Oh that would be awesome I can probably set up the links from there though, just make it "AI_DIPLO_XXXX_VOLANNA" (with XXXX becoming anything from FIRST_CONTACT to REFUSE_TO_CONTACT) for everything and we'll be sweet.
You should have my mail from that time with your map, but otherwise just pm.
Thanks!
Erebus in the Balance - a FFH Modmod based around balancing and polishing FFH for streamlined competitive play.
So I liked writing about Volanna so much, I figured I'd go on a Svart kick for a while. Spoiled partly in an attempt to not derail discussion from actual balance stuff is my take on the Svartalfar Palace. [EDIT: See post #50 below for the newer version I prefer.]
Also spoiled for length, though it's shorter than Volanna's. This entry might be called Chapter 3 of the Sarcodes Cycle, where the Volanna entry was Chapter 1. (Chapter 2 doesn't connect them, so perhaps this should be Chapter 6 instead, with Chapter 3 upcoming, with most of the intervening and later chapters left to the readers' imaginations for now, as I doubt if there will be a place for them in the Civilopedia. In any case...)
Svartalfar Palace Wrote:Phyris Nightbow stood at the gates of the little palisade that served her for a keep at the heart of Nethrael village, her arms folded in quiet defiance as the newcomers built new homes around her little settlement - courtesans and illusionists standing about and directing or helping to keep watch against the beasts of the wilds, while their manservants struggled and toiled with the gruntwork to which they were suited. Her own citizens were pitching in as well, and all seemed well in her little realm, but Phyris could see the confrontation coming.
That night, as the full moon climbed the sky, they approached: The flower of the Svartalfar in bygone days, reduced to a roving band at her winter gates. She and her people had struggled for years to build a life for themselves in the wastes, and unless she stood firm, the interlopers - habituated as they still must be to the life of the ruling class - would simply take it away. Already she felt off-balance; perhaps had she acted when they first approached ... but even then, the sentiment of her people was clear: They would help their beloved sisters of the blood, most of all the retinue of their deadly Winter Queen, and how could she gainsay their wishes without being knifed from behind? So the newcomers would be welcome, but would have to learn to work like the common people of the community. There were no armies here to enforce the Winter Court's law, and she would not be supplanted by a bunch of dainty courtiers whose court was no more. So even as the Winter Queen herself drew near, Phyris braced herself and stood tall to pronounce, "I bid you welcome, guests - or future citizens, should you choose to remain and work here - to my village of Nethrael."
A teasing smile briefly played across Faeryl's lips, belying the deadly tension in the air. "Surely, my little archer, you must know better than that. We come to take our rightful place, to rule among our people once more."
A shiver passed down Phyris Nightbow's spine at the look in those royal eyes, but somehow she held her ground. "Not here; not now," she answered. "You need my help now, and my rule in this place cannot be questioned. Your court is gone, your palace in ruins, overrun by frostlings by this hour, and in my land, you are refugees and no more."
"How very sad," the Winter Queen murmured, resting a hand upon her bosom, over her heart, and looking upon Phyris Longbow with wide and innocent eyes. Her courtesans, already standing away out of respect for their monarch, backed off still further, not without haste. A true rival who knew the danger in such a look might have tried to flee or beg forgiveness, but a true rival would not have committed so grave an error. Phyris, unknowing, only drew herself up higher as her Queen asked, all sorrowing innocence, "My palace in ruins?"
And suddenly, Faeryl was laughing: A high, bright, cheerful laugh like sleigh bells on the sledge that bears a feast for winter nights. All eyes came to her, drawn irresistibly by the beautiful sound as Faeryl Viconia, Winter Queen of the Elven Court, turned as if to address them all, not striding to meet an adversary but merely stretching, twisting, posing where she stood, one slender hand reaching toward the sky, where afterward every witness, though they saw from many sides, swore they saw the full moon behind her, as though it rested upon the fingertips of her outstretched hand. Invisible power swirled around her, twisting and whirling her gown, shaking out the long, black tresses of her hair and their silken ribbons, lifting high even the silver jewels she wore, making them sing like wind chimes in the night. No manservant saw for more than an instant, for all dropped their labors at once - even those breaking their fast let the precious food fall from their hands - the faster to drop to their knees, their arms and hands outstretched toward her, and bury their faces in the snow upon the ground. Even the women of Nethrael knelt as their queen began a slow, hypnotic dance, singing ancient words in the oldest of elven tongues: "Winter is come," she chanted, "and the High Queen of the Winter Court has come into her home."
The sparse trees of the wastelands creaked as if longing to join her, and as the tempo increased, even the long-dead wood of the pallisade walls seemed to stretch and reach for life once more, to put down roots and blossom. The shadows of the pallisade, merging with those of her dancing body, seemed by a trick of the mind to shift and sway and take on new form, and where Faeryl moved or touched or shaped a shadow, the shadow stayed, no matter though she moved away. Soon, to the spellbound minds of all whose faces were not yet cast down in abject worship of their Winter Queen, from the corners of eyes that could not move from Queen Viconia herself, the moonlight seemed to cast across the village a shadow not of a hilltop or a pallisade, but of a mighty palace of the Svartalfar. And as their queen ended her dance, her arms spread wide, her smile outshining the full moon at her back, lighting up the winter sky, and as she laughed again, the clear, bright laugh of happy elven youth - a pure laugh of unguarded pleasure that even her closest advisors had never heard her sing before that night - they beheld that the palace was there: Grown up like a stonewood tree or cast into existence by its shadow and their thoughts. "My love," she said, addressing all her subjects and the heart of each one alone. "Did not you know? My palace is not of one city; it is of the shadows, the forests of winter, the mind's eye, and the night. No frostling, no ogre, no dragon can take the palace from me while I draw the breath of life, for so long as I am the Winter Queen, wherever I have a home, that home shall be a palace and a place of our people's power, for that power and that palace is mine."
Even her courtiers and illusionists bowed then to the ground, but glancing sidelong at the spot nearby where Phyris Nightbow had stood, Faeryl frowned. She reached out with the tip of one boot to turn over the snow and conceal the tiny drop of blood that stained its surface before returning to the bowed heads of her audience with a smile. Much later that night, in a private chamber deep within her palace, she would chastise Alazkan for leaving even that single drop of evidence behind.
Thanks Sareln! Really useful
I trust all revisions before the 59 one (which says compiling for v9) are already a part of it?
A Pedia entry I found when looking for something to fill in the Prior entry. I recommend absolutely anything by this writer, some of it even made it into the main mod:
KillerClowns Wrote:Alan stepped nervously onto the platform. Although surrounded by the Kwythellar city guard, he could not help but fear for his life. He was the youngest person to ever achieve the rank of Vicar, but this mattered little to the crowd... no, the mob that surrounded him. He had been proud to don the golden robes a few days ago, but now they would only make him more obvious should he try to escape. Centaurs, humans, dwarves, and elves made up most of the mob, with a scattering of the various other races of the Kuriotate Republic. Except, of course, orcs. "Why do we tolerate these scum in our cities?" demanded a fearsome-looking old Dwarf, "why do we let them live fat off our wealth even as we fight the wretched Clan that spawned them?" The crowd murmured in agreement. Alan had been sent to talk sense into the angry hordes of Kwythellar, to explain why turning upon their fellow Kuriotates simply because they were orcs was as unforgivable as turning upon their on family, despite the continued, and indeed, failing, war with the Clan of Embers.
Just as Alan was about to begin his speech, another figure walked onto the platform. His robes were those of an Order Prior, and while they had originally been purest white they were now quite dirty. The shield of Junil hung loosely from his neck, and he had a massive, unkempt beard, a worn old staff, and a flask on his side, from which he promptly took a sip. "Gonna try to calm 'em down, eh?" the Prior asked. Alan glanced at the Prior's flask. "Are you allowed... to have that?" "That," the Prior responded, "is sacramental wine, me boy! Well, it's sacramental rum at any rate. We're allowed some of that for blessings an' such... an' right now, I feel like blessin' me innards." Alan looked dubiously at the old man; his impressions of the fierce and unforgiving Order bore little resemblance to the dirty, rum-swigging, grinning old fool that stood before him. "Well, there's a crowd down there lookin' forward to yer speech, laddie. Don' keep 'em waiting; they don' look to be as forgivin' as that damned Empyrean ya follow."
Alan began. "Brothers and sisters; for truly we are all family under Cardith Lorda." That would help; everyone respected and loved the boy king. "You would take up arms against your fellow citizens? You would strike down those you once called friends..." "Ain't no tuskie ever been a friend of mine!" interrupted someone from the crowd. Alan ignored him and continued. "You would slay the innocent because they look different, or they speak differently, or don't follow the same religion..." "obviously, we mus' also tolerate the ones that demand ya sacrifice innocents to Agares" muttered the Prior, but Alan barely heard him as he continued. "You would destroy all that we have worked to create?" "No!" came a voice from the crowd. "We are loyal to Cardith Lorda! We are loyal to all the Kuriotate Republic stands for!" Alan breathed a sigh of relief, but the man continued, "this is why we must wipe out the vermin infesting out cities! What next, shall we grant citizenship to the rats that eat our grain? Better that, me thinks, than letting orcs inhabit our fine city! At least rats don't seek to kill us all! Hells, I hear they can be trained; that's more than can be said of the tuskies!" A nervous laugh came from the crowd. "We must cleanse the city in the name of Cardith Lorda! In the name of the Gold Dragon! In the name of the Kuriotate Republic!"
As soon as the heckler finished speaking, the Prior banged his staff upon the platform. The air grew chilly, and the color seemed to drain from the surrounding city. A flawless crystal floated upon the platform. Alan knew better than to look directly at it, and thanks to years of practice, resisted; the Prior had done the unthinkable. "We follow the Empyrean," Alan said to the Prior. "That... that thing denies people their most basic freedoms, makes them into slaves! It is an abomination!" "Sometimes," the Prior said, "people won' listen. I don' like that thing," and with this the Prior motioned to the crystal, "any more than you do. But I'd rather use it, jus' fer now, than watch good people get slaughtered on account o' a couple o' nutjobs who know how to start a mob. Give yer speech, and when yer done..." from somewhere in his robes, the Prior pulled a knife marked with symbols holy to Junil, "pierce that crystal with this. They'll be free, aye, but they will also 'ave 'eard yer words. Really 'eard 'em, not just sorta heard 'em like before. An' make sure ya return the knife when yer done; jes leave it outside the local Temple o' the Order. It'll get back to me from there." The Prior was about to walk off the stage, but then examined his nearly empty flask. "It's twenty silver pieces fer the finest rum... for sacramental purpose, ya know." The Prior held out his hand, and accepted the coins Alan handed him. He left the platform whistling a particularly bawdy folk song and left Alan to show wisdom to the now docile crowd. Alan began again, speaking this time not to an angry mob, but a crowd whose hearts and minds were open to the truth.
Erebus in the Balance - a FFH Modmod based around balancing and polishing FFH for streamlined competitive play.
(Sorry to be a bother - I reread what I wrote for the Svartalfar Palace, didn't like it, and made a few revisions that made me like it again. Edited my post above with the changes.)
Where did you find that entry by KillerClowns? Just searching threads at Civfanatics? Or is there a repository for them someplace?
Its not a complete collection of the lore on Civfanatics, but it has most of it there.
I actually haven't put the palace in yet (or read it for that matter...) but it'll be in the next version (I hope to release this one either later tonight or early tomorrow).
While I'm at it, Version 10.0 Changelog:
Unit Change: Chaos Marauder: Is buildable, Cost: 45H, Requires: Planar Gate, Carnival
Unit Change: Manticore: Is buildable, Cost: 240H, Requires: Planar Gate, Grove
Unit Change: Mobius Witch Is buildable, Cost: 150H, Requires: Planar Gate, Mage Guild
Unit Change: Minotaur: Is buildable, Cost: 240H, Requires: Planar Gate, Obsidian Gate
Unit Change: Reveler: Is buildable, Cost: 150H, Requires: Planar Gate, Gambling House
Unit Change: Succubus: Is buildable, Cost: 150H, Requires: Planar Gate, Public Baths
Unit Change: Tar Demon: Is buildable, Cost: 150H, Requires: Planar Gate, Temple of the Veil
Building Change: Khazad Palace Loses Gold Resource, Gains Enchantment Mana
Ritual Change: Elegy of the Sheaim Cost Halved: 600H -> 300H
Ritual Change: Hallowing of the Elohim Cost Halved: 600H -> 300H
Unit Change: Boost Mud Golem Cost: 50H -> 75H (Same base cost as Worker)
Unit Change: Puppets gain SPECIALUNIT_SPELL which means they are in the same class as floating eye, fireball, and meteor and do not benefit from SUMM (Summoner Balsareph Exponentiation Problems)
Bug: Match Grigori Tavern cost to the new Tavern cost
Crash: Nox Noctis Crash fixed
Unit Change: Increase Fawn Cost: 60H -> 75H
Trait Change: Varn Gosam trait change: SPI/CHM (ADA) -> SPI/CRE (ADA)
Building Change: Planar Gate Cost Reduced: 300H -> 250H
Building Change: Planar Gate Doubled by Summoner
Building Change: Planar Gate Spawn rates changed to the following: Increased to Roughly a Third of the AC, number of units changed to as bracketed [] (5% 0->9 [2], 10% 10->29 [4], 13% 30->39 [8], 17% 40->49 [10], 20% 50->59 [12], 23% 60->69 [14], 27% 70->79 [16], 30% 80->89 [18], 33% 90-99 [20], 40% 100 [25])
Bug: Thessalonica's Alignment (Good -> Neutral)
Bug: Furia's Alignment (Evil -> Neutral)
Building Changes: Subtowers are Team Nationals (Alteration, Necromancy, Divination, Elementalism) (REVERTED until Tower of Mastery issue solved)
Unit Change: Spawned Mobius Witches appear with 5xp and level 3 (/10xp)
Unit Change: Built Mobius Witches now appear with 5xp and level 3 (/10xp) and a chance of starting with any level 1 spell spheres
Art Change: Mobius Witches now use the Calabim mage artstyle
Art Change: Revelers now use the Mobius Witch art style
Setup Change: Removed No Baron Duin Halfnorn as an option, replaced with Tower of Mastery requires Omniscience [Game option not implemented yet]
Building Change: Khazad Vault Thresholds Halved To: Empty: [<25 gold per city{-1 happy}], Low: [25-49 gold per city {-1 happy}], Normal: [50-74 gold per city {No Effect}], Stocked: [75-99 gold per city {+1 happy}], Abundant: [100-149 gold per city {+10% hammers and +2 happy}], Full: [150-249 gold per city {+25% hammers and +2 happy}], Overflowing: [>249 gold per city {+40% hammers, +3 happy, and +25% GPP}]
Bug Fix: Teutorix is now a Malakim-only unit
Bug Fix: Fixed the PBEM Turn 0/1 issue (NEEDS TESTING)
Promotion/Effect Change: Bless gives +15 Fire Resistance along with +1 Holy Strength
Promotion Change: Upgrades are free for Adventurers
Spell Change: Pillar of Fire available at Righteousness to Chalid
Unit Change: Chalid moved back to Religious Law
Civilization Change: The Infernal now have their spawning units changed to the following: Number of (2*Manes), Axes, Workers and Settlers is equal to the average number of enemy cities divided by two. Spawned longbowmen now start with iron weapons. As well as the rest, they receive one extra settler with the starting settler promotion. Other units (2 Champions, Hyborem, Imp, 2 Longbows) are unchanged.
Promotion Change: Hero promotion gets free upgrades (really only applies to Grigori Adventurers) Strip druids of Channelling 1-3 promos. Grant Earth 1-3/Nature 1-3 instead
Spell Change: Tier 4 Priest Spells require the appropriate Unitclass (prevents Druidic abuse)
Civilization Change: Infernal Cities now start with 6, not 3, population
Civic Change: Overcouncil and Undercouncil now each available at Trade
Civilopedia Change: many entries updated. Credits to Bobchillingworth, myself, RefSteel, TheIanOakley, KillerClown, Maksim, Amelia, Bramble
Erebus in the Balance - a FFH Modmod based around balancing and polishing FFH for streamlined competitive play.
Its not a complete collection of the lore on Civfanatics, but it has most of it there.
Thanks for the link! There's a an enormous amount in there!
(I'll try to help look for the source of the disciple non-appearance bug you mentioned in the release thread too if I have time, but my coding skill is limited and my tools for the purpose are ... uh, a text editor, basically.)
Meanwhile, for the next version, I thought I'd write something short for the Illusionist. Then I changed my mind. (About keeping it short.)
A later chapter in the Sarcodes Cycle - I realized I should put off numbering them until I've finished at least the ones that will be in the 'pedia. I really was going to make this short, but I felt this was more appropriate after all. (It's still not as long as Volanna's of course.)
Illusionist Wrote:"Is this the end then? Have we given up?" Nysonna spoke as if to herself; Aevyxi, her hunting-companion-in-name, had barely spoken since they left the camp. At first it merely seemed that Aevyxi thought Nysonna beneath her notice - but as she followed, docile, allowing Nysonna to lead the way, it became clear that she despised the hunt itself and her duty in it: Her eyes abstracted, her hands and fingers in constant sinuous, mystic motion, she made it clear that her attention was far away. It was bad enough that the Winter Queen felt they had reached such dire straits that even her arcane retinue must join in seeking game, but at least if Aevyxi were willing to pay attention, there might have been hope that she could learn something.
Climbing silently over a massive log, her sharp eyes seeking in all directions for a track, a burrow, any sign, finding none, Nysonna dropped lightly to the snowy ground. "I know we're getting desperate, but the Queen can't have sent you out here just to keep busy while we wait to die. What's going on?" She glanced over her shoulder and saw Aevyxi still poised at the top of the log, staring out among the treetops, weaving the air with her hands. Nysonna glared, her eyes turning hard as diamonds. "There's nothing out this way. That's why you're with me, isn't it? To weave illusions I can bring back as though they're food? And maybe you'll make the illusion so complete that we'll none of us feel hungry, even as we waste away - still looking fit and healthy no doubt, by more illusions - until we die of starvation, our bellies happily sated in their emptiness."
Still Aevyxi said nothing, and Nysonna bridled. "I won't..." but then she froze. A crash off in the distance had faintly reached her ears even across all the muffling snow. By the sound, it might have been a small tree snapping in two. It was a sound of sudden violence - a sound of danger. Nysonna cursed. She knew she should learn what it was, and with another warrior for her companion, she would at least have tried, but Aevyxi was too important to the Court, too helpless on her own, and could hardly report the danger if Nysonna died trying to learn its nature. Lost in her spells, Aevyxi might not even know it was there.
Nysonna planted her spear, vaulted back to the top of the log, and pulled it up after her. She peered through the winter-bare woods in the direction of the tumult - for now the noises, faint but growing, were almost continuous: Something big crashing toward them, reckless of branches and sometimes even trees, filling the air with howls and roars and growls and shrieking cries loud enough to be heard already, charging closer at breakneck speeds. A true hunter would have recognized at least the sounds of those mighty growls, but Nysonna had been pressed into duty, like nearly everyone else, out of sheer desperation, not because she had any real knowledge of the wilds. "Let's go," she hissed, seeing nothing, not wanting it to get close enough through the naked trees of the winter wood to see or to be seen. She dropped from the log, and cursed as Aevyxi took her time, slowly descending step by step on the same stubs of the log's branches on which she must have climbed, her hands still weaving magic, her eyes still far away. Again Nysonna urged, "Come on!" and started to sprint away, only to look over her shoulder and see Aevyxi walking as slowly as ever, as if in a trance.
Aevyxi spoke at last, but she only called out, "Wait," in a distant, dreaming voice, and turned to face the giant log and the unseen approaching monster. For a moment, Nysonna thought she would run and leave the spell-blind fool to her fate ... but she knew that in comparison with the punishments that must await her if she returned to camp without Aevyxi, any pain or death she might suffer at the claws of winter beasts would seem a paradise.
"Let's go," she urged again, rushing back to Aevyxi's side, wanting to scream to awake her companion, wanting almost to whisper in case her voice drew the monstrous beast. "We've got to go!"
Aevyxi didn't answer; instead, as the sounds of roars and growls and crashing impacts drew nearer - the creature must have been enormous if it couldn't pass through those winter-stripped woods without hitting so many trees - in her far-away voice, she said, "Ready your spear."
Nysonna spun on her, eyes narrowed, in spite of the terrifying noises closing in. To raise a spear against such a monster as approached would be like wielding a porcupine quill against a bear. "It's yours, then? An illusion to sate..."
But Aevyxi was backing away from the log, almost in haste in spite of her trance-like state, and though her voice was as distant as ever, she seemed to plead, "Nysonna, your spear...."
Nysonna whirled again and saw bloody paws find a grip on the the top of the giant log, and then the enormous body - enormous though far smaller than the nameless monster she had feared - of a great ice bear. Its snow-white fur was stained and clotted with its own blood, thick with bark and twigs and tree-sap, snow and gravel, as if in its wild charge it alone had been responsible for all the crashing noises, veering into every possible tree and log and rock and snow-bank along the way. Its head was turned, staring wildly at something still behind it - some howling, keening, crackling thing that made Nysonna's blood run cold - but already she began to understand; already, though almost too late, she began to have hope, and as the ice bear scrambled forward, its limbs flailing, and fell forward off the log, she managed to leap forward and brace her spear so that the bear impaled itself in its fall. Its massive weight came down on her, the spear's shaft snapped in two, and she felt a blaze of pain as its dying body struck out blindly, trapping her right arm, but though its hot, expiring breath fouled the air, and though its bulk brought her down into the cold, soft, welcome snow, though her right arm was in agony, she lived.
The bear's muscles convulsed once more, igniting another explosion of pain in Nysonna's arm, and then the beast lay dead and silent alongside her in the snow. Struggling to look up, she saw at last what she knew she must: The howling, screaming, keening host, led by fountains of blazing fire, of every terror that could take hold upon an ursine heart. The terrible phantasmal host soared above the fallen log, and as it passed, seemed to evaporate into the winter sky. How far had it driven the mighty bear, through injury, exhaustion and pain, to death at Nysonna's hands? She shook her head and tried to push away her own pain, still intense, so she could shut her eyes, so she could rest.
A hand on her left shoulder, and Nysonna forced herself to look up once more - to look up at Aevyxi, down on one knee by her side. Aevyxi's eyes were focused, bright; her voice was clear and present. "Are you all right, Nysonna?"
She felt she didn't have the strength to groan. "My right arm..."
Aevyxi looked and nodded, and she asked, "If I can take some of its weight from you, can you move enough to get free?"
At first, Nysonna couldn't answer, but Aevyxi read her eyes and nodded, and stood, and drove the base of her staff into the snow and shattered ice beneath the bear's left shoulder. For an instant, Nysonna expected a flash of magic power, but there was none; instead she saw the muscles strain in Aevyxi's legs and back and arms and shoulders, using no magic but the power of a lever to free Nysonna's arm.
Nysonna rolled clear, shutting her eyes, crying out with the pain, but glad at last when she came to rest, no longer trapped, her arm in agony and certainly broken but still her own, as Aevyxi stepped back, pulling her staff free, leaving the body of the bear to collapse again into the snow. Aevyxi ran her hands all along the length of her staff as she approached, then used it to lower herself again by Nysonna's side, down to a knee, resting her hand on Nysonna's good shoulder once more, holding her eyes earnestly. Quietly, Aevyxi said, "Rest now. Help will be coming soon. I sent the last of my phantasms back to camp to call for a healer, and for manservants to drag the body." She smiled. "Well fought, Nysonna. We dine on bear this night."
Nysonna shifted slightly, trying to find a less-painful position for her arm. "You could have warned me," she whispered, unable to hold back the words.
Aevyxi sighed, and she looked up at a snow-stripped treetop in the distance. "It was my first hunt," she answered. "I didn't know what to expect." And then her eyes returned, and a certain smile tugged at just the corner of her lips. "By the time I saw the bear through my illusory spies and realized what I could do with it, my mind was far away from here." The smile formed, as though her lips were finally unable to resist it. "Far, far too far away to speak to my companion, or to hear..." she withdrew her comforting hand just long enough to put a silent, hushing finger to her lips, and then continued in a whisper, all comfort and affection, with a look in her eyes that felt exactly like a wink, "...to hear what she had to say - though of course I know it would be confident praise - about the plans of our Winter Queen."
(June 10th, 2014, 18:32)RefSteel Wrote: (I'll try to help look for the source of the disciple non-appearance bug you mentioned in the release thread too if I have time, but my coding skill is limited and my tools for the purpose are ... uh, a text editor, basically.)
Hmm...that reminds me of someone.....oh wait it's me
Quote:Meanwhile, for the next version, I thought I'd write something short for the Illusionist. Then I changed my mind. (About keeping it short.)
A later chapter in the Sarcodes Cycle - I realized I should put off numbering them until I've finished at least the ones that will be in the 'pedia. I really was going to make this short, but I felt this was more appropriate after all. (It's still not as long as Volanna's of course.)
Illusionist Wrote:"Is this the end then? Have we given up?" Nysonna spoke as if to herself; Aevyxi, her hunting-companion-in-name, had barely spoken since they left the camp. At first it merely seemed that Aevyxi thought Nysonna beneath her notice - but as she followed, docile, allowing Nysonna to lead the way, it became clear that she despised the hunt itself and her duty in it: Her eyes abstracted, her hands and fingers in constant sinuous, mystic motion, she made it clear that her attention was far away. It was bad enough that the Winter Queen felt they had reached such dire straits that even her arcane retinue must join in seeking game, but at least if Aexyxi were willing to pay attention, there might have been hope that she could learn something.
Climbing silently over a massive log, her sharp eyes seeking in all directions for a track, a burrow, any sign, finding none, Nysonna dropped lightly to the snowy ground. "I know it was a blow when we had to abandon the new court at Nethrael, but we knew it couldn't last for long. That hopeless gambit can't have been the whole plan." It had given her hope, still-cherished, for some distant future when the winter might at last relent and begin to grow more mild - distant hope, but that was all. She glanced over her shoulder, saw Aevyxi poised at the top of the log, staring out among the treetops, weaving the air with her hands. Nysonna glared, her eyes turning hard as diamonds. "There's nothing out this way. That's why you're with me, isn't it? To weave illusions I can bring back as though they're food. And maybe you'll make the illusion so complete that we'll none of us feel hungry, even as we waste away - still looking fit and healthy no doubt, by more illusions - until we die of starvation, our bellies happily sated in their emptiness."
Still Aevyxi said nothing, and Nysonna bridled. "I won't..." but then she froze. A crash off in the distance had faintly reached her ears even across all the muffling snow. By the sound, it might have been a small tree snapping in two - not merely falling from the weight of snow alone. It was a sound of sudden violence - a sound of danger. Nysonna cursed. She knew she should learn what it was, and with another warrior for her companion, she would at least have tried, but Aevyxi was too important to the Court, too helpless on her own, and could hardly report the danger if Nysonna died trying to learn its nature - lost in her spells, Aevyxi might not even know it was there.
Nysonna planted her spear, vaulted back to the top of the log, and pulled it up after her. She peered through the winter-bare woods in the direction of the tumult - for now the noises, faint but growing, were almost continuous: Something big crashing toward them, reckless of branches and sometimes even trees, filling the air with howls and roars and growls and shrieking cries loud enough to be heard already, charging closer at breakneck speeds. A true hunter would have recognized at least the sounds of those mighty growls, but Nysonna had been pressed into duty, like nearly everyone else, out of sheer desperation, not because she had any real knowledge of the wilds. "Let's go," she hissed, seeing nothing, not wanting it to get close enough through the naked trees of the winter wood to see or to be seen. She dropped from the log, and cursed as Aevyxi took her time, slowly descending step by step on the same stubs of the log's branches on which she must have climbed, her hands still weaving magic, her eyes still far away. Again Nysonna urged, "Come on!" and started to sprint away, only to look over her shoulder and see Aevyxi still walking slowly, as if in a trance.
Aevyxi spoke at last, but she only called out, "Wait," in a distant, dreaming voice, and turned to face the giant log and the unseen approaching monster. For a moment, Nysonna thought she would run and leave the spell-blind fool to her fate ... but she knew that in comparison with the punishments that must await her if she returned to camp without Aevyxi, any pain or death she might suffer at the claws of winter beasts would seem a paradise.
"Let's go," she urged again, rushing back to Aevyxi's side, wanting to scream to awake her companion, wanting almost to whisper in case her voice drew the monstrous beast. "We've got to go!"
Aevyxi didn't answer; instead, as the sounds of roars and growls and crashing impacts drew nearer - the creature must have been enormous if it couldn't pass through those winter-stripped woods without hitting so many trees - in her far-away voice, she said, "Ready your spear."
Nysonna spun on her, eyes narrowed, in spite of the terrifying noises closing in. To raise a spear against such a monster as approached would be like wielding a porcupine quill against a bear. "It's yours, then? An illusion to sate..."
But Aevyxi was backing away from the log, almost in haste in spite of her trance-like state, and though her voice was as distant as ever, she seemed to plead, "Nysonna, your spear...."
Nysonna whirled again and saw bloody paws find a grip on the the top of the giant log, and then the enormous body - enormous though far smaller than the nameless monster she had feared - of a great ice bear. Its snow-white fur was stained and clotted with its own blood, thick with bark and twigs and tree-sap, snow and gravel, as if in its wild charge it alone had been responsible for all the crashing noises, veering into every possible tree and rock and snow-bank along the way. Its head was turned, staring wildly at something still behind it - some howling, keening, crackling thing that made Nysonna's blood run cold - but already she began to understand; already, though almost too late, she began to have hope, and as the ice bear scrambled forward, its limbs flailing, and fell forward off the log, she managed to leap forward and brace her spear so that the bear impaled itself upon the upraised point. Its massive weight came down on her, the spear's shaft snapped in two, and she felt a blaze of pain as its dying body struck out blindly, trapping her right arm, but though its hot, expiring breath fouled the air, and though its bulk brought her down into the cold, soft, welcome snow, though her right arm was in agony, she lived.
The bear's muscles convulsed once more, igniting another explosion of pain in Nysonna's arm, and then the beast lay dead and silent alongside her in the snow. Struggling to look up, she saw at last what she knew she must: The howling, screaming, keening host, led by fountains of blazing fire, of every terror that could take hold upon an ursine heart. The terrible phantasmal host soared above the fallen log, and as it passed, seemed to evaporate into the winter sky. How far had it driven the mighty bear, through injury, exhaustion and pain, to death at Nysonna's hands? She shook her head and tried to push away her own pain, still intense, so she could shut her eyes, so she could rest.
A hand on her left shoulder, and Nysonna forced herself to look up once more - to look up at Aevyxi, down on one knee by her side. Aevyxi's eyes were focused, bright; her voice was clear and present. "Are you all right, Nysonna?"
She felt she didn't have the strength to groan. "My right arm..."
Aevyxi looked and nodded, and she asked, "If I can take some of its weight from you, can you move enough to get free?"
At first, Nysonna couldn't answer, but Aevyxi read her eyes and nodded, and stood, and drove the base of her staff into the snow and shattered ice beneath the bear's left shoulder. For an instant, Nysonna expected a flash of magic power, but there was none; instead she saw the muscles strain in Aevyxi's legs and back and arms and shoulders, using no magic but the power of a lever to free Nysonna's arm.
Nysonna rolled clear, shutting her eyes, crying out with the pain, but glad at last when she came to rest, no longer trapped, her arm in agony and certainly broken but still her own, as Aevyxi stepped back, pulling her staff free, leaving the body of the bear to collapse again into the snow. Aevyxi ran her hands all along the length of her staff as she approached, then used it to lower herself again by Nysonna's side, down to a knee, resting her hand on Nysonna's good shoulder once more, holding her eyes earnestly. Quietly, Aevyxi said, "Rest now. Help will be coming soon. I sent the last of my phantasms back to camp to call for a healer, and for manservants to drag the body." She smiled. "Well fought, Nysonna. We dine on bear this night."
Nysonna shifted slightly, trying to find a less-painful position for her arm. "You could have warned me," she whispered, unable to hold the words back.
Aevyxi sighed, and she looked up at a snow-stripped treetop in the distance. "It was my first hunt," she answered. "I didn't know what to expect." And then her eyes returned, and a certain smile tugged at just the corner of her lips. "By the time I saw the bear through my illusory spies and realized what I could do with it, my mind was far away from here." The smile formed, as though her lips were finally unable to resist it. "Far, far too far away to speak to my companion, or to hear..." she withdrew her comforting hand just long enough to put a silent, hushing finger to her lips, and then continued in a whisper, all comfort and affection, with a look in her eyes that felt exactly like a wink, "...to hear what she had to say - though of course I know it would be confident praise - about the plans of our Winter Queen."
Erebus in the Balance - a FFH Modmod based around balancing and polishing FFH for streamlined competitive play.
(June 6th, 2014, 21:44)RefSteel Wrote: So I liked writing about Volanna so much, I figured I'd go on a Svart kick for a while. Spoiled partly in an attempt to not derail discussion from actual balance stuff is my take on the Svartalfar Palace.
Also spoiled for length, though it's shorter than Volanna's. This entry might be called Chapter 3 of the Sarcodes Cycle, where the Volanna entry was Chapter 1. (Chapter 2 doesn't connect them, so perhaps this should be Chapter 6 instead, with Chapter 3 upcoming, with most of the intervening and later chapters left to the readers' imaginations for now, as I doubt if there will be a place for them in the Civilopedia. In any case...)
Svartalfar Palace Wrote:Phyris Nightbow stood at the gates of the little palisade that served her for a keep at the heart of Nethrael village, her arms folded in quiet defiance as the newcomers built new homes around her little settlement - courtesans and illusionists standing about and directing or helping to keep watch against the beasts of the wilds, while their manservants struggled and toiled with the gruntwork to which they were suited. Her own citizens were pitching in as well, and all seemed well in her little realm, but Phyris could see the confrontation coming.
That night, as the full moon climbed the sky, they approached: The flower of the Svartalfar in bygone days, reduced to a roving band at her winter gates. She and her people had struggled for years to build a life for themselves in the wastes, and unless she stood firm, the interlopers - habituated as they still must be to the life of the ruling class - would simply take it away. Already she felt off-balance; perhaps had she acted when they first approached ... but even then, the sentiment of her people was clear: They would help their beloved sisters of the blood, most of all the retinue of their deadly Winter Queen, and how could she gainsay their wishes without being knifed from behind? So the newcomers would be welcome, but would have to learn to work like the common people of the community. There were no armies here to enforce the Winter Court's law, and she would not be supplanted by a bunch of dainty courtiers whose court was no more. So even as the Winter Queen herself drew near, Phyris braced herself and stood tall to pronounce, "I bid you welcome, guests - or future citizens, should you choose to remain and work here - to my village of Nethrael."
A teasing smile briefly played across Faeryl's lips, belying the deadly tension in the air. "Surely, my little archer, you must know better than that. We come to take our rightful place, to rule among our people once more."
A shiver passed down Phyris Nightbow's spine at the look in those royal eyes, but somehow she held her ground. "Not here; not now," she answered. "You need my help now, and my rule in this place cannot be questioned. Your court is gone, your palace in ruins, overrun by frostlings by this hour, and in my land, you are refugees and no more."
"How very sad," the Winter Queen murmured, resting a hand upon her bosom, over her heart, and looking upon Phyris Longbow with wide and innocent eyes. Her courtesans, already standing away out of respect for their monarch, backed off still further, not without haste. A true rival who knew the danger in such a look might have tried to flee or beg forgiveness, but a true rival would not have committed so grave an error. Phyris, unknowing, only drew herself up higher as her Queen asked, all sorrowing innocence, "My palace in ruins?"
And suddenly, Faeryl was laughing: A high, bright, cheerful laugh like sleigh bells on the sledge that bears a feast for winter nights. All eyes came to her, drawn irresistibly by the beautiful sound as Faeryl Viconia, Winter Queen of the Elven Court, turned as if to address them all, not striding to meet an adversary but merely stretching, twisting, posing where she stood, one slender hand reaching toward the sky, where afterward every witness, though they saw from many sides, swore they saw the full moon behind her, as though it rested upon the fingertips of her outstretched hand. Invisible power swirled around her, twisting and whirling her gown, shaking out the long, black tresses of her hair and their silken ribbons, lifting high even the silver jewels she wore, making them sing like wind chimes in the night. No manservant saw for more than an instant, for all dropped their labors at once - even those breaking their fast let the precious food fall from their hands - the faster to drop to their knees, their arms and hands outstretched toward her, and bury their faces in the snow upon the ground. Even the women of Nethrael knelt as their queen began a slow, hypnotic dance, singing ancient words in the oldest of elven tongues: "Winter is come," she chanted, "and the High Queen of the Winter Court has come into her home."
The sparse trees of the wastelands creaked as if longing to join her, and as the tempo increased, even the long-dead wood of the pallisade walls seemed to stretch and reach for life once more, to put down roots and blossom. The shadows of the pallisade, merging with those of her dancing body, seemed by a trick of the mind to shift and sway and take on new form, and where Faeryl moved or touched or shaped a shadow, the shadow stayed, no matter though she moved away. Soon, to the spellbound minds of all whose faces were not yet cast down in abject worship of their Winter Queen, from the corners of eyes that could not move from Queen Viconia herself, the moonlight seemed to cast across the village a shadow not of a hilltop or a pallisade, but of a mighty palace of the Svartalfar. And as their queen ended her dance, her arms spread wide, her smile outshining the full moon at her back, lighting up the winter sky, and as she laughed again, the clear, bright laugh of happy elven youth - a pure laugh of unguarded pleasure that even her closest advisors had never heard her sing before that night - they beheld that the palace was there: Grown up like a stonewood tree or cast into existence by its shadow and their thoughts. "My love," she said, addressing all her subjects and the heart of each one alone. "Did not you know? My palace is not of one city; it is of the shadows, the forests of winter, the mind's eye, and the night. No frostling, no ogre, no dragon can take the palace from me while I draw the breath of life, for so long as I am the Winter Queen, wherever I have a home, that home shall be a palace and a place of our people's power, for that power and that palace is mine."
Even her courtiers and illusionists bowed then to the ground, but glancing sidelong at the spot nearby where Phyris Nightbow had stood, Faeryl frowned. She reached out with the tip of one boot to turn over the snow and conceal the tiny drop of blood that stained its surface before returning to the bowed heads of her audience with a smile. Much later that night, in a private chamber deep within her palace, she would chastise Alazkan for leaving even that single drop of evidence behind.
I may perhaps make one small revision...this is obviously set in the early centuries of the Age of Ice, whilst Alazkan, from what I can tell from the Beltane Cycle, isn't a particularly high-ranking or old assasin in the Age of Rebirth, behaving more like a highly competent young-ish agent. Of course, they are elves, so 1000 years of operations is by no means impossible, but I just get the feeling his demeanor would be different if he had been around for that long.
Erebus in the Balance - a FFH Modmod based around balancing and polishing FFH for streamlined competitive play.
(June 11th, 2014, 02:55)Qgqqqqq Wrote: I may perhaps make one small revision...this is obviously set in the early centuries of the Age of Ice, whilst Alazkan, from what I can tell from the Beltane Cycle, isn't a particularly high-ranking or old assasin in the Age of Rebirth, behaving more like a highly competent young-ish agent. Of course, they are elves, so 1000 years of operations is by no means impossible, but I just get the feeling his demeanor would be different if he had been around for that long.
This would make sense - you're correct about the timing - but in rereading it again to decide if there was a better fix than "her chief assassin," I found the fixes I made earlier were only band-aids. My preferred solution is in spoilers below:
Phyris Nightbow has no real reason to exist - I wasn't even consistent with her name - I don't like the way I wrote Faeryl there, and the story as a whole just feels wrong to me. I admit I'm hyper-critical of my own work, but I've reread my Volanna and Illusionist entries several times, and am very happy with them ... though I've now edited in some small changes to the Illusionist one above, if that's all right: Partly for a couple of typos, partly to correct for the fact that I'd like to remove the Phyris story entirely ... and replace it with this one:
Svartalfar Palace Wrote:Faeryl Viconia stood alone at the center of her palace, the last of all her people to depart. The endless winter that prolonged her reign had finally forced her from her seat of power, but if she felt the slightest pang of sorrow or regret, she showed no sign. Cold and hard as carven ice, the Winter Queen displayed emotion only when it suited her, and only as dictated by her scheming politics. It might be that she no longer knew how to show what she truly felt; some believed that she no longer felt at all. Yet she stayed until the end, and bade farewell alone to the Court that she had shaped ... and dancing slowly, swaying, weaving spellforms with her hands, sang a song of arcane power as ancient as the Winter Crown itself.
"Come to me ye forests of the secret winter night
"For the Queen who holds your secrets must depart.
"Come ye shadows, deepening the more in brightest light
"By the power of my deep and ancient art.
"Come to me ye dreamscapes and ye seemings of the mind
"That give shape unto the shadowy unknown.
"Merge into the dream-seed, leaving not a wrack behind;
"When the time is ripe again, ye shall be sown."
The eerie violet lights of her palace towers flickered, shifting, arcing from one to the next, and the shadows they cast from the palace walls seemed to sway and bend and gyrate as if to join their queen in her ritual dance. The groves within the courtyard bowed as if with snow and wind, shrinking, pulling themselves inward as their shadows flowed and merged with one another, with the palace's, and with Faeryl's own. Then the great walls of the palace themselves began to waver like the stuff of dreams and memory, as Faeryl's dance, her shadow, or her very will seemed to take her through each room, though she never left the throne room at the heart of her shaping spell. Tree roots seemed to stretch toward her; her shadow grew wild and long; her secret thoughts perhaps filled every corridor. Then at last, slowly, slowly, all began to shrink away, until Faeryl stood alone upon an empty winter hilltop, shrouded in snow, at the center of the vast, abandoned city that in the absence of her magic and the magic of her people already was beginning to go to ruin. The palace of the Winter Court was gone as though it had never been ... but as Faeryl Viconia bent and reached down into the snow, the shape and form of the palace danced behind her eyes, with all its furnishings, in the dreamscape of memory; her shadow seemed deeper, darker, bearing many shadows more ... and as she rose, she lifted from the snow a new-made winter seed.
Faeryl went forth from the gates to join her hand-picked company, and didn't spare the city another glance. Behind her lay but empty walls, soon home perhaps to frostlings or winter beasts. Her palace and its Winter Throne she carried in her pocket, in her shadow and her thoughts, in the ancient arcane power of the Queen.
I can probably set up the links from there though, just make it "AI_DIPLO_XXXX_VOLANNA" (with XXXX becoming anything from FIRST_CONTACT to REFUSE_TO_CONTACT) for everything and we'll be sweet.
