A Message from the Roof of the World

[Yuri Morokoth]

The descent from the Roof of the World was never one taken lightly. The lands to the South were often enough embroiled in their own politics and squabbles that those who dwelt in the uppermost portions of Asga felt no need to entangle themselves in such things. It was frowned upon, to even make an effort in understanding the goings on in the world below them. They were the children of Aza'Ruuhl the Earth-Shaker, one of the Elder Gods. He had existed before Denetion Medivantis, before Igneon Lux, before any other of the Affinity Gods. He had been the one to lift the mountains into the sky and form the lands of Midgard herself.

Simply known as the Greater Northen Clans to those who lived southward, the mountain giants were often depicted as riding atop massive icebears. The armor they wore was thick and heavy, crafted of the finest metals pulled from the mountains they lived upon and richly decorated with talismans and holy incantations to protect them. They towered over all, and it was said that if one were to meet a Northerner in battle, it would be prudent to pray for a quick death.

Not so ancient as the Fian, the Northern clans still held a fair amount of mystery and mysticism about them.


It was with great shock then, that one of the younger mages was chosen to travel southward. His peers had decreed it, and chosen him to make the journey. He was to make his way to Necia. They had sensed the rumbles of discontent from their own god, and had held communion for twenty long days. Dawn of the twenty-first day saw their answer to the growing discontent of Aza'Ruuhl, and they sought to charge one of their own with the task of finding the source of the powerful murmers they'd felt.

Their chosen voice, Yuri Morokoth, traveled with four others, picked by lot to protect the warrior mage despite his already deeply ingrained combat abilities. The five were resplendant in thick armor and well-worn leather, the massive shoulder gaurds enveloped in furred bearskins. Tassles of silver-adorned leather strips hung from metal clasps; each clasp etched with holy incantations to protect them. Standing head and shoulders above the lowlanders, they had made their way down from the high mountains of their homes. They passed through the Jarnvid with little trouble, and as the party grew near to the borders of Necia, they each cast resolute stares upon their intended path.

They did not put their faith in any god but Aza'Ruuhl; those who chose to follow the Affinity gods were thought of not as ignorant, but simply misguided. These notions were buried deep however, as it was more than apparent that decorum was necessary to ascertain the level of danger posed by those who angered any of the gods, no matter their status. Each imposing figure knew the weight of their appointed task.

With the outskirts of Demos now in sight, the five continued onward. The bears they rode growled at the warmer climate, but otherwise obeyed. Like their masters, each animal bore leather and armor, and carried the massive weapons that were only thought of as legend; broadswords that would have taken two men to lift, and spears with shafts as thick as a man's arm.

They were the Children of Aza'Ruuhl.

They were the great Northerners from the Roof of the World.

They were the Aza'Mariuuhl.

[Csephion Draxus]

Csephion Draxus reclined at the head of a triclinium in his villa, taking a midday respite from the dreary mid-summer's heat. He'd hosted a number of other Satraps at his home for a symposium, sampling fruits of the vine and discussing the ever gossip-driven realm of politics.

As it had been for the past month, Ariadne Fyrian had dined at his right hand side. She'd proven herself adept at becoming a lady of society and a figurehead of intrigue. Her mere presence was enough to stimulate interesting conversation and rapport, but she was also there to assist Draxus in peeling away the intentions of his guests like a scalpel, and to get at the heart of the matter. She was a foil that he wielded judiciously to extract the precise lines of conversation that were necessary.

The past week, however, had cast some subtleties to the winds in exchange for fewer, if not darker ones. The League was at war. It was a political move now made sacrosanct. The spearkeeper of Vridex Telamus, the persona of the Metal affinity God who presided over the beginnings and ends of wars, had cast her spear across the Rhaegus river, the symbol of the ancient League's first crossing into war. It was now considered a divine war, shown with favor cast down from the Gods, and could only be revoked if the Gods also willed it.

It was just as well that Draxus made sure to fund renovations to the temple annually. The priest caste knew which generous benefactor oiled their daily bread.

With war cast down against Ankaa, the satraps were free to discuss the peculiarities of waging war. The raising of generals, the intrigue of two missing Imperators, the considerations of taxations to levy and conscription of the allied lands. A fleet already sailed for Peer, with the city now in temporary custody of Necia. It would be a staging point for further expeditions along the southern coast of Asga, probing the wastes and sargassum that enveloped the Sultanate to find a sufficient point to strike from.

There was also another issue quite close to Draxus that he planned to have raised, but that would wait for now. Best to lubricate the reason of men and glaucans alike with the vine.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

In the lull between the countless guests that Draxus consistently entertained, Ariadne found the restful time a much-welcomed thing. She had spent the last month at the Phressian Satrap's side, offering precisely what she knew he desired during the seemingly endless conversations that she attended with him.

But now it was a time of rest, and the Glaucan woman padded her way through the Satrap's villa. She had spent her time in the baths, cooling herself as much as possible from the relentless heat. She was used to such weather, but it had always been an easy thing to simply cast out from the Chiron and spend hours in the water, darting to and fro beneath the ship.

She paused in an open doorway, spying Draxus as he too used the temporary quiet to relax. Pascias was nowhere in sight, and Fyrian briefly retied the almost sheer linen around her waist.

"The Satrap looks to be weary," she purred, moving through the doorway and walking smoothly in his direction on bare feet.

[Yuri Morokoth]

As the five made their way into Demos itself, each one cast cold blue eyes about them. For as much as the people going about their daily activities stared at them, they too studied each passerby. If they were intrigued in any way by their surrounding, the giant northerners did not allow it to show. They remained fixed to the pressing task at hand, and with the knowledge that they had finally arrived at their destination, it would only be a matter of time before their presence became known throughout the city in its' entirety.

Yuri Morokoth knew that it would be soon now. When the Necian leaders showed themselves.

In the summer heat, all five had shed their furs and cloaks, now choosing to ride with the full glory of their armor exposed. Like monoliths they continued onward into the heart of Demos.

[Csephion Draxus]

"Indeed, his body succumbs to the toils of the day, where his mind suffers restlessness."

Disinterested in his wine, and tiring of reading correspondance from Peer, the Satrap pushed both articles away from him to the other side of his desk, and rose.

"What a paradox it is to toil so little, but to suffer the brunt of ill-claimed exertions. Perhaps war is made more taxing when performed from such an elevated height."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"If that is the case, then perhaps you should consider taking upon yourself the mantle of Imperator."

It was a rather blatant tease, and they both knew it.

"I'm sure with both Denix and Mako elsewhere, the people would welcome you back to such a post with healthy cheers and excitement."

A year ago she would have scoffed at the notion that she would be so closely entwined with a Necian Satrap, but with Kariun's death it seemed everything she once knew as fact had been cast to the side. Fyrian did not mind that at all.

She stopped at his desk to look down at what he had been reading.

"But," she continued in a mirthful tone, "I suppose that you have grown beyond such things to feast upon loftier ambitions."

She took up the wine he'd pushed to the side, taking a sip.

[Csephion Draxus]

He shared a mirthful moment as they both contemplated the ludicrous.

"It would seem beneath the expectation of my station, if I were to judge the perception of the people."

He steepled his fingers in thought.

"I think it's time to discuss the allure of expediency, and to gently catch our guests in its thrall. Everyone desires a good war that concludes quickly and with ample compensation to the victor."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian replaced the wine upon his desk, affording him a sideways look.

"Is that so?"

War of such that he spoke of was a new thing to her; she had lived her life as an outsider without the pressing matters of any sort of ruling bodies to dictate words over her head. It was liberating to go about one's existence in so free a manner, but with the ever-changing times crashing down upon them, Fyrian knew it best to embrace her evolution; from wild to partially civilized.

She would never truly allow herself to become so hobbled... so tamed by even Draxus' iron will, and she suspected that the Satrap was pleased by this. If she were to succumb in entirety to the conformity of society, she would lose her soul. At least, the Glaucan woman suspected as much. She was the exotic and wild counterpart to Draxus' more civilized and uniform bearing, and it was an easy thing to detect that what had once begun as rumors of their coupling were now known as fact.

"A war with Ankaa does not strike me as something that can be handled with any amount of 'expediency'."

[Erifa Nimshi]

Her time at the Satrap's villa had been spent carefully at first, but with each passing day Erifa had grown more accustomed to the happenings of her Necian surroundings. She'd even begun to enjoy it. The Glaucan girl came and went as she pleased, and her initial fear of Draxus had ebbed away into a cautious respect. If Ariadne saw fit to stay and take pleasure in their new status, then so did she.

But on this day, all was not as it was supposed to be, as Erifa scrambled her way through the halls and open rooms of the Satrap's villa. She was sopping wet, having so recently come from the sea and her daily communion with her father, Denetion. He had told her much this day, including the arrival of a group of men hailing from the northern mountains. It was this news that had sent the girl into a frenzied race through each room, searching for Ariadne.

[Csephion Draxus]

"Expediency is relative."

Draxus reclined on his couch as he regarded his ever-present companion.

"Necia has always placed high value on the sacred rule of law. It makes ill suited soil for growing tyrants, but at the expense of sharing no such comparable speed in handing down declarations as an autocrat may have."

He held aloft an index finger.

"But, there is an ancient office, reserved for grave situations in which decisive action and a quick hand are vital to ensure the state's survival."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian knew where his mind was - indeed, they had vaguely discussed just this same subject after the day she'd been called to speak before the Satrapy. Moving to sit beside where he reclined, the Glaucan pushed his raised finger back down.

"I know you mean to have yourself become dictator. There is no need to dance about your true intention with me."

[Csephion Draxus]

"I mean to bring order to chaos, and to secure Necia's destiny. My Dictatorship is merely the salve to apply, not the cure itself."

He was still reading her reactions to his revelations, gauging her thoughts.

"You worry that I embark on a self serving mission?"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

She gave him a slight laugh, finding a small amount of amusement at his question.

"Despite your fine clothing and regal posturing, your ambition is far wilder than even I could hope to be."

Her hand gripped his tightly as her ears caught the sound of approaching footfalls. By the rapid beat, there was no doubt that it was Erifa; come to find her for some reason or another.

"I only worry that there will come a time that I'll be unable to give to you whatever it is you may desire."

[Csephion Draxus]

"It is a curious thought to entertain, isn't it? We stand at the precipice of abundance, each offering the other the world, and the other not quite sure if it is enough."

He laughed a little, appreciating the dark nihilism for a moment.

"And we are as of yet both undeterred. Perhaps our ill suspicions are just phantasms."

[Erifa Nimshi]

A-ha!!

She'd darted past the open doorway almost, but a quick glance inside showed that Fyrian was very much inside. And of course, Draxus was with her. The Glaucan girl was not surprised by this, as seeing the two together had become a normal thing. If they were ever apart for any long amount of time, Erifa knew that ill words and short tempers were soon to follow.

Hair soaked through and dripping upon the floor, the girl stood breathless for a moment before starting forward through the doorway. Her pace was quick, bare feet a fast staccato beat as she approached the two.

"There are men in the city," she finally got out.

A useless-seeming statement to be sure, but being so out of breath made it difficult to elaborate.

[Csephion Draxus]

A cryptic thing for the child to say. Draxus in a way welcomed the interruption. The color of the day's conversation was beginning to darken.

"There are indeed a great many. It is the greatest of the cities in the east."

[Erifa Nimshi]

An impatient look was sent his way, and Erifa waved away his words without thought.

"Of course," she'd regained her breath, and now stood before the two.

"But not men like this. They are Northerners... the giants from the Roof of the World."

She had taken a slightly agitated if not awed tone; one that neither Draxus nor Ariadne had heard from her before. It was enough to make the elder Glaucan stiffen and send a look to the Satrap.

"They ride their bears into the city as we speak."

[Csephion Draxus]

"Northmen."

The notion of it was intriguing to Draxus. The tribes beyond the northern ranges were barbarians even compared to the bands of the Jarnvid and the wild Dalriadans that occupied central Asga. They came from an alien land of desolation, and what Draxus knew of them had come second hand from other barbarians he'd conquered.

He looked to a slave who stood at attention in the doorway. He approached quickly, and Draxus took him aside to whisper a message in confidence, to be passed along the Satrap's chain of command. Just as quickly, the slave was spirited away.

He again looked to Erifa, a smile on his face.

"I feel I should meet these queer strangers."

[Yuri Morokoth]

Through streets that steadily grew more crowded, Yuri led his small group further into the heart of Demos. Each Easterner they passed stopped to stare at the giants, cautious curiosity plain to see in their eyes. Likewise, the Northern giants returned each gaze with their steady and unflinching stares. They knew that their presence was unexpected and possibly worrying to some, but the nature of their visit far outweighed any desire to stop.

Onward they rode, their ursine mounts unflinching in these foreign surroundings.

The group slowed to a stop, and each rider looked up to their final destination; the Necian Oratorium. It was this building that Yuri had been tasked with finding, and once he did, he was to deliver his warning.

[Regulus Varo]

Varo's dwelling lay rather close to the Oratorium. Rather than live in a sprawling villa on a more toothsome property, the conservative Satrap chose an abode more accessible to foot traffic and the beating heart of the city business. It was still a mansion, but one of several degrees more humble than his peers. He sat reclined under a sun shade awning, enjoying a breakfast of sour figs, songbird eggs, cheese, and honeybread when the throng approached.

"Foreign barbarians of a strange look, but of some repute it looks like."

He spoke to no one in particular, as only a slave was in earshot. Finishing a portion of his breakfast, he set aside a knife and wiped his mouth with a napkin as he rose.

"If you are looking for the Satrapy, they are not in session today!"

Varo, clad in his ever-present black toga, strolled purposefully down the thoroughfare leading from his property to the main road that wound all the way up the hill to reach the seat of Necian government.