Stradia: The Fourth War

[Azisien]

(Sorry Mods, have to double post due to being a long winded asshole)

It's summer, and Stradia returns after two years. I couldn't resist. There are a lot of RPs popping up right now, which makes me nervous, but I figured I should throw mine out there before MORE pop up. Stradia RP is:

-Fantasy
-Not god-moddy
-Moderately paced
-Awesome (subjective)

And without further ado...the introduction to the "new" Stradia:

Day One

A soft rapping on the oak door signaled the arrival of one of the sages. The man sitting at the desk within the study wrote on a piece of parchment with a feather-tipped pen until he heard the knocks. He was very handsome, with flawless tanned skin that seemed to glow, bright green eyes, a strong chin, and shoulder length blonde hair. The pen stopped writing, and he looked at the door from across his desk. “Come in.” His voice was vibrant, and although he spoke normally the words filled the air like a calming music.

The door opened and a much older man entered the room. He was short, about five foot six inches tall, and carried a long wooden staff that he used as a walking stick. His hair was mostly white, save for a few strands of lingering grey; remnants of ages past. Popping out of the hair were two long ears ending in points. “The scry with Venuria has been established, my lord. He wants to speak with you, and he isn’t being very patient.”

The man in the chair stood, revealing his tall, muscular frame, at least six foot three. “Gorn, what are you doing here?”

Gorn tapped his staff and pointed it out into the hall. “I teleported, but never you mind that. You have a very pressing issue at hand. Come!”

“It is very interesting that you address me as lord one moment, and order me around as if you were my father the next.” The man said sternly.

A smile broke out onto the face of the aging elf. “I do not mind formalities, but you should always remember I am your elder by two hundred years, Anduil Lightbringer.”

Anduil came around from behind the desk and they both left the study. All of the walls were carved in solid stone, denoting that they were within some kind of castle or fortress. Every few steps, a metal bracket housed an ever-bright torch on the wall. “Well, my elder, I would ask you not use that name.”

“Why not? It is a fitting name, after all.” Gorn replied.

“Perhaps, but that was so long ago.” Years of history rushed through both of their minds like a powerful river.

Gorn chuckled politely. “It was only twenty five years ago, Anduil! Through my eyes, that was not so long ago! But very well, very well, I will not use the name.”

After turning down several different hallways, all of them empty save for the torches, the pair finally encountered two human guards before a large door. Anduil turned to Gorn and asked. “Have they mentioned what they want to talk about with such urgency?”

“No, my lord, but judging by the brief dialogue I had with them back in Gole, I strongly suggest you begin readying the northern forces.” Gorn answered.

A look of sadness momentarily passed over Anduil’s face, but his features hardened and he looked forward. The two guards opened the doorway for them and they passed into the new chamber. It was a scrying room, large and rectangular with an abnormally high ceiling. In the center of the chamber, four strange obelisks, each ten feet tall and covered in the common runic language used for magic, hummed audibly and fired colorful lights into the high ceiling above. The top of the chamber resembled a light show. Gorn looked at the obelisks. “For all the study of magic in the world, not a single scholar has answered why the obelisks give off the light…”

Anduil ignored the elf and walked between two of the obelisks on his way into the center of the room. To everyone looking at him from the outside, he simply vanished. However, to himself nothing in the environment changed, but a man was now standing thirty feet ahead of him, within the magical rectangle created by the obelisks.

“And so the great Anduil graces me with his presence.” The man was the same height as Gorn, but his race was indeterminate due to the full set of armor he wore. The plate mail was perfectly crafted for his body, with intricate weaves of grey and white gems adorned over the black metal. His helmet was the same, ending in two long metal horns and covering his entire face save for two eye slits and a mouth hole. He even carried a short spear, a little shorter than himself, of identical make. At the base of the razor sharp spearhead, a deep red feather had been attached with a small metal ring. As the man paced back and forth with an impossible ease for his load, his long, purple-blue cloak dragged across the stone floor.

“Jorluke.”

“I am glad you have finally grown weary of sending your aides to deal with me.” Jorluke said coolly.

“What do you want? Why do you request an audience with the King of Kenshura?” Anduil began firing the barrage of questions he said.

“Request? I should hope the newly crowned King of Venuria may request an audience with you, whenever he pleases. We are such close neighbours after all.” Were his face visible, Jorluke’s smile would be clear to all. The statement struck Anduil like a dagger in the chest. Pain almost as deep as the real sensation crawled up and down his spine.

“You are their new king?” It was all the Lightbringer could muster momentarily.

“Do not stall with me. You know what I want.” Jorluke tapped the butt of his shortspear against the floor.

Anduil remained silent as dark thoughts raced through his mind. As if the pair had swapped roles, Jorluke now stood still while Anduil started to pace. Jorluke wanted the artifacts. Magic and people’s prowess in it had grown over the centuries, but there had been at least one monumental exception. The artifacts had been recovered all around Kenshura, one by one, for centuries. Scholars had concluded that the final one had been recovered twenty-five years ago. Though Anduil had no idea whether that was true, he remembered that day very well, for it was he that recovered it. Through agony, blood, and darkness he had secured it. He had even bore witness to the awesome power of just one of the artifacts. Suffice to say, Anduil already knew he would do everything and anything in his power to keep them from Jorluke. He would gladly die; he would sacrifice entire armies. He would even sacrifice all of Kenshura. The world did not deserve having that kind of power go to that kind of man. “You’re wasting your time.”

“The artifacts, or your kingdom, Lightbringer!” Jorluke hissed.

“I scattered them in the ocean. None of us will ever see them again.” Anduil lied straight into the miniscule eye slits of that demonic helmet.

“Your kingdom, then.” Jorluke stomped off in the other direction. The Venurian king passed through the other side of far obelisks and vanished. The scry ended abruptly, and the colourful lights sprinkling out of the magic towers ceased. Gorn appeared calmly at Anduil’s side, but his face was the same as his king’s: grim and suddenly lacking in colour.

“He’s coming. We have to move quickly. Get back to Gole and rally the militia. I will coordinate the northern garrisons to fortify Ateria, Socre, Gole, Abatha, Heryo, and Weste. When you return, contact Darren and Elmric and tell them to prepare as well. I will begin a scry with Hebridean, Sirichi, and Durin immediately.” Anduil started.

“My king…” Gorn tried to interrupt, but the king was already on a roll.

“Do as I say, old friend. Go, now!” Anduil raised his voice. Both had known each other long enough to not let it escalate beyond that point. Gorn turned on heel and left the chamber. The strong oak doors snapped shut, and Anduil was alone in the scrying chamber.

“Avelia’s Light…”