KB JPG

>>3708172

>Strength in Unity

Anglians by nature are a superstitious lot, the old isles being once home to all manners of mythical creatures, their legends embedded into the culture of its inhabitants.
What happened to these creatures is not known, but some say that they all fell with their master, the Pretender-King of Anglia, Arcturus Pendragon, an abominable half-breed who fought against The Eye when he first came upon the island.

Though long dead, his stories and times relegated to fantastical tales and bedtime stories, the fierce fighting that was fought over the island (now referred to as 'New Anglia', the burnt and lifeless environment reminding many a soldier of their home) have caused there to be dissension in the ranks.

Already, your officers, both naval and ground are reporting to you that entire companies are refusing to leave their encampments, even after the magnificent victory claimed over the native inhabitants, the men are still afraid of whatever creatures lay in the desiccated husk of the once bountiful forests.

Corporal punishment did little to encourage them to do their duties, if anything it seemed to make them more lethargic, supplies were steadily disappearing, the native wildlife taking a shine to your foodstuffs, patrols rarely straying from sight of the main encampment, and drills being lax, soldiers too exhausted from a miserable nights sleep to fight.

It was only when one of the Captains' of the Pikemen sought to shame his subordinates into action, did a sense of normalcy return to the force.
Carrying the Colours, A red cross sown onto the white silk, The Eye imprinted upon the centre, he marched towards the forest, speaking in a loud tone.
"Cower within your tents as you will, but I shall not dishonour my Leader and The Eye!" His words thundered across the field, his audience having grown silent from their original mutterings of disparagement.

As his figure disappeared within the shadowed treeline, where unnatural sounds and whispers of unseen figures were often seen or heard, did the men move to act.
Instead of returning to their previous activities, of gambling, drinking or 'sentry', they rushed to follow the man, many having not yet donned their armour, armed only with an arming sword, the shame of losing their standard and officer would be too much to these consummate soldiers.

Since then, officers have been encouraged to take the lead on everything, setting an example to their men until the strangeness of the island turns to normalcy instead of something to fear among the common soldier.

However, the effectiveness of this now official protocol is limited, many officers are unpopular, disliked by their commoner subordinates, and barely able to hold back from openly displaying their own contempt of having to walk among their unlanded men.

You are certain you have to do something before your ambitions are undone, not by the enemy, but the unity of your own force.

>>3716828
Please Select One (Or Provide a Write-In)

>Hate Not Man; But Beast!
The Magisters of The Eye have offered to spread the word of The Eye; espousing the men to instead focus on claiming Aesan.

>March Until You Bleed.
You have been too lenient to the men; you will drill them until their feet bleed, their boots shred and their legs collapse from under them, any who disobey will be hanged, as befit any traitor to The Eye.
By the time you are done with them, the fear of the Forest will be replaced by you!

>Loyal Servants of The Eye.
In this new, unfamiliar environment, it is best to be gentle with the men, the whip will only work insofar that your men fear it, and you.
Instead, reward soldiers who do their duty with extra rations and alcohol, in time, they will learn it is better to follow your will than disregard it.

>>3716833
>Hate Not Man; But Beast!
Not like we could use diplomacy with any of the natives
May as well lower the chances of anyone trying to help them

>>3716833
>>Hate Not Man; But Beast!

>>3716833
>>Loyal Servants of The Eye.
>In this new, unfamiliar environment, it is best to be gentle with the men, the whip will only work insofar that your men fear it, and you.
>Instead, reward soldiers who do their duty with extra rations and alcohol, in time, they will learn it is better to follow your will than disregard it.

>>3716833
>Hate Not Man; But Beast!

>>3716833
>VOTE CLOSED

>Hate Not Man; But Beast!
>>3716834
>>3716869
>>3716951

>Loyal Servants of The Eye
>>3716912

Winning Vote: Hate Not Man; But Beast!

>>3716974

>Hate Not Man; But Beast!


He stood upon a makeshift platform, comprised of empty crates and a tarp that was roughly thrown over it.
The man himself did not cast an imposing figure, indeed with those thick black robes, and bandaged hands, his face covered by a white mascarade mask, one would think him a plague bearer than one of The Eye's faithful.

Standing before the two regiments, hardened from years of campaigning, be it crushing rebellions, policing newly conquered populations and just-so-recently, the extermination of an entire race, he elicited mutterings of disparagement, laughter and amusement, after all, none were intimidated or impressed by this so-called 'Herald'.

But then he spoke, in that grizzled voice of his, that felt like sandpaper to the ears of the assembled mob, reaching out across the field by the blessing of some unknown force, it echoed inside their heads, the grass beneath their feet bent as if pressed down on by some unseen force.

"I see you, gathered before me, criminals, failures, the poor and homeless." His face roves across the crowd, his bent back lowering slightly, making a mockery of a bow.
"How brave of you to enlist, do you expect my adulation? You are parasites, sucking upon the teat of all of man's works and accomplishments, eating our bread, drinking our wine, and what is all that we ask of you?"
His voice increases in intensity, each syllable ringing across the field as the wind rushes from behind him, the very earth was captivated by his words, an officer beside you mutters a quiet prayer before he is shushed by one of his fellows.
"That when the time comes, you do not hide within your tents, given to you by the people, that you wield your arms and armours, crafted in the deepest foundries of the Empire, given to you without cost, that you stand in line, and fight, like your forebearers have done before you!"

He stops for a moment to catch his breath, in his pause there is complete silence in the field, pikes held at the ready, muskets-butts rested against the ground, banners fluttering in the heavy wind, not a man has moved, or spoken during his speech.

>>3717667

>Hate Not Man; But Beast! (Part 2: End)

"Yet you cower! Against the greatest threat to ever stand against Humanity as a whole!"
Casting his arm out, he points at the assembled soldiers, crying out in a loud voice.
"Thousands of years ago, this world was at peace! Bearing tools of stone and wood, we sought to feed and clothe our families, in harmony with the earth itself!"

"Then our worlds clashed! From the shores of their dying world, the races of Aesan flooded into our lands! Putting to the sword every man, woman and child, their gods empowering them, what could Stone do against Iron."
The air becomes tense, the cold day warming into a humid temperature that leaves you sweating beneath your uniform, the two Men-At-Arms behind you breathing heavily within their steel armour.

"But they fought none-the-less, to the very end! Against creatures stronger, faster and far more ruthless than them, to protect their families, to protect Humanity!"
Stamping his foot, he steps forward to the edge of the stage, looking down at the front ranks of the army.
"They now lay dead, beneath Aesan soil! Their flesh used to grow crops and feed more abominable mouths! Will you cower in your tents and fortifications, waiting for the same to happen to you? Will you?"
His loud question receives a resounding cry of "No!" from the crowd, pikemen stamping the butts of their pikes onto hardened soil, musketeers smacking their hands against their chest plates.

"Then, march! Fight without fear of death! The Eye will safeguard our eternal souls! Fight not for yourselves! But for your families! To stop these creatures before they bring their barbarism to our very shores! March brothers! Glory and Eternal Salvation for any man who dies so that another man may live!"

"March! March! March!" The chant is picked up by the rank and file, their voice thundering, the ground shaking beneath their feet, religious fanaticism and xenophobia renewing their will to fight, their eyes wide with bloodlust and thoughts of the afterlife.

Now your thoughts wander to how you will focus this energy into something productive.

File: Hunted.jpg (591 KB, 1920x858)

591 KB JPG

>>3716974

>An Army marches upon its Stomach.

Few men present have any experience in farming, having spent their youth in the sprawling capital of Anglia, or in one of its many foundry cities near the northern mines.

But your forces make do, companies are sent out, armed with pike and musket to hunt the lumbering beasts that have now been rendered homeless due to the fierce fighting over the island.
Already, you can see one such victorious unit dragging the oversized form of a boar, the tusks larger than a man, towards the encampment, to the roars of the cheering crowds, who are joyous that fresh meat is back on the menu, instead of hard biscuits and watered down ale.

Your quartermaster is already looking into ways the army can use all the beasts' remains, scribbling down notes on fur thickness, mumbling about winter clothing and the like, his mind had already moved on for the coming winter, which the clouds and slowly rising chill are signalling for.

The Magister, the same one who gave such a rousing speech speaks up from behind you, the handful of guards you had at your disposal reacting quickly, to raise their muskets at the sudden presence of the man.
How did he get so close to you?
"The portents are clear, the coming cold will turn men to ice, and render fields barren, prepare your army, Lord Whitecliffe, the enemy will be weakest then."
With his piece said, the man turns around and leaves, leaning heavily on his wooden staff, his feet making not a sound, except the thudding of his instrument.

Your men return to their original guard positions, now fully alert, and a cold shiver running down their spines as if some unnatural force was watching them, their heads always on the move, paranoia burrowing into their minds.

>The Expedition is now hunting the wildlife of 'New Anglia' and can continue to do so for the relative future.

>There are signs that the coming winter will be an extreme one.

>>3720663
>>There are signs that the coming winter will be an extreme one.

>>3720663
>There are signs that the coming winter will be an extreme one.

>>3720704
>>3720937

Apologies, but that isn't a vote.
The next update will be posted shortly.

>>3708172

>Finding a Spymaster. (Part One)

Your bodyguard went about their task, searching and sifting through the ranks of your army, searching for the universal side-occupation of any enterprising soldier, trading in the black market.

Seated at your office inside the Hand of Destiny, you rubbed the smooth sides of the talisman given to you by one of your subordinates, the masked, Men-At-Arms, standing to attention, patiently awaiting your attention as you look at the runes inscribed across the dragon-bone.

Your eyes flicker back to the man, who lets out an awkward cough before resuming his report.
"We've found out one of the Line-Infantry recruits has set up a marketplace, somewhere soldiers can convene to barter and trade items they have looted, much of it, unreported to their superior officers."

You don't bother questioning his methods, and how he is so confident of this, the lightened pouch of gold tied to his side indicates he found some other interesting items that he's keeping to himself.

"Bring him to me." Placing the talisman on your table, you give the order, and the soldier is quick to obey, slamming his Gaultney against his breastplate, he rushes out of the room, his voice thundering outside, calling up for some of his off-duty comrades to help complete this task.

>>Apologies for all these delays, work has swamped me, and i've been distracted, creating a world map for the Quest (which is now complete and will be posted in due time).

>>3723649

>Finding a Spymaster (Part Two: End)

Wearing a faded red tunic, whose breastplate was scuffed and scarred, dirt removing any trace of shine, his boots frayed, and one sole loose, the man was more akin to a homeless ruffian than any soldier of Anglia.
Though he carries himself without a trace of concern for his predicament, the plain-faced man, with a bent nose and chipped teeth grins as he looks around at his luxurious surroundings; letting out a low whistle as he stares at the gold-braided bookcases on either side of the wall.

"S'ah" His accent revealed his commoner background, you'd only find this level of purposeful language mangling among the Factorum workers.
Still, he shows his respect for your rank and stature, saluting you with bare minimum effort, finding little to complain about his salute, you choose to ignore his physical state.

"Private Neville, you seem to always be mentioned, when the topic of looting, theft and supply disappearances are spoken of."
Seated at your table, you stare at the confident man with narrowed eyes, your hands sifting through what little reports you have of the private.

"Always mentioned, never indicted!" In that high-pitched voice of his, nasally in its' pronunciation of words, you feel a cold sweat develop along your forehead at the thought of having to hear it every day.
But he is necessary, for now.

"We are aware of your underground market, though you already know that, what may come as a surprise is that you will not be punished."
His eyebrows rise at your declaration, staring at you with a mix of confusion and apprehension as you shuffle the numerous parchments on your desk.

"You have your hand in every aspect of the expedition, trading in goods, information and promises, we require your skills; do well, and all your transgressions will be forgiven, with a bonus of gold, and perhaps a title."
Your sweet promises captivate the man, who is lost amongst his ambitious and envious thoughts, already imagining a pool of gold coins which he could submerge himself in.

"What we need you to do-" You attempt to describe his job position, only for the man to rudely interrupt you, stepping forward quickly as your bodyguards move to tackle him, he grabs your left palm with both his hands, shaking it violently as you signal your subordinates to stand down.

"Don't say another word, S'ah, I'm in!" Giving you a view of his yellow, chipped and partially rotten teeth, the man continues to grin as you extricate your limb from his clutches, wiping away the grime and sweat that clings to your skin against the table.

"Very good then, my men will show guide you to your new accommodation, dismissed."
He walks away with a swagger, smiling like a loon, and whistle like one as-well.
You need a bath and a damn lot of bath salts.

File: Remains.jpg (859 KB, 3000x1771)

859 KB JPG

>>3708172

>The Bones of a Giant

The massive corpse of this unknown dragon served as the heart and soul of Kobold culture, from housing their religious class to the use of its' whitened bones as armour and magical tokens; it served a vital role in the continued unity of the race when the Pantheon went silent.

But now, the race which this desiccated corpse served, is gone, their bodies now feeding the verdant grasslands of their now conquered home, the survivors, cast to the winds, forever to be without a home.

And the dragon, now serving another purpose; dark clouds hang overhead, as a violent storm rages, thunder sounding every few minutes, and the rain pounding against the temporary tarp set up around the body, a sea of colour as every spare cloth was used to insulate the magisters from the elements as they went about their studies.

The mud squelches beneath your boots as you move past the guard perimeter, your cloak soggy from the torrential rain, your attention fixated upon the massive bones, that arch over you as if it was an artificial structure.

"My Lord." The grating voice of one of the robed magisters catches your attention; like all of his fellows, there is very little besides height to differentiate them.
"Even in death, the creature is still a being of magic; The Eye seeks to assert his presence in this land, and the corpse of this great beast will be an excellent puppet."

You cut the man off before he can continue speaking.
"Puppet? The Eye will make his presence known?" Curiosity and awe bleeding through your words, while the Magister nods in a sedate manner.
"We hope, with the appropriate sacrifice, that we can resurrect the beast, with a piece of The Eye within it, such a thing will be a great weapon for your campaign."

An undead dragon, immune to killing blows and powered by The Eye himself, such a thing must come at a high cost, and so you ask what it is.
"There are crystals, existing on the mainland that will provide enough raw magic for us to power the necessary ritual to break what little barriers are left, preventing The Eye from manifesting in this land, find them, and victory will be assured, my Lord."

What crystals? What do they look like? How will you transport them?
"When you find them, we will know, and deal with the transportation and management ourselves, ignorant mortals are not meant to deal with such powerful items."

Deciding against reprimanding the Magister for his arrogance, especially since you too were educated at The Tower, you let him continue to speak.

"For now, we will drain the bones of some of its sizable magical potency, to help communicate with The Eye, he will be most pleased with this news."

>>The Eye can resurrect the Dragon if supplied with enough mana crystals.

>>Stable Communication with the Empire has been established.

>>3723683
"Very good then, my men will direct you to the new accommodation set aside for your use."*

File: Current Map [1].jpg (4.06 MB, 2048x1536)

4.06 MB JPG

THE EYE

It has been a full week since Anglian forces had successfully stormed the Island, securing a beach-head before then moving onto exterminating the original inhabitants, conquering the Island for The Eye.

Since then, the sky has darkened, a continued storm has raged, naval vessels forced to seek refuge within the shallows, and men taking shelter in their fortifications as torrential rain flooded the fields and chilled men to the bone, sickness running rampant through the ranks as latrines overflowed and supplies became tainted.

Though that did not dampen your optimism, already the Magisters' have established as communion link with The Tower, informing your fellows at home of your success; your family will significantly benefit from this news.

But now, you have been summoned, the remains of the dragons now co-opted as a Temple to The Eye, bands of worshippers already praying to the gold-inlay standards of The Eye, their uniforms hid beneath threadbare black cloaks, the air filled with the sound of religious chanting.

Entering the sole tent within the massive ribs of the beast, smoke leaking from beneath the covers, you fearlessly step within the darkness, your sight lost for a moment, your stomach rising as you fall down a hole.

For minutes, you continue falling, your screams turning from verbal to silent as you are unable to catch your breath, unable to see anything, only the sensation of falling reminds you that you're alive.
Then you stop mid-air, held up by another force, like a ragdoll you float, invisible strings saving you from a lifetime of torture.

That is when you see it, a glowing amber eye, the size of three men, your gaze widens as it begins to move closer to you, distance a vague concept to you in this darkness, your breathing stops, your body's muscles lock up, and as it smashes into your very being, all you can do is faint.

It orders you; to conquer; to put to the sword the nonbelievers; to destroy all that their gods have strived for.
Memories of creatures alien, of surroundings exotic, the streets filled with creatures you've never imagined of, hundreds, thousands, their memories, prayers and sacrifices morphing into one as you are flooded with information.

Your eyes open, and you find yourself laying on the rugs of the black tent, alone and exhausted, your mouth dry and your eyes hurting; standing up, you turn to look at the single feature of the tent interior.
A simple mirror, walking towards it; you stare at your own reflection; everything is the same, until you stare into your irises, and see the amber glow of something else.

The Eye is Watching.


>>World Map Unlocked
>>Non-Human Worshippers of the Eye will feed your forces information through The Eye.
>>The Eye has marked his presence within you; feeding you with what information he deems important.

Nice quest so far desu

dead