Post by Goddess Vetera on May 15, 2016 17:49:01 GMT -5
About the 83rd Regiment and their location in the Mistmeadow:
The Mistmeadow. Why they call it “The Mistmeadow,” I’ll never understand. It is neither misty, nor meadowy. If I had the chance to rename it, I think I’d go more with “Dusty Pricks” Or “Sandy-Death-Basin.” Something with a little less lie to it. Regardless, that’s where we are, in The Fortress. Equally as well-thought-out of a name, “The Fortress.” Isn’t it? That’s it. Nothing else. So clever of them. It has recently been called Aegis, or Fort Aegis by the current landowners.
You’d think being right on the beach would be a fun place to be stationed. You would be wrong. Some ancient blasted warding spell has turned the beach into a literal bone field. Animals and ships get washed up onshore and immediately die. Even the wind is directed around the wards, for the most part, when they aren’t flickering and the wind is just right. When they do let a nice breeze in, it’s the rank smell of seaweed, salt, and rotting flesh. Afortunia says the wards are thousands of years old and finally failing, it’s no wonder they occasionally let wind in. When I asked her when they would finally fall and give us all a respite, she said ,“In a couple centuries, probably. No more than another millennium, for sure.” So there you have it. There’s a tale that says the wards are sustained by the life they drain. They’re probably starving, since the fortress hasn’t been attacked from that front in ages, and pirates, lost boats, the occasional band of unlucky travelers, and sea life are the best they get at.
To the east lies the beginning of the Fenmoors of Ilynka. Technically it’s another country once you cross the Fortress. But here it’s all nasty, smelly bogland. The nation for the most part is made up of a collective of city-states surrounding their cesspit capital. You’d never see their kind out here in the stick. There’s nothing to steal and no one to murder here.
To the west lies the desert of Imaal. You rarely see these desert nomads, they tend to stick to their own, never once have they come to the fort to trade for supplies. However, I have a feeling they have more than a few boats in their harbors. Most of their nation is inland, but what they do have on the rocky coast, they guard zealously. The closest I’ve been to one was a raiding party of youths that ventured too close to the wards. A handful managed to run back when the wards started draining the life from them. Most weren’t so lucky, and we were stuck with the smell for a few weeks.
This gets us to the north. The Fortress is a long, narrow strip. It’s pretty much a wall with a bastion at the southern tip. The real forty part is built into the tip of a mountain range (we call them the Sandy Peaks, but no one really knows the real name). This mountain gradually gets bigger as it slides further inland, and the country of Cital is nestled in the northernmost fork where it branches off. So, anyone that wants to get across the continent must travel across the main mountain road, (or under the mountains with the dwarves), through Cital and its haunted forests, or slide down the sides of the mountain, risking the raiders of Imaal, or the vagabonds of Ilynka.
Because of this, it’s a key position. It’s kept the Empire of Apostolos from invading the east or flanking Imaal for millennia. It’s kept pirates from landing on a desolate cove and creating their own base of operations with which to harass normally civilians. It’s changed hands repeatedly. Currently it’s under the control of Cital, which has been making a move to enlarge its holdings. It took it over from a brief decade in which pirates from Ilynka stole it from L’Einne, when it could no longer defend its mainland from Apostolos.
And this is where I’m stuck. Me and the rest of our ragtag band of misfits, The Corpse Bridge. Officially we’re the 83rd Regiment. (Loosely) affiliated with Cital. We’re pretty much self governing though, and we get in an influx of troops or supplies from Cital when we’re running low. Really though, we are a corpse brigade. The unwanted excess from various countries. Some of us are former criminals, inducted only because of death, some of us are seeking atonement in hell on earth, some of us can’t hold a job (that’s me!) and some of us are just plain crazy. Either way, we’ve all been relegated to The Corpse Brigade, 83rd Regiment, The Fortress, Mistmeadow (Cital).
We hope to never see you here,
Regards,
Arolyn Throvain, Company “Wizard”
The Mistmeadow. Why they call it “The Mistmeadow,” I’ll never understand. It is neither misty, nor meadowy. If I had the chance to rename it, I think I’d go more with “Dusty Pricks” Or “Sandy-Death-Basin.” Something with a little less lie to it. Regardless, that’s where we are, in The Fortress. Equally as well-thought-out of a name, “The Fortress.” Isn’t it? That’s it. Nothing else. So clever of them. It has recently been called Aegis, or Fort Aegis by the current landowners.
You’d think being right on the beach would be a fun place to be stationed. You would be wrong. Some ancient blasted warding spell has turned the beach into a literal bone field. Animals and ships get washed up onshore and immediately die. Even the wind is directed around the wards, for the most part, when they aren’t flickering and the wind is just right. When they do let a nice breeze in, it’s the rank smell of seaweed, salt, and rotting flesh. Afortunia says the wards are thousands of years old and finally failing, it’s no wonder they occasionally let wind in. When I asked her when they would finally fall and give us all a respite, she said ,“In a couple centuries, probably. No more than another millennium, for sure.” So there you have it. There’s a tale that says the wards are sustained by the life they drain. They’re probably starving, since the fortress hasn’t been attacked from that front in ages, and pirates, lost boats, the occasional band of unlucky travelers, and sea life are the best they get at.
To the east lies the beginning of the Fenmoors of Ilynka. Technically it’s another country once you cross the Fortress. But here it’s all nasty, smelly bogland. The nation for the most part is made up of a collective of city-states surrounding their cesspit capital. You’d never see their kind out here in the stick. There’s nothing to steal and no one to murder here.
To the west lies the desert of Imaal. You rarely see these desert nomads, they tend to stick to their own, never once have they come to the fort to trade for supplies. However, I have a feeling they have more than a few boats in their harbors. Most of their nation is inland, but what they do have on the rocky coast, they guard zealously. The closest I’ve been to one was a raiding party of youths that ventured too close to the wards. A handful managed to run back when the wards started draining the life from them. Most weren’t so lucky, and we were stuck with the smell for a few weeks.
This gets us to the north. The Fortress is a long, narrow strip. It’s pretty much a wall with a bastion at the southern tip. The real forty part is built into the tip of a mountain range (we call them the Sandy Peaks, but no one really knows the real name). This mountain gradually gets bigger as it slides further inland, and the country of Cital is nestled in the northernmost fork where it branches off. So, anyone that wants to get across the continent must travel across the main mountain road, (or under the mountains with the dwarves), through Cital and its haunted forests, or slide down the sides of the mountain, risking the raiders of Imaal, or the vagabonds of Ilynka.
Because of this, it’s a key position. It’s kept the Empire of Apostolos from invading the east or flanking Imaal for millennia. It’s kept pirates from landing on a desolate cove and creating their own base of operations with which to harass normally civilians. It’s changed hands repeatedly. Currently it’s under the control of Cital, which has been making a move to enlarge its holdings. It took it over from a brief decade in which pirates from Ilynka stole it from L’Einne, when it could no longer defend its mainland from Apostolos.
And this is where I’m stuck. Me and the rest of our ragtag band of misfits, The Corpse Bridge. Officially we’re the 83rd Regiment. (Loosely) affiliated with Cital. We’re pretty much self governing though, and we get in an influx of troops or supplies from Cital when we’re running low. Really though, we are a corpse brigade. The unwanted excess from various countries. Some of us are former criminals, inducted only because of death, some of us are seeking atonement in hell on earth, some of us can’t hold a job (that’s me!) and some of us are just plain crazy. Either way, we’ve all been relegated to The Corpse Brigade, 83rd Regiment, The Fortress, Mistmeadow (Cital).
We hope to never see you here,
Regards,
Arolyn Throvain, Company “Wizard”
