Saii

Suddenly from out of the mire a Centaur ran towards them, half-crazed with fear and foaming at the mouth. A group of Satyr ran him down and pushed him to the front of the line, where he was interrogated by the nearest officer. Salia pushed a little closer and could just catch some words from the terrified creature. "Where were you... Many dead... Still fighting..." Salia's heart jumped. To him the prospect of coming out of that mess ahead looked slim, but if he could stay close to the Centaurs he might be all right. He quietly moved to the part of the line he'd seen the messenger come from, and marched with renewed vigour.

Salia felt the hairs prick up on his shanks, and he almost turned from the march before being carried forward by waves of his fellows. Already he could hear battle cries, drifting from the maw of the pass which drew close at a frightening speed. Screams mingled with sighs, metal clashes and meaty thuds mixed with the whistle of spears through the air. Soon they could see at the edges of their vision the first dead - Orc sentries and Centaur front runners. The noise became deafening and they could barely make out the difference between screams of pain and shouts of elation. The sands had whipped up into a haze that blocked the light of the sun, and everyone was quickly coated, tiny granules stinging their eyes and matting their fur.

Storming the pass Salia watched the charge of the Centaurs, dumbfounded yet relieved. He and his kind were no match for the Orcs; their lean bodies and long, elegant fingers were made for other things. Nevertheless, his commanders, after a few moments discussion between themselves, sounded the horn to advance in support of their allies. The Satyrs moved off, slower than their allies yet, in the main, no less enthusiastic. At the back of the line stood Gaia herself, filling them with a sense of wholeness and pushing them forward with kind words and the promise of better things. Though she rarely spoke aloud, when she did she was heard by everyone, and her shock at the rush of the Centaurs was felt by all. She muttered in her sweet wispy voice, which wound out over her peaopls so they could hear evey word. "THE WIND... IT CARRIES A VOICE WHICH MADDENS THEM..."

-Go- Folias looked around, startled. -Go to war- Folias strained to hear the words, which came as if from a great distance, carried on the wind. -It is time my child, vengeance against Mortos- Folias whispered it; Vengeance. -Lead our people to victory- Folias spoke aloud; "Vengeance." A thousand heads turned to watch him, though his voice had been drowned by the pounding storm. -Bring my wrath- Folias walked forward, as if in a trance, and shouted. "Vengeance!" The lines of Centaur behind him spoke the word. -Destroy them- Folias broke into a run, and felt the earth move as a thousand Centaur took up his cry. "VENGEANCE!" "VENGEANCE!" "VENGEANCE!" He raced forward, the wind no longer flailing but caressing his face. He was spurred on by it, uplifted by it. Behind him the deafening thunder of his people charging the road to Portland filled the world as he passed bewildered Satyr faces, on towards the deadly Orc lines.

A young buck, barely old enough to hold his lance properly, whispered. "What are we waiting for chief?" Folis shifted uncomfortably on his hooves, not nervously, but with a giddy sort of excitement. "The winds need to die down first, then the Satyrs will lead the way. Gaia's orders." He sneered slightly as he said it. No-one really trusted the Satyrs to do anything except run away. He could see ranks of the musical beings standing some distance off, and despite the wind he could smell their fear. They were musicians, not warriors, yet that ruthless streak of Gaia's was going to drive them to their doom.

It seemed to come from the sea itself, though he could not place how he knew. Vast chaotic winds howled from those turbulent waters, battering into the Tahraji pass and barrelling down its length, forcing back all who tried to go through. Yet despite this possibly fatal setback to the big push, which was on hold until the winds died down, Folis' feeling allowed him to remain calm against his every instinct. The other Centaur obviously felt it too, for there was none of the usual nervous twitching that took place before battle. They all seemed to be waiting for something.

He had come, with these few living remnants of his race, on the greatships with Gaia and her legion of Satyrs to escape the horror of Selain's relentless advance. Unlike the Satyr the Centaur had never run, but their fractured and isolated clans had been easy prey for the regiments of Orcs and Orchan sent to destroy them. The Centaur who stood with him now - less than a thousand - were all that was left of his race, their need to wander at last tamed for this one chance of revenge. He had an inexplicable feeling of connection to them all, something he'd never felt before but which seemed somehow to have been dormant in his very bones since the moment of his birth. He had heard of this from the Elves, who claimed they felt so whenever Aluwen was near, yet he knew she was busy in the East, directing the assault on the Quartz tunnel at White Stone. Gaia too was busy, though she was near, as she was teaching the ways of magic to some of her more gifted pupils.

Folis Folis stood tall, his long elegant features framed against the dull gold of the skyline, whipped by thrashing winds. He was one of the last of those old, wild chieftans who had dominated the clans of the Second Continent before Selain wrought his genocide and enforced exodus upon them. His wide, piercing green eyes stared hungrily into the dusty maw of the Tahraji Pass and his crooked teeth ground together impatiently. Stood beside several hundred of his fleet-footed brothers, he was perhaps a head taller than any other, broad across the shoulder, big hooves stamping lightly at the ground. His short grey beard was wound with black and red ribbons, the sign of a warrior and leader.

"Ooh no don't kill me with your pointy stick, oh please!" Without warning the Dwarf stopped, grabbed hold of Salia's spear and deftly twisted it out of his hands. From behind her back she drew a small axe and placed it below his cheek, drawing a thin scar down his face. "If you and your kind run from here tonight as they did from their homes on the Second Continent, my people will hunt you down and kill you." She withdrew her weapon and threw Salia's spear into some nearby bushes, then walked away, calling over her shoulder: "While you look for your weapon, you might want to think of ways to stop your fellow Satyrs from showing their cowardice."

"All the border pickets are being recalled for a full assault on Tahraji Pass." The Dwarf smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "Perhaps what remains of the Satyr army can be of some use as cannon fodder, though they certainly haven't made much of themselves thus far." Salia bristled. "We were fighting and dying at these passes while you sat on your short fat bottoms making earrings!" The Dwarf snarled back. "Yes, and you've made such poor work of it that we've had to intervene! Glilin makes no secret of his distaste for your species weakness and neither do I you prancing luvvie!" Salia, enraged, brought his spear up level with the Dwarf's head, but elicited only a howl of laughter.

:wink: ---------------- Portland itself was supposedly neutral, but had little actual choice over who came through the great docks, thanks to Selain's apparent stranglehold over several pivotal officials. If the armies of Aluwen were to take control of the plains around it however, they would be able to exert a great deal of pressure and perhaps set up an ambush before the bulk of Selain's troops got through.

Gnomes suck. --------------------------------- The Aluwenists stood in a cordon around the outskirts of Portland, tied up by impressive defences arrayed in the Quartz filled passages between Portland and White Stone, and at the desert mountain passes of Tahraji and Kamara. Losses had been high on all three fronts, as fanatical Orcs spared no prisoners and taunted their hungry enemies with promises of food from the rich silt plains lying in front of the city. This latest attack was obviously a desperate measure, as supply lines to the army had grown scarce in the North, hampered by desert storms thrashing across the entire region. Stories were circulating of ships spotted off the coast as well, which if true could spell the end of them. But they had broken through... This could change everything.

A Dwarf stumped noisily out of the darkness, allowing Salia to swing his pike around to meet her. "Password." The Dwarf bowed, her face hidden in her cloak, and replied. "Essence." Salia raised his spear and saluted. "Pass friend. What's the news?" His new companion didn't speak, but pushed back her hood to reveal finely crafted features, pretty for a Dwarf. Long Red hair rippled down her back as she shook it out, and a scent of purple Lilacs wafted through the air, calming Salia's frayed nerves. She looked at him patronisingly for a moment, and his patience ebbed. "What news Dwarf?" "We've taken the pass at Kamara, their lines were routed by our magic, combined with a surprise attack by my people that impressed even your Dreagoni allies. General Glilin has as much skill in tactics as he has in craftsmanship, though he is too elderly to fight." Salia grinned in delight. Victory - and the Dwarves - couldn't have come at a better time for Aluwen's army.

Salia Salia held his pike tight against the groan of the wind, straining his eyes for a glimpse of Portland in the gathering dark. He wished he was home, but that had been destroyed nearly a year ago now, when the Satyr capitol in the woods of the Second Continent was burned by an Orc horde. Burly, savage warriors had struck where their defences were weakest, tipped off by a traitor in the ranks, slaughtering indiscriminately. His family home was razed to the ground, the city flamed like a beacon for days, black smoke staining the sky for miles around. His kin were forced out, scattered to the winds, left to fend for themselves as the legion protecting the town ran away in fear... When he'd run away...

NB// on Gnomes, I might do an entirely seperate story linking them to a split in Dvar's mind caused by Mortos. Their exclusion from the book can be put down to their lack of battlefield expertise - afa the story's concerned they spent most of the war in the background, keeping out of the way - though they did act as carers and helpers, tending to wounded on both sides of the conflict and repairing things. History always forgets the little people eh? :wink:

K that's the lot, next story up is the edited version of Folis and Salia.

After the great agreement was concluded, Mortos went back to his domain in hell, preferring it to the lands above. Although he has slowly come to accept that the lands will never disappear, he continues to hate them, and seeks always to cause as much misery as he can. Qast is his latest idea in this regard. He still wields great power in the lands and as with the other Gods, patronises any Eternals who please him. We who live in these lands today are descendants of those times passed. We are born formless, and gain our bodies only through the grace of Gods and our own hard work. Our early lives are dominated by the words of the Wraith - whose form and voice twists with the whims of the Gods themselves, giving us quests so we can show our worth and better ourselves. Of the Gods, most are now happy with the situation as it stands, with two notable exceptions. Aluwen believes that the lands should once more become home to a vibrant kaleidoscope of peoples, and is seeking to improve the lot and share of mortals. Mortos wishes the opposite, and with Qast as his envoy, seeks to weaken his percieved enemy - to impose the ultimate order of nothingness on us all. For now we cannot truly die, but we must work to truly live. We are the Eternals, and these are our lands.

Voting was heavily split, but down unexpected lines. Mortos abandoned his protégé Selain to support Glilin's elevation, while Gaia took Selain's side. Unolas refused to involve himself, as did Aluwen who curtly disagreed over the need for a new God but couldn't do anything about it. In the end Elandria went with Glilin, reasoning that his neutrality at the beginning of the war showed a level head. Her contribution tipped the scales in favour of the Dwarf's elevation, and as the now depleted races of the world were stripped away from its surface, he survived to become a God. The countless numbers who used to populate the continents are now gone; only a small number remain, deemed worthy of a permanent physical form.

you could try PMing Entropy for a view? Admin don't come round ere much :wink:.

The candidates for deification were few. Selain argued a Centaur should be raised, believing them to be the reason for his defeat and thus worthy of his respect. Glydoc argued, more persuasively, for Glilin, whose courage, supreme skills of craft and towering intellect seemed eminently suitable. Selain was further hampered by the death of Folis (see the Story of Folis and Salia), who had been the only clear-cut Centaur contender.

An addendum to this agreement was the inclusion of many Orcs and Ogres, something which Mortos insisted on before ungraciously accepting proposals to make them unsentient. This was coupled with a continuing introduction of new and powerful beings by all the Gods - suggested by Unolas as a way of constantly introducing variety so the lands would not pall for them or the new class of Eternals.

Both sides eventually agreed to make major changes. Another God would be made, to create a balance to the two opposed sides. Elandria though neutral was not powerful enough in herself to settle disputes, and besides was still not trusted by Mortos after she had foiled his first plot all those years ago. Some people, chosen for their quality, became immortal physical beings, who now live permanently on the Lands both tending to and populating them. Others were made unsentient, such as the Orcs and Ogres, to prevent them from ever challenging the Aluwenists again. Finally, some were named Eternals, who come to these lands half-formed, trying to earn their substance over time. The Eternals were made as a means of keeping the original freedoms of our world alive, without allowing the growth of these independent spirits to become unmanageable. This last measure would both keep down the number of people to a useful level and allow the Gods to remain quietly in the background, free to rule without undue interference.

Although there was some desultory nodding from Unolas, the others rejected his argument as absurd. Aluwen pointed out that the mutation of those original ideas was more in tune with their goal to understand creation than a simple world following them mindlessly could ever be. They accepted however that Mortos made one valid point. The Gods had been unable to keep any kind of order over their lands, and as Selain and Unolas proved, the supposedly inferior mortals were more than capable of challenging their rule. With Centau gone, awash in his own madness, there was no-one to argue the case of chaos, and a consensus grew that they needed order.

NB// All references to Minotaurs from now on have been replaced by Dreagoni (Cos Ent has had to drop em ). Earlier references have been left as is cos otherwise I have to re edit about 30 posts, but have been changed on the master copy. -------------------------- Mortos, freed at last from his underworld prison by the other Gods to mollify Selain and Unolas, began by essaying a critique of the world. For long hours he charged that the discovery of magic and mass destruction wreaked by Selain's war had irrevocably ruined the lands themselves and nothing would ever be same - thus ruining the point of making it. Against the wishes of Selain and Unolas, he called for the destruction of the Lands, on the grounds they had become an abomination for not just him, but in the eyes of his fellow Gods.

Warriors from every race lay dead on the battlefield, heroes and cowards alike. Of a myriad of different peoples who had populated the continents, uncounted numbers were no more. In the very hall where war had inadvertently begun, now empty apart from the Gods themselves, an argument began to rage over the terms of peace.