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Smokestorm
Topic Started: Dec 22 2009, 11:32 AM (99 Views)
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Some guy's RP with me, never got finished as he vanished. Heheh. The region it was in wasn't much on RP... so it was just us. :/

The Houses
The Smokestorm Federation is divided into several clans or "Ruling Houses." Each has their own histories and prejudices. All but the Hand and the Party vie for power.

The Prophets of Ashenwall If any house could be considered a "theocracy" this would be it. This house rules all things spiritual, holding to their old tomes and rituals. The true mystics of Smokestorm Federation align themselves to this group. Any religious terrorism can be linked to the Prophets. Though in recent years, their power has declined as the people have moved away from pretense in belief, they are still a power to behold, using deceit and treachery in service of their deity.

House Stormhammer The rule of aristocracy. They value law and order over all else. The House of Stormhammer is said to rule the military might of Smokestorm, as well as anything of value. Ruthless in their pursuit of Order and Discipline, they see those of Myrkal as nothing but common thugs and former slaves, who do not deserve the power that Stormhammer has from birth.

The Myrkal were the former slaves of Smokestorm. They are not the voice of the people however, and to assume such would be a grave mistake. Consisting mostly of Mercenaries, Black Market smugglers, and any other odd job rebel, they fly in the face of Stormhammer's authority, and are also the first house to be lead by a woman. Through their long history, the only house they respect is the Ashoon, to which they owe their liberty.

House Ashoon The pioneers of intellectual prowess, and the other Aristocratic House of Smokestorm. They fought hard to release the Myrkal from slavery many years ago, and neither Stormhammer nor the Myrkal have forgotten.

The Party is the public face to The Hand. While the Party makes official declarations, is in charge of mayors, judges and any other Civic duties, it is really the grasp that The Hand has on the ruling houses that makes Smokestorm Federation hold together. No one knows who is a member of the Hand, or if there is any leadership of the Hand, other than the Great King, but it is an organization that should not be crossed.

Major Players

Archbishop Syth Ashmure The high bishop of the Prophets, leader of this clan. Though he will never be named Great King in the current system, there are whisperings that he wants to bring Smokestorm back into a theocracy, and do away with all the houses not loyal to the Prophets.

General Nyx Sorcrethar Head of the Stormhammers. A bald man, with a jagged scar across his eye, as if cliches could do him justice. Though barely in his fourties, he has seen many wars, and has a bloodlust that forced him to the top of the house at an early age. It is rumored that he killed his own father, Alyn Sorcrethar to ascend to the Head of house, and Nyx has done nothing to silence these rumors.

Tol Ashoon Skin as black as the night sky, valorous and kind to all he comes across. But never let his ease of persona get your guard down. Few can match him in combat, and while he is slow to anger, he is quick to finish any fight started. As his name implies, he is the rightful head of the Ashoon house. It was his grandfather who finally demanded the release of the Myrkal from slavery, and he holds this accomplishment as a badge of honor and a reminder to watch for the underdog.

Jenny Blade Like all her Myrkal kind, red hair always a mess, and tribal tattoos decorating her agile body, she is fierce and protective to her clan, and quick to defend not only her people, but prove her strength as head of house. Unlike the other houses, her claim to head was waged in competition, as the Myrkals can invoke rites of challenge if they feel they are a better leader. Her leadership is unquestioned through these rites, as she has never lost a challenge.

The Beginning

Nyx grunted as he noted the wild, uncontrollable head of Myrkal enter the House Council. "Jenny," he muttered to an aid, "would be wise to comb her hair and leave the affairs of state to more orderly men. It is no wonder Smokestorm has fallen to wicked disorder."
"Yes sir." The aid noted back. Not that Nyx would have cared to know any opinion but his own.
"What is this all about?" a bellow rumbled from House Ashoon. It was Tol. "We've been waiting here for near an hour, with non but the drone of air conditioning to listen to."
"I've heard rumors" Jenny spoke next, "but I do not want to believe them until the Hand can confirm."
A man in black cloak stepped forward. The emblem of the Hand was embroidered on the front. "The rumors are true. As we slept last night, the Great King was slaughtered. Stabbed with his own ceremonial blade. The Storm Blade is tarnished."
"If its an assassin, we need look no further than House Myrkal!" Nyx slammed his fist on the table. "And I'd recommend starting with their leader."
"Calm yourself," Tol boomed back. "No one in their right mind would claim Miss Blade is anything but loyal to the throne and the Hand."
"Nyx was never in his right mind," hissed Jenny. "Its all regiment and conspiracy in his head, which leaves no room for sanity."
"Why you little bitch!" Nyx spat back. "Know your place, and show some respect for your betters."
"You're no better than the shit on my shoe."
"I'll teach you a lesson in manners yet, slave's daughter."
"There will be order!" The Handsman shouted, and the yelling ceased. "As you know, we must now go through and select the most worthy individual to head up the Hand, and take the reigns of the Party. We need an heir, and since the outside world is looking at us for the first time, we must proceed with dignity."

Away from the Council, the only house not invited, that of the Prophets had its own ideal. Emissaries had been sent out to nations of a more "spiritual bent" and the undertakings of a religious coup were well underway. The Storm Blade Prophecy has just begun.



~Grand Shaman Jarrus arrived at the capital of Sarusilem within days of the Great King's death hitting the news around the respective region. "That sinner has no need for such a grand funeral." He muttered to himself, tossing the newspaper in the garbage. The news of Great King Remis Stormcaller had been a cause for much mourning by many people within Smokestorm, however Remis had been very unpopular with the Prophets and anyone wishing to hold to a religious stance. Remis had felt (when he was alive) that the Prophets were getting too powerful, and had the makings of a theocratic movement, the likes of which had been thwarted many lifetimes ago. So most of his later legislation had been both unfavorable towards the Prophets, and had caused many religious heads to warn of "darker days ahead" for the sinful people of Smokestorm. "This time," Grand Shaman Jarrus thought, "we will find more favorable climates for the faithful to claim worship in our rightful lands." Jarrus looked at his watch, and furrowed his aged brow. Looking up at the building in front of him, he motioned to an under-page. "Lets hope those in power in Sarusilem agree to the most holy wishes of our Archbishop."

-Jarrus is immediately approached by a soldier. "Welcome stranger, this is the Imperial Palace of Sarusilem, a colony of the I.M.E. Our officials are currently in an important meeting, but it should end soon. What is your business here?"

~Jarrus smiles, and an aid steps forward. "This is Grand Shaman Jarrus, of the Council of Elements, on emissary from his most Powerful, Archbishop Syth Ashmure."

Jarrus then speaks. "I come from my homeland in the Smokestorm Federation. As you are well aware, the Federation has only recently made its presence known to the region, and as such, diplomatic relations have been somewhat unknown. I come on behalf of my Lordship because as I'm sure you are aware, the Great King of Smokestorm has died. We of the Ashenwall Covenant hope your government will assist us in some... minor diplomacy."

-The soldier nods. "I see, I see. Well, I'm just a soldier, so I can't do much, but I can get you in touch with someone in the government." The soldier pulls out a cell phone and turns around. "Hello Darell, there is a foreign diplomat outside the palace." He gets a response. "From the Smokestorm Federation... Yea... Alright. Bye." The soldier turns around. "Alright Grand Shaman Jarrus, in a few minutes someone who can help you will come out."

A few minutes pass before the palace gates open and a boy runs out. "Welcome," the boy says, "Uh-"

"Grand Shaman Jarrus from the Smokestorm Federation," the soldier says.

"Welcome Grand Shaman Jarrus," the boy says. "I'm Darrel, prince of Sarusilem, and this soldier is my friend, Elliot. Our officials are still in a meeting with our Emperor. I should be able to assist you, if that's alright. I'm very knowledgeable in Sarusilem politics. If they like you, they'll help, if they don't they won't. Its that simple to them. However, being the prince, I'm very influential. Please come inside the palace, you must be tired after your journey. We can talk in the office of the foreign minister." Darrel takes a few steps towards the palace gates and waits for Jarrus to follow.

~Jarrus follows the boy prince into the palace.

"It is fortuitous that I should come into contact with one as young as yourself. Youth, with the promise of success. I hope your reign is long and fulfilling, when it is your turn. As for me and my people, I wonder, how much have you heard of our culture? Of our history? The suppression of faith that has so perverted the upper reaches of our society today?" Jarrus' gray eyes search carefully in the boy's face, looking for just the right expression. This could be our chance to regain the Federation.Jarrus mused. Our hope of a stronger Theocracy could be here, in this young boy.

-"Uh... Hm... You're lucky that Elliot was the soldier on duty, if not for him you'd either be waiting outside for the meeting to end, or probably meeting with someone in the foreign ministry department, and trust me, they don't really care about anything that can't help us in war. As for ruling the colony... It's unlikely I'd rule the colony, I'm a figure head, a cute face for a military monster." Darrel laughed. "The colony is run by the people, through their representatives, which answer to our Emperor. The reason I'm influential is because I'm the Emperor's relative, they all want to please him. As for your nation, I'm sorry, but I haven't heard much. To the suppression of your faith: I believe people should be able to follow whatever they wish... So long as it doesn't interfere with the stability of the nation." By now both have arrived in the office of the foreign minister. A servant brings a bottle of champagne and two glass goblets. He serves and hands one to Jarrus and one to Darrel. Darrel takes a sip before continuing. "So, how may Sarusilem help you?"


~Jarrus drank the campaign carefully, contemplating what to tell the young boy. After a moment, he looked straight into Darrel's eyes, and began. "Many years ago, the people of Smokestorm Federation were ruled by the Archbishop of Storms, the leader of the Ashenwall. He and he alone had control of our people's will, and did so with an ear to the Gods. These were good times, because the Archbishops fulfilled their most Blessed of works with an eye single to the will of Gods. Over time, the people became corrupt, and chose Aristocratic Houses to rule over them as opposed to the divine inspiration of our clergy. These Aristocratic Houses fought with each other constantly. Over time, each House swore loyalties to one another, until the two highest houses to rule were the powerful Stormhammers, and the cunning Ashoon. These two houses ruled over all, only submitting to the newly formed Hand of Smoke. A most secretive and dark supreme house. The Hand chose not to rule as a single House, but as a secret order that guides both houses, and the public's perception of authority. Over time, a third house, the Myrkal joined, but they are unimportant."

He paused to see if Darrel was listening.

-Darrel nodded. "I see... And you, the religious group are trying to restore your nation to it's former glory, when lead by a religious leader?" Darrel took another sip before setting the goblet down.


~"Precisely." Jarrus nods. "Unfortunately, as it stands now, the Prophets are the weakest authority in Smokestorm. Even our holy city of Ashenwalik is unfriendly to our cause, finding more friends of the Myrkal than us. What we require is arms, an army, and the willing to retake what is rightfully ours, decreed by the Gods. We would of course, swear loyalty to you and your empire, when the Crown is ours."

-"Name the weapon and I can get it to you, except for anything too big and deadly. Our military is away, the conference the officials are in is our Emperor informing them of the current situation in our distant war. However, I should be able to find you a small army, and will happily provide instructors to teach any raw recruits you manage to find. Can we do any more?"

~Jarrus furrows his brow, then nods. "That should be sufficient. Our civil war will be won by striking fear into the opposition. Having outsiders on our side should be enough to topple the aristocratic dogs from their undeserved place of power."

Jarrus rises, bows, and motions for the aid. "I believe we are done here then? The Archbishop will be most pleased to know of your help with our divine mission."

-Darrel nods, "Um... Alright... But, in case, do you want an escort party to go with you? If you run into trouble, even in your own nation, they will radio in our military forces. And the weapons and supplies, do you have any military base we can take them to you? Or would you like to operate from Sarusilem soil? We can give you a small base by our border. It's better to have a stockpile of weapons nearby, in case your enemy doesn't simply give in."

~"Perhaps a base from your borders would serve us much better than stockpiling weapons on sacred ground. And we cannot risk playing our hand too soon. As for an escort, discretion is key, so for now, I must say no to any visible escorts. However, I see no reason to send a handful of your finest along for the ride. We need to make sure this stays 'internal,' both for your sakes and for ours. When the people do not have a common enemy other than themselves, perhaps they will turn to the Gods again."

-"Alright. We will send military equipment to Fortress Felis, your faction will be allowed to use that base and it's equipment as you please. I will have a steady line of supplies heading there, from bullets to missiles to food." Darrel hands Jarrus a cell phone. "Satellite linked and a private, secure line. Please give it to a military general on your side so we may inform him of what is to be available for your use at the base. You may have Elliot accompany you if you wish."

~Jarrus and his staff cross the border back into the Federation. The trip back home was for the most part uneventful. After hours of driving, Jarrus, his staff, and Elliot arrive at the Ashenwell Cathedral, headquarters for the Prophets. The Archbishop comes out personally to greet Grand Shaman Jarrus, and his new friend.

"Tell me who you've brought with you, Jarrus," Archbishop Ashmure smiles at the presence of outside forces. It is just as he had hoped.

"This is Elliot, a soldier from the lands west, Sarusilem sends its regards," Jarrus passed the cell phone off to Ashmure. "This is our best way of communicating with their forces, who have offered us more than enough power, and a base outside our borders for which we can operate a military strategy."

"Good." Ashmure smiles. Then beckoning for Elliot, "Come. We have much to discuss."

Unknown to those inside the Cathedral, the arrival of foreign powers on Smokestorm soil has not gone unnoticed. A man, distinguishable for an eye tattoo, and wild red beard has spotted them, and is making a phone call to warn others that something's afoot.

-Back at Sarusilem, Darrel spoke with an older man.

"Elliot has accompanied our friends in Smokestorm," Darrel said.

"Hmm." The older man drank some wine.

"Want me to contact the official Somestorm government?" Darrel grins. "I'm sure those aristocrats are willing to pay quite a sum for weaponry able to match the ones we're giving to the Prophets."

"Heh. Sneaky child."

Darrel's grin widened. "Of course we'll have to deal with them in secret.. Hm.. Maybe we could use rouges as a cover up? We could forge a break in into a military base... And have those 'rebels' sell those weapons to the aristocrats... What do you think?"

"What do I think? That you're a greedy, dirty child." The man smirked.

"Heh. We might as well make some money from this war. We shouldn't just supply those religious nuts with top grade weaponry."

"Right, right."

"Which should we allow to win? Religious folk who would kill for their gods? If they are able to control the path of their nation they could one day starts wars in the name of their gods. That will only create trouble for the world."

"Hmm... So we should allow to the Aristocrats to keep power?"

"Eh... Maybe we can set up a puppet regime? Supply a third party in there. Allow them to control their nation but keep them under our control?"

"Are the Myrkal involved with the Party?"

"You want to supply rouges??"

"All their parties seem unstable... The Prophets are religious, as you've said religion could lead to future conflicts. Stormhammer and Ashoon may be enemies but it's rumored they both obey the Party. The Myrkal are thugs. It seems like a very unstable nation. We should invade as peacekeepers."

Darrel snorted. "Peacekeepers?! We both know that the world knows that would be biggest lie in the history of existence. And besides, it would no fun." Darrel grinned eerily.

"Sometimes Darrel, you frighten me."

"Heh. So how do we act?"

"Order the break in and have those rouges contact Ashoon or Stormhammer, whichever is willing to pay more."

"Alright."

"Give faulty equipment to the Prophets."

"I know. Its not like if I was really going to give them the best weapons we have. I'm sure they'll settle with short range missiles, our oldest tank models, and Aks."

"Heh. Aks."

"Yea yea, AKs are good, but what the hell, we have better guns anyway."

"Right. Just don't arm them to much."

Darrel nodded. "Elliot should contact us soon."

~Xoromar put down his cell phone, worried look on his face. "Jen, seems to be something fishy going on near the Ashenwall Cathedral."

Jenny Blade cocked her head, the wheels in her head turning rapidly. "Xoro, you have any mercs in Sarusilem? I know our black market connections are better than we'd admit, perhaps you can have them shake the trees."

"As far as I know, Sarusilem's just as ruthless as the limey bastards we call our brothers in arms."

"Lets use that to our advantage." Jenny twirled a dagger on her finger, and smiled.

In a dark alley, much like one you'd assume bad deals are born in, a hobo with an odd tattoo on his eye paces. Under the hobo's clothing, however, cash, drugs, and guns are neatly concealed. The hobo's eyes shift, towards a motion he's all too familiar with.

"The rain is less harsh in the north." The hobo mumbles to the motion.

-A Sarusilem soldier disguised as a black marketeer walked into the alley. He carried nothing but a concealed gun and a paper bag. He approached the hobo casually.

"What some food old man?" the soldier asked. The soldier was bugged, a small microchip on his coat's collar recorded what was said while an even smaller camera inserted into his eye by Sarusilem surgeons captured the image. Both were quickly sent to a nearby building, where Sarusilem military personal and Darrel listened and watched.

Darrel spoke to the soldier, via a device in the man's ear. "Alright soldier, these are the Myrkal. We give them weapons and nothing more. If they ask for men... Heh I guess our military will have something to do."

Darrel grinned. "I love our government... we're all over the place." He smiled as if relaxed. "Ah... the black marketeers... they were so easy to infiltrate and take over."

~The hobo eyed the disguised soldier suspiciously. He motioned the soldier over, to a doorway, and stepped inside. When the soldier was inside, the door slammed shut, and another Myrkal stepped out from behind the door.

"Cyrik, check for bugs." The hobo motioned to the second Myrkal.

Cyrik was a bald man, probably in his fourties, with tattoos covering his skull. He pulled a small device out of his pants, and did a quick motion over the disguised soldier. His eyebrow raised, and he frowned. "Guy's dirtier than you are Siv."

'Siv' scowled. "No good cons these days. No honor among thieves." He put his hand in his coat, tapping his gun lightly. A smile crept across his face, and he moved face to face with the outed soldier. "I take it your government keeps a tighter grip on its people than ours does. So no use beating around the bush, we saw one of yours. The religious dogs may be easy to fool, but us Myrkal, we've been double crossed so much, its a game to us."

Siv grabbed the collar of the coat, where the bug was planted, and said loudly, "We don't play games. Obviously your government knows something we don't know. Sending this lapdog to 'infiltrate' only proves this."

It was Cyrik's turn to talk. "Okay, cowboy, whats your government doing, playing with religious freaks and trying to lie to the deceivers?"

-"Heh," the soldier laughed. "I'll let my commander speak..." The soldier pulled out the device from his ear and held it out.

"Do you really want to know what the government is doing?" Darrel asked through the device. "We're having some fun. We don't get to play around with war much anymore. But then this little unstable nation appears. So... we're getting as much money as we can out of your nation's little game by supplying all of you weapons, or in your case, information. Now, pay up if you want more, or we'll kill you. We got this area surrounded, everywhere, even below ground. But if you pay sufficiently we may just turn our backs."

The soldier spoke, "This is a game to him. I suggest you play." The soldier lifted his coat, revealing a bomb. "They can blow us up at any time they wish."
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