Tag: Andyllion

#Lore24 – Entry #124 – Muckenmyre Month #3 – The Yurisayan Priestess

From the journal of Takara, Slave Inquisitor of the Stellae Illustris.

It took me a few moments in my confusion to register all of the details of the woman who had entered the room.  Very unbecoming of an Inquisitor, perhaps, but she had caught me at an uncharacteristically vulnerable moment.  I recognized the holy symbol that dangled from the leather collar about her neck immediately once I had come to some semblance of my senses, that of the Lady Yurisaya, worn as one who had dedicated themselves to the Dark Lady’s service would.  She was a shapely human woman, shorter than myself, though most humans are, her brown hair done up in a pair of tight buns atop her head, her eyes almond-shaped and a deep brown.  She wore a revealing black leather dress, somehow managing to win the battle against gravity by virtue of the size of the woman’s breasts and the strap that was secured above them, high slits in the dress revealing her muscular thighs.  She wore long leather gloves and thigh-length high heels, all in black, her boots marred only by signs of having traversed dirty streets.  Her scent was of some floral soap, sweat, leather, and something more familiar, that of blood.

I was familiar with the followers of Yurisaya, but her style of dress was unfamiliar, and though expectedly revealing, not like that of the priestesses seen throughout the Empire.  She bowed in greeting, her voice soft, compassionate as she introduced herself as Satella Schnyder.  I gave my name in turn, dipping my head as low as possible, keenly noting the lack of my collar, reverting back to the meek, deferential tone as was expected for a kerryn slave.  She came to the bedside, knelt in front of me and continued to smile up at me, taking my hand in her own as she began a prayer. 

Once her prayer had ended, she rose, still holding my hand, and sat beside me, looking at once sad and hopeful.  She began our conversation rather casually, expressing that she was pleased that she had arrived in Grimbridge in time to offer her aid to me, that Yurisaya herself had guided her to me to be my caregiver.  I couldn’t begin to understand why; what did the gods care about kerryn slaves?  We were forsaken, were we not, following our attempt to destroy the world by bringing demons upon it? 

She then told me that in order to heal my bones properly, we would be forced to break them again, that she was certain I had regained enough strength to handle the procedure without further complications, and that it would have to be performed soon.  I again meekly replied in the affirmative, for my slave’s mind had already assumed that this woman was to be my new owner, that she would have a new collar ready once I was fully recovered.  I won’t deny that a part of me absolutely cried out for the reassurance of a collar about my neck, of a hand holding my leash.  I would explain to her at a more appropriate time where my loyalties were, of course, and that perhaps there would be a reward for my return to the Emperor’s service, for surely she would not be interested in a slave such as myself.

But, for the time being, she asked if I was prepared for what must come, and I assured her that I was; I would not reveal that I could likely have healed myself just yet, for I had too little information about my situation, and could not know how she would react to a kerryn possessing magic.  Coaxing the collar from my hand before placing it back upon the nightstand, she had me stretch out upon the bed and began probing my partially healed bones with the touch of an expert healer.  Then, using techniques with which I am intimately familiar, she broke them again.  The agony was like a rush of fresh air, my brain finally coming free of the stupor that had consumed it upon my awakening.  I did not scream as my partially knit bones were once again shattered, barely even grunted; what were a few broken bones in the face of the tortures I had endured in my life?  Even the intense burning sensation of the goddess’s healing, known to be unpleasant to those not of the faith, was almost pleasurable now that my senses had recovered.

I could tell I had been weakened significantly by my ordeal, for the healing left me tired and on the verge of unconsciousness.  I barely remembered Satella leaving my side, if only for a few minutes, until she was suddenly there again, a fresh tray of food in hand.  She fed me, for I was suddenly too weak to do so myself, almost as if she were tending to a sick child.  Before she left me to rest, she returned my broken collar to my hands, clasping them around its tarnished form before tucking me in and leaving the room. 

I had only begun to ponder what strange fate I had been dealt when slumber came crashing upon me.  Though I had been distraught, the feel of my collar in my hands was nonetheless a welcome comfort.  I don’t recall having suffered any more nightmares while I slept, at least this time.

#Lore24 – Entry #123 – Muckenmyre Month #2 – Awakening Upon an Unfamiliar Bed

From the journal of Takara, Slave Inquisitor of the Stellae Illustris.

I have vague impressions of the times following the storms.  The seas were peaceful once more, perhaps within minutes following the sinking of our fleet.  I can recall the sunset as I lay upon the piece of shattered wreckage, too incoherent to attempt to free myself from the rigging.  I could tell I had many broken bones, that I still bled.  Pain is a constant companion for one such as I, and though I can deal with it far better than most, even I can become overwhelmed if it is great enough.

My next memory is perhaps of the following morning, or perhaps it was a day or more later; regardless, it is of the ship approaching, turning alongside the wreckage.  Ghostly images then, of the sailors cutting me free, hauling my shattered body aboard their ship.  I cannot remember their colors, only vague images.  I think I had began to hallucinate, perhaps I even had a fever as my body stubbornly refused to submit.

As they cared for me the best they could, perhaps only in the hopes of giving such a pitiful creature as merciful ending as they could, I dreamed.  Strange visions, likely caused by the fever that ravaged me, or perhaps it was the souls of those who were lost alongside me, coming back to try and draw me into the void alongside them. 

Perhaps the tormented screams I heard were my own; I had not screamed from inflicted physical pain in decades, so perhaps this was purely my own internal suffering given voice by the fever?  I have a vague remembrance of one sailor’s face, pale and terrified as he backed away from me.  What demons did I release during my lapse in control?  Perhaps I will never know.

It was sometime after this that I awoke on land, in an unfamiliar bed, in a strange room.  It was the morning sun beaming through the window that awoke me, the sound of distant thunder filling my ears, normal thunder, not that of the Dragons’ Fury.  Beneath the heavy aroma of healing poultices, I could smell odd scents, people I didn’t know, a land I had never been to before, the thick, sickening odor of the swamps.  Beyond the small room, I could hear the din of a busy town, the chatter of its people as they went about their lives.

For a wonder, I was not restrained, and I had survived the fever, though some of the visions within my mind will forever remain burned into my memory.  For a wonder, I was not bound, aside from the bandages that were wrapped around my various wounds.  I could immediately feel the pain in my bones, knew immediately that some had begun to knit crookedly. 

I then realized that I was naked.  Not for lack of clothes, for I had been covered in a simple linen smock that smelled faintly of dust and age.  No, someone had removed my collar and cuffs, the spiked steel that marked me as not only a slave but a trainer of slaves, the metal that had been sealed upon my body for over a century, perhaps never to be removed.  As I breathed faster and became more aware of the place I found myself, I realized that I could not feel their reassuring weight, could not feel the internal spikes that constantly pricked and pinched at my flesh, their reassuring touch that signified that I was property of the Inquisition, of the Emperor’s most loyal Stellae Illustris.  Perhaps in another few decades I may have even earned the privilege of wearing a mythril version of them, that I would have become a full-fledged slave knight as a reward for my loyalty. 

To my horror, as I forced myself to rise from the bed, my body protesting with fresh pain that sharpened my senses, though I made not a sound, I saw my cuffs and my collar sitting on the nightstand by the bed, the metal ravaged by rust and sea salt, their once welded clasps broken and newly melted in order to remove them.  Panic filled me, for it was not allowed that a slave of my position ever allow their collar and other adornments to show such lack of care.  I reached simultaneously for my collar and my neck, wincing as the broken arm I extended to the collar refused to move as I had intended it to, the fingers of my other hand finding my throat, bare but for the bandages. 

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed then, gritting my teeth against the pain of a shattered femur and broken ribs and picked up the spiked collar once I could finally reach it.  My tail twitched anxiously as I stared at the broken, rusted steel, my mind struggling to come up with some way that I could fix it, some way that I could atone for the offense of going uncollared, that I would dare disrespect my Emperor in such a way.

That was when I heard the sound of heels crossing the wooden floor, then that door opened, revealing a human woman, wearing a most curious smile upon her face.  It would be some time before I understood what her smile indicated.  At that moment, I was simply too distraught over the loss of my adornments to process matters.

I may have even had tears in my eyes.

#Lore24 – Entry #122 – Muckenmyre Month #1 – Shipwrecked off the Dragon Isles

From the journal of Takara, Slave Inquisitor of the Stellae Illustris.

I have little memory of the Dragon Isles; we really weren’t there that long, just a few foggy images of rocky islands in the distance.  I was there to assist the Emperor’s Inquisition as they tracked the remnants of a group tied to the Res’Teringal rebellion, the last of those who would dare oppose his rightful rule, driven from their hiding place after several months of searching.  The remnant rebels had taken up with a pirate fleet, hoping to flee the emperor’s grasp, perhaps to live long enough to mount another attempt to buck the control of the Empire.  Once our chase fleet had caught up with them, they made straight for the Dragon Isles.  We knew they were bound for Cypress Isle at the tip of the island chain, but they were desperate. 

They turned toward the inner islands. 

They brought the storms…the Dragons’ Fury.

These storms were…like nothing I had ever witnessed in my life.  No storm within the many regions of the Empire that I have traversed in my two centuries of life were anything close to the fury that came from those islands, rolling down from the skies to the north like a gray and black wall of roiling death.  Our fleet was doomed the moment Inquisitor Dama decided to follow the pirates closer in.  I don’t know if they made it out; we lost sight of them within moments as the seas began to surge, lightning struck all about, and hail slammed into us.  The thunder…it really was like the roar of dragons.  That is the only way I can describe it…what else could sound so terrifying, even to someone like me, than a roar from a legendary dragon?

We tried to turn away, but it was far too late for us.  Our decision to follow the rebels toward the inner islands had sealed our doom.  Our ships were shattered in minutes.  I had already made my peace with my death, to whatever fate my soul would face.  My life had been nothing but suffering, either inflicted upon me, or with myself inflicting it upon others.  It was all for the Emperor of course, may He live forever, and I certainly would change nothing that I had done in his name…but to die so quickly…I certainly could never have imagined such a…merciful end.  It was not an ending for someone who had been responsible for causing so much pain to others, especially those of my own kind.  Most of my brother and sister slaves certainly did not deserve what I did to them, but I am a loyal slave to my great Emperor, and it is his will that I channeled; I was his vessel, his voice to those who could not understand it.

I felt the cold of the virulent sea, felt the electric charge in the air and water from the lightning as I was tossed around, felt my bones break from the impact of the hailstones, from my body slamming into the broken hull as it was tossed from one massive wave to the next.  Somehow I became entangled with the rigging or some netting, became stuck fast to a portion of one of the broken ships.  In my last moments of consciousness, I was certain that I would be sinking below the waves, would become one with the sweet, cold, void that lay below.

My expectations were perhaps too high.

My hopes for death were premature.

For I am still here.

#Lore24 – Entry #61 – Fantasy Month #1 – Andyllion

 

From the journal of Angeliqua “Goldeneyes” Cartacustos:

 

Felaria continues to insist upon testing my knowledge, and so I will write, once more, upon the topic she has chosen for this day.  I am not entirely certain as to why she insists upon me keeping such a personal record recalled from my own mind when we have access to the entirety of the Imperial Archives, but so be it; I am but the apprentice and she the wizened Head Archivist, after all.  Mother knows best, as they say.

For today she has chosen…Andyllion, the world upon which we all live.  I’m not exactly sure where to start with the topic, considering it’s literally a world of possibility.  The entirety of it surely hasn’t been explored, and more of it has been lost to time and calamity than we can possibly know.  As far as known facts…the world hosts a pair of moons, Mika and Elara, a yearly length of three-hundred-seventy-five days, and a daily length of twenty-five hours.  There are at least seven known continents, Ashun, Emoris, Mizunko, Saenaphia, and Yastryka, plus the frozen north and south polar regions that have been almost entirely unexplored. Dozens of smaller island groups serve as a loose connecting tissue between them, and vast uncharted seas lie beyond those.

Should I begin detailing the flora and fauna found amongst the various continents?  Or perhaps some details of the kingdoms as well as their people?  Shall I describe the civilized races, or perhaps the more savage ones inhabiting the wildlands?  Or perhaps the civilizations we know to be long collapsed and their ruins left to crumble, forgotten and inhabited by monsters and abominations?  Or perhaps I should detail the cataclysm that nearly destroyed it some two-thousand years ago?  Simply naming the world as a topic!  Surely, she could have made it something more specific!  One could literally write volumes on Andyllion; volumes have been written on Andyllion in fact, and I’ve read most of them!

Oh, praise the gods and the Great Dragon Emperor himself!  An arcanist seeks knowledge, and the other archivists are otherwise occupied!  Felaria’s pages will have to wait until they have been served; I shall hope that they are particularly unskilled at performing their own research and require the rest of the day digging through the archives, for I must serve the people, after all!

 

 

LORE24 ENTRY #31 – Holy Order of Rashnikova

Category – Organization

Founded during the Age of Legends to combat both a resurgence in demonic activity and an upsurge of undead and other supernatural threats, this holy order was originally founded by the paladin Melisande no’Synstralia de’Rashnikova of Arcavarlon, upon the planet Andyllion, originally under the divine guidance of the goddess Lashana and her drive to punish evil in all its forms.  The Holy Order has survived to modern times and has since opened its doors to those of other faiths who have dedicated themselves to combating supernatural evil.

Though not a prerequisite, nearly all of the Order’s membership possess divine or natural magic abilities, divided mostly between the clergy and the paladins, with the paladins being the ones most often sent to the frontlines to deal with the threats, while the clergy handle healing, more complex rites of exorcism, and research.  In the current times, the most common threat the Order faces are the undead, though lycanthropes and other evil shapechangers and similar spirits are not entirely uncommon.  On rare occasions a true demon has been encountered, requiring a much more significant response to deal with.

Though a relatively small group, they are backed by multiple organizations and individuals across known space.  As such, the Order has access to some of the best craftsmen, mystics, and technology available to perform their holy exterminations, with its members possessing some of the most highly enchanted arms and armor available, including their customized Fenrir assault rifles, now something of an iconic weapon.  Trained in all forms of combat, not just firearms (because some creatures simply won’t die until their heads are removed with a silver blade or a stake to the heart), many of their members come from related backgrounds, such as mercenary or military groups, often with a particular incident they managed to survive driving them onto their new path as a holy slayer.  

 

LORE24 ENTRY #29 – The Badaxe Clan

Category – Cultural / Organization

Historically, the Badaxe clan originated upon the world of Andyllion, forged through many generations to be the strongest and most prosperous of orcish clans, eventually earning the honor of serving the High Emperor himself as his most loyal and trusted soldiers and bodyguards.  This was further bolstered through strong leadership within the clan and their embrace of ancient Aerian combat training methods.  Even after they cut ties with the Empire, the clan remained strong, and became a unifying force for the orcish people of Andyllion, especially during the Age of Legends when their clan chief, Mantok Badaxe, ascended to godhood.

In modern times, the Badaxe Clan has evolved into something much different.  Though the descendants of the original clan still exist and control their own nation on Andyllion, they have continued evolving with the times.  Today, many know the Badaxe Clan as an elite private military company, now open to any of orcish blood from any world, and still holding its members to strict training based upon the old ways, adapted to modern weapons, technology, and tactics.  The Badaxe Clan mercenaries pride themselves on their ferocity, endurance, and adaptability, and are often seen as rivals to even the aerians, and while both are fiercely competitive, the rivalry between orc and aerian is mostly friendly…as much as a rivalry based upon combat can be.

Organizations across known space employ Badaxe Clan mercenaries for the most dangerous operations or to protect their high value targets, assuming they can afford the premium rates the clan demands for their expertise.  Even DSM is known to employ several units of Badaxe Clan members, with some working directly for Rivalle Volcari herself, even though the company has long been elf-dominated and the enmity between elf and orc is still not entirely extinguished.  Though members of the Badaxe Clan are trained to always put the job first and foremost, the strong sense of honor that is imparted to them have resulted in a few incidents over the years in which the work they were brought on to perform was deemed far too distasteful for even them, and they turned against those who hired them, echoing what happened when the great Mantok Badaxe himself led the clan against the High Emperor on Andyllion.