Created: 2007-09-18 15:16:51
Game: unity
Faith: Angelique
It was morning in the city of Galethspyre, though that fact was scarcely evident to anyone in the city. Roiling black smoke choked the sunlight and blotted out much of the blue sky. Deafening screams of women, children, and battle frenzied warriors filled the air like a rolling cannonade, loosed from a mighty warship. The smell of burnt flesh and ensanguined bodies struck any consideration that this city had once been the vanguard of peace and prosperity in the region formerly of the confederation called the Foundation.
Rising from the center of the city, a black monolith stood where once had been nothing. Jagged and cracked, it scythed into the morning sky, each crack opened up within to reveal several pulsating sacks, alive and doughy. Each smoking crevice held wiggling masses of flesh, dislodging from the spire and falling harmlessly to the ground. The muted and wet sounds of flesh upon stone were dwarfed by the screams of the infidels as they ran from death and their ultimate destiny. Destiny and death were the inalienable truths of the people of Palos, their light falling into the final stages of extinction, and nothing to leave behind for history to remember them.
It had been much like this since the evening prior, when the monolith had finally pierced the hardened mantle beneath the city. It toppled the statue of the infidel's fallen monarch, a sign of the great victory soon to come to the proud warriors of the Intifada. The pulsating sacks had spewed herds of warriors birthed from the elements themselves onto the dreaming populace of Galethspyre. The warriors hit the ground and immediately proceeded upon their objectives with eerie efficiency. The watch stations and the garrisons first, then into the sewer systems that snaked underneath the city, hundreds of silent warriors crept, blades extracted from the very spire they had arrived in. The governor's mansion, the mayor's home, all came second; the captain of the guard and the garrison near the bazaar came next. By the time the slaughter had been figured out, it was too late; a few infidels who had survived the first attack raised the alarm, though none of their comrades could hear it from their death sleeps. The cattle swarmed from their homes and huts, grabbing what they could before running to the streets, praying to escape with their lives.
As the world’s primary started to burn bright in the sky, the very last of the monolith-spire had been exposed, like a black dagger striking out toward the sun. The apex of the dagger burst open to disgorge flying beasts, with wings like insects and convolute razor-thin claws with which they struck at the peasantry. Their faces were covered with the look of anguish and the ferment of hate. These horrid forms crashed through the night, stealing man, woman, and child alike, flying to the heights of the still standing buildings, siphoning them of their blood and wrapping their empty carcasses in sacks, for later meals. Within hours, as the sun came into full view, the first warriors were already starting to disappear, oozing back into the ground that had spawned them.
Far outside the city, atop a small cliff overlooking the once serene sight, he watched. He was wearing the armor of his station, his face covered in the metal helm of a long dead nation. Furs draped from his taut frame and cascaded down his stalwart body. His name before this time had been many things, "fool", "killer", and even "thief", though he doubted the efficacy of those names. His proselytes below had come to call him the Executor, which he believed suited him much better, giving him an air of distinctiveness amongst the other leaders of this bygone era.
"Executor" the attendant spoke as he approached upon a winged beast summoned by his magicians. Jumping from the gryphon and then waving it off, the unarmored being now before the Executor fell immediately to one knee, head bowed low with neck exposed, the proper greeting for someone of the Executor's status.
The Executor did not elucidate any reaction to the attendant.
"The elemental magic was strong milord." the attendant repented to the armored Executor, "No soul still survives this town. The infidels have been swept clean of the city and surrounding countryside as you ordered. Already your Host moves in from the west with reinforcements."
The Executor stroked the hilt of his long glimmering sword on his belt, “What about the artifact? Where is it?”
The attendant said nothing then swallowed hard, “It was not here Excellency, we searched everywhere.”
“Very well, you may leave.”
“Thank you, Excellency.”
With a snap the attendant mounted his gryphon and took off from the top of the ridge, leaving the Executor to his thoughts. The fact that so much effort had just been wasted without the artifact to show for it irked him greatly, he almost forgot that he had just secured the first capital city for his ever expanding Intifada.
Almost.
GM: Executor
AGM: Viceroy
Squad Leader: Supplicant
Full Member:
Member:
Newbie:
Intifada's first age.
Intifada means "shaking off" or "rebellion". We are going to be playing the game at a leisurely pace and trying to still have fun.
Rules for Membership: You will be allowed to join if everyone in the guild agrees to application. If one current member denies your application you will need to wait until next age before applying again.
Honor: We have none so feel free to lump us into your war strikes and whatnot.
Ranks: There are only three ranks. The Executor, or "war leader", the Viceroy or "assistant guild master", and the Supplicant or "new member". Only the Executor and Viceroy ranks can edit the banner.
Play Style: The Executor is a casual player, but his subordinates are usually top notch players.