Saii

Good work Kayliana . Just a couple of quick things, if the Dragons were woken earlier, say 2,000 BGA, they'd be able to play a far greater role in the overall histories (and from a selfish point of view, I wouldn't have to burn them out of the war/portland). Also, Glilin and the Dwarves would have been in the war for at most a few months, as they reach the front lines for the Battle of Portland just as it's kicking off. Before then though the stand-off could have been longer (particularly as Selain had to build himself a fleet to cross the ocean).

Dreagon/Glydoc's backstory is gonna need rewriting though, anyone mind if he 'adopts' the Dreagoni race later on instead of creating them himself? He's a bit of an odd one after all so he can do without having his own race to strt with.

"Do you have anything to say coward?" Salia closed his eyes and bit his lip. He would not give them the satisfaction of hearing him scream further. Though he had nearly committed the worst of alll crimes, he would justify himself with silence. Even as the spear was torn from his thigh, he did not speak. He remained quiet as his captors screamed with fury, seeing a dark shape flickering above his head and the whistling of a spear towards him... Then nothing. Salia risked opening his eyes for a moment, and saw both the Centaur lying prone on the grass by his side, the fletches of a dozen arrows protruding from them as they sighed their last. He looked towards Portland. In the gateway stood a unit of Orchan archers, two of whom set off as he watched to drag him inside. In a gruff but not unfriendly voice one said:"Come to join us have you?"

Ta, they've been changed on the master copy . ---------------------------- This was a war they would not be able to win. They had all heard reports of Gaia's failure on the Second Continent. Within the month the Aluwenists would have surrendered entirely, and the Centaurs would have no support or respite against the overwhelming numbers of Selain's Orchan. If they didn't find a way to escape they would be wiped out. Stalium banged his hoof loudly for attention and continued as the noise began to die away. "Gaia will leave on ships from the South. We must be on them. We shall go there together. Warriors stay behind, the rest of you get ready to leave. That is all." More thundering followed as the adults agreed, then the meeting broke up quickly, with around 700 warriors staying behind for further instructions.

Thanks Kayliana that's really encouraging to hear . I like yours too, they're really stylish . Hmm I don't reckon having different timings of when the races were born should be a problem. I never properly gave a timeline for when the various races were created, rather I simply linked them to other Gods and explaned how they later became independant. Kayliana said when they were all born but not who did it (unless I missed a thread). It's conceivable that Aluwen was simply the first God to think of creating her own race, and the others followed on in their own time - and the intervals could easily have been thousands of years cos the Gods aren't half a thoughtful bunch . I can change the order in which the Gods are placed in the histories to take Kayliana's timescale into account without too much bother and reference the fact that the Elves were Aluwen's second race, not her only one. I agree with Kayliana that the races don't really need to be inextricably bound up with their original creators any more, their independance was established long before the Great Agreement, and afterwards although it could be said the Gods have a soft spot for their original races it's all been a very long time. Mortos' training of Unolas for example suggests that he's much more interested in the mindset of his protoge than the race. The fact they're Gods also plays quite heavily to the idea that they'd be far deeper than appearances only. I'd say as far as the Orchans are concerned the Gods would not blame them for their father, nor for their actions during the war (especially as they were duped and drugged by Selain) - though tieing in with the description of them on the site, this doesn't mean they are trusted by the other races. Having said that a story about how the Gods and the races gradually drifted apart after the Great Agreement might be quite fun

Yeah that was the original draft, I have changed it since to take EL into account more (which I can either email to you or edit into the original post). The point about the use of Hell is a good one, I wasn't sure whether that would be usable. I sort of envisaged it as seperate from the underworld, kind of like: *Earth - the world above ground *Underworld - the world below ground/ Where killed Eternals go and search for a way back into the light *Hell - Sole domain of Mortos and his creations, the souls there are made up of the traitors, thieves, murderers etc who died before the great agreement (along with banned players and mischief makers naturally ). Mortos created it in protest, it is a reflection of his own rage. Although it plays no direct role in the game, it is his official residence as he has abandoned the normal home of the Gods, Echafaud. As Mortos is so bent on destroying the other God's work, when Qast draws power from his realm it manifests with Mortos' blessing in the Lands, making it more dangerous. Similarly Qast can use the life-giving power of the Lands to great effect in Hell. *Echafaud - The other dimension Qast flew through to find the Ebony throne, it is the binding fabric which the Gods used to create this reality. As such it exists outside the usual realms. It's where the throne room of the gods is housed. Whatever the decision is about that will be okay by me. About demons, again fair enough, they can easily be replaced by other summonable servants such as normal golblins, orcs, gargoyles and the like, that's mainly just a tie-in to allow for some interesting quests :twisted:. Using a city on the second continent was a preliminary thing, as by necessity I can't go around wiping out cities which have already been implemented . I was gonna wait and see if admin was up for putting it in before rewriting. The God's not interfering... that could be explained by the sheer speed of what happened, the entire war was over in a matter of days. The town is also not very big and is well out of the way so news wouldn't have travelled well (even now for example the Humans aren't sure what really happened there). If the Gods weren't in the area they wouldn't have heard about it until it was far too late and Qast was under Mortos' wing.

*** SALIA raced towards Portland. Behind him came the chill braying of his pursuers, who were catching up fast. He risked a look behind as he reached the foot of the mountains surrounding the town, and saw the two Centaur chasing him were just a short distance behind. Salia picked up his pace, hoping that a single mad sprint would bring him within reach of the city walls and safety. With any luck they would let him through when they saw he was being chased. He was nearly at the gates and could see through them to the streets beyond when he was finally brought down, a well-thrown spear biting through his leg and throwing him to the ground. The sound of braying intensified and as he rolled onto his back in agony, Salia saw two sets of hooves come to a stop behind him.

Before him stood over 2,000 Centaur, the largest gathering in living memory. Every survivor, from every clan who had survived the Orchan death-dealers stood here, in this sacred place, watching Stalium's every move. A rustle of anticipation and impatience could be felt as they waited for him to speak, and younger Centaurs expressed their annoyance with a rythmical clopping of their hooves on the tough ground. Stalium cleared his throat loudly to grab their attention, and in a deep, dry voice began to speak to his inattentive audience in that startlingly unflowery way Centaurs have. "We're here to save our race. Enemies will arrive soon. We must leave." Even put so simply, his words were excessively eloquent to the minds of the young in his audience, who began to run about playing tag, but other adults thundered their agreement.

This is really impressive, and makes a good deal of sense . Should it be a sticky? Oh hidden away somewhere near the bottom of the board is a story - probly for the third age - about a demi-god servant of Mortos called Qast which Roja liked.

Exodus Stalium's surprisingly dainty hooves rested easily on the podium, seemingly free of the urge to fidget most Centaurs feel. Lit a dull red by the setting sun, he cast a long shadow over the ruins of Centaur's statue, which still, imbued by the magic of their long-lost God, constantly mutated into bizarre and unsettling shapes. He was slight of stature, though he carried confidently the unexpected strength that sometimes comes with it, and a heavy brow overshadowed his sunken, violet eyes. Wrinkles peppered his face, particularly round his eyes where an easy smile had creased them for so many years. Long strands of hair, grown slightly wild from his efforts of the past few months, covered parts of his face, lying flat in the dank evening air. His long beard, plaited in Green and Red, symbolised wisdom and leadership. Across his back was slung a light pack of food, a bow, arrows and an unfeasibly large double axe, which he seemed too small to carry let alone wield. Around his neck he wore a golden torque, orignially a symbol of his leadership in the Letigi tribe and now of his place as Warlord of the Janner.

"What magic is this?" He muttered aloud. On the edge of hearing the voice which gave him such strength whispered. -No magic, cowardice- Folis ground his teeth together in fury, yet stayed still as he motioned to two of his fellows. "Catch the Satyr I sent, he has become turncoat." To a third he grated "Go to Glilin and Glydoc and tell them our situation. Be quick, there will not be much time before they attack again." As the three Centaurs set off, Folis began to pound the ground with his hoof, drawing rivulets of blood from his wounds. Around him there arose a muttering as other Centuars began to pick up on his mood, as though his every emotion was being thrown outwards in some sort of invisibe projection. One Centaur, a short stout fellow, trotted up and asked if there was trouble. Folis stared at Salia's fast disappearing form. "When I get my hands on that Satyr there will be."

thread links don't go anywhere...

*** FOLIS too saw the flags as they swayed above the city walls, and an anger rose in his veins once again. He gnashed his teeth in fury and stomped his hoof, eager to race forward and fight anything that moved. He was stopped only by his sense of duty - he knew the Left flank wouldn't hold if he and his Centaurs were not there to protect it, and Glydoc and Glilin needed it to hold if they were to have any chance of keeping Selain's forces divided enough for victory. The unexpectedness of their victory over the Orcs was such that he'd had to send a Satyr to them, for fear they would not incorporate it into their plan and would simply charge the massed ranks of enemy headfirst to be destroyed. He thus watched Salia's movements as the little bard ran on, and was shocked to the core of his being when he saw his messenger change course, towards the city.

What little tatters and remnants of the tribes remained crossed the plains to stand before a broken statue of their god and discuss what to do. While Selain sent his forces to eradicate those fragments, they finally formed one last Centaur tribe, the Janner (or Survived). These disparate peoples joined together under one flag to leave the Second Continent. The knowledge of their exodus has been saved through storyteller's tales of Stalium, head of the Celtis clan and Warlord of the Janner.

At first the Centaur tribes remained unaware of their impending doom. They did not speak to their kin and could not conceive of the organised forces arrayed against them as a threat. Gradually however, as the wide, echoing plains grew tense and silent, the tribes began to sense something was wrong. Refugees began to congregate and talk to each other, building up a picture of the horror that stalked them. They began as a trickle, and became a flood as survivors from each newly decimated clan joined their broken kin. Yet they became aware of the enormity of what had befallen them only when the great tribe of Hersal, most powerful of all and made up of over a dozen clans, was wiped out to the very mare and foal.

Most worrying of all was the presence of mighty black sails, billowing above the town walls. At their tops flew a dark pennant, which Selain's poor eyes couldn't quite make out. He could guess what they mght be however, one of two things. The flags could belong to Portland's fishing fleet, in which case the battle would easily be won by the Aluwenists. If however Selain's fleet had arrived, it would add thousands to the enemy horde, and there was no way the Aluwenists could win that fight. He continued to run, angling himself so he could see the gradually sharpening pennant at the extremities of his vision. A little closer... Salia gasped and dropped to his knees in terror, his mouth open in a wail of despair. It was the flag of Selain.

To the North, the main thrust of the assault, the wizards supported 3,000 Dreagonis and 1,000 Dwarves as they marched into the heart of the plains. Victory there had been swift and brutal, but the scars of conflict sprawled the ground, flames licking the grasses and mounds of beaten earth the size of hills flung hapahzardly around the area. To the East however it was quite plain that Aluwen's assault, with her 2,000 Elves and small support group of Dreagoni and Wizards, had failed to take the Quartz tunnel. It seemed likely Unolas personally commanded a defence there. The still vast army of Orcs was slowly regrouping to the South, positioning themselves just outside Portland. More worryingly, fresh Orchan forces stood just behind them, grim faced and heavily armed. Though the Orcs were the greater in number, perhaps 7,000 strong, the 3,000 Orchan troops would be far harder to beat, and they were being lined up on the right to be thrown against the Dwarves, supported by 200 Ogres.

Betrayal Salia ran as fast as his legs could carry him across the battlefield towards the safety of the Elven and Satyr unit of wizards. They had opened a breach an hour earlier and now stood guard near the front, watching calmly as Dwarven and Dreagoni troops marched to the fore. There was an eerie hush over the battlefield, broken only by a rhythmical sound of marching as thousands of people took up position on the plains in font of Portland. To the Northwest stood Folis and his enraged Centaurs, with perhaps 2000 Satyrs controlled by Gaia. With their victory over the Orcs, they had moved forward to grab a relatively thin strip of passable land between the town and its surrounding mountains, where they were now digging in. Running slightly behind Salia was a force of Satyr rushing to take control of a nearby bridge, which spanned the river dividing this region.

His Satyr allies looked upon him in fear and awe, shocked that so few could rout so many. One Satyr, short in stature and wearing a rapturous look on its clear, childish face, picked through the silent crowd to meet him. Folis looked down in disgust at the creature, whose fur though filthy with sand and mud was unsullied by blood. It spoke in a quavering voice. "What is your name great warrior, that we may immortalise you in song?" Folis lifted his head to the distant horizon, where an ocean of enemies moved to replace those who had run. "We are the Centaurs, and that is enough. Bring news of our victory to the Dwarves little one, while there is still time to cross the plain." The Satyr nodded happily. "Yes I shall tell them of the Centaur and his magnificent triumph."

THE ORC line broke all of a sudden, as though on an unspoken command. Thousands of terrified eyes seemed to light up as one with the knowledge that they could not win this, and with a unison never seen before nor since in the Orcish peoples, the horde surrounding the Aluwenists turned and ran. Folis screamed his indignation, followed by his small remaining band of followers, yet with the passing of the Orcs there followed a lessening of his anger, as though the presence that sustained him grew bored. He grew aware enough of himself to feel a slight sting in his wounded leg, and looked around to check the damage. Perhaps 100 Centaur troops remained of the thousands that had run with him, yet around each was a pile of Orc corpses, and more littered the ground for each step the Centaur had taken.

SALIA had finally reached the front lines, bare yards from Centaur warriors who were still killing with gleeful intensity, and noticed Folis as the big stallion paused for breath, steam pouring from his gaping mouth. Salia did a double take. Wasn't that the one who had led the charge? As fast as he could look, Folis ducked into a melee and was gone. Yet Salia's bardic instincts called him to the cause of a ballad, and he followed Folis into the scrum of whirling blades. It was several moments before he spotted Folis again, beating two Orcs back with a lash of his mighty hind legs. Despite moving as fast as he could over still-warm bodies and a ground treacherous with blood, Salia struggled to keep Foils in sight as the warrior rushed to yet another fight. The Centaur leader seemed to be everywhere, wielding his scarlet sword and gnashing his teeth as he ploughed through wave after wave of foes. They seemed to melt away by the dozen beneath Folis' ethereal rage, and Salia suddenly realised - the other Centaurs were simply for show. Folis was winning this battle.

*** FOLIS felt a great elation as he fought. His coat was slick with dark blood, his beard no longer grey but red. His Green eyes darted incessantly, their whites showing almost luminous against his dirtied face. He was limping slightly from a nasty wound to his left front leg, but still wielded his sword effortlessly - it seemed to weigh nothing. He and his kind were fighting in a way not seen since the early days of the world, when they and their God had done everything with such brash speed. Their numbers were depleted now, but they fought on as if they were fresh to the fight, and everything in their path was cut down. The only fighters left were the best, the ones who would not, could not give up, and the Orcs closest to them were finding it impossible to get a sword in edgeways. Behind him he knew vaguely the Satyrs were racing to the fray, which in theory should have been welcome relief, but in a strange way Folis had come to know himself this day, fighting against overwhelming odds without cease, moving endlessly towards the goal of victory. These Satyrs would ruin it. He paused in the fighting for just a moment, to see where his kin needed the most help, then dived back in. ***

I was planning to all but kill off the Centaur as a race, along with the Satyr, though there could be survivors who could act any way you like in game, or even not be there at all. As it stands in the Portland story both groups are down to their last couple of thousand people already, after a campaign of genocide carried out against them by Selain. I was considering expanding on that by writing something about the campaign on the second continent later. Basically I'm trying to make the histories as rich as possible to give people plenty of scope for role play (plus in any future version that leaves scope to reintroduce them if you want). I envisaged Selain in much the same way as you describe but slightly more confident physically (not as in appearances of course) simply cos he's an immortal. It's difficult to reconcile the idea of Selain being both feeble and a god. In all fairness my description is of a tall, wirey (i.e thin), crone-like orchan with dank unhealthy skin, clammy hands, yellow teeth and oily eyes, so I dunno about big dirty and battle hungry . Fair enough about the Orchan, that can be rewritten if you want, I just quite liked the neatness of them being a symptom of Mortos' anger and the cause of his imprisonment.

But his roving eyes could not for long ignore the scene before him, just yards away, for there a few hundred Centaurs fought and died with the madness of rabid dogs. They were hurling themselves with reckless abandon at the Orcs, biting and lashing out with their hooves when weapons broke, dragging themselves forwards on broken legs, stumbling over the bodies of their friends and ignoring horrific wounds. Salia felt sick, yet saw through his nausea that the Centaur's battle-lust was making the nearest Orc lines waver, and sight of the Satyrs was causing many to warily back away. Orcish fear and sheer incomprehension of the magnificent anger of the Centaurs gave those few equine warriors the upper hand. Salia's Sergeant stepped forward, as staggered as the rest of his kin but determined to do the Centaurs justice. "For Gaia!" Salia gladly raised his spear in salute to their Goddess, and charged with his people.

It seemed as though an age of the earth had gone by the time they got to the front, caked in filth, half-blind from the sandy winds. As the pass opened up and fell away behind them it seemed as though a curtain had been torn open and their view suddenly cleared. Ahead were the lush fields of Portland, revealed to show the sheer scope of the battle they faced. For miles in every direction, a mass of creatures fought for these lands. Orchans, Orcs and horrifying Ogres were so numerous as to spill over the far horizon, while Aluwenist troops poured into breaches they had forced, fighting like demons for a foothold big enough to force an army through. Far to the East, Salia could see a smudge of dirty grey smoke which his sharp eyes resolved into the shapes of Wizards and Dwarves, pounding their Orc foes with magic of untold savagery. Fireworks lit up the sky as Elven Mages threw vast sorceries into the enemy hordes, causing horrific devastation.