Aeol Drias

The pursuit of equal knowledge above all else.

[the-wolf-in-the-witcher-blog]

Answers from Aeol Drias [Closed rp with AeolDrias]

[aeoldrias]

“Of course. If you follow the main road out of the barricade, you will encounter the main plaza. go right, and keep walking until the ‘Inn and Boarding’ sign marks a building on the side of the way. You can’t miss it.” Without missing a beat, the man was quick to return to his duties and take note of this new visitor before continuing his filing of the last nights encounters. Thus Jovan was left to his own devices in wondering the outer city.

It was very well organized the buildings before him. Stretching out was the main road, thick enough to allow at least three carriages to travel side by side were it needed and paved in smooth cut flagstones. It continued unbranching until the main Plaza as noted, the entire paved area expanding into a large circular open space. One who frequented the city would know this is where any festivities, shows, and open agoras were held to the public. From there the road split into a cross, the two side paths heading off between rows and rows of buildings, each of various sorts be them shops, stalls, storage or more. The main road continued from this split, however, leading to a massive bridge as wide as the rest of the paving, and beset by two massive carvings on either side of it’s mouth. This bridge seemed to be the only way over a very deep, and very vast crevice in the mountain, and beyond was yet another wall to guard the inner city beyond. Rising up the mountain one could see many more buildings within, their architecture much more grand than the common build of the outer hold.

Around Jovan people went about their business. Goods were sold, horses stabled, people talked, scholars debated, and off to the more recessed side lanes and benches there were those merely enjoying reading or the sun of the afternoon. Many races were accounted for, and given the hustle and bustle found in most cities no one paid the Witcher any mind.

[the-wolf-in-the-witcher-blog]

The Witcher nodded a ‘thank you’ to the man despite his somber mood and then headed down the path, his eyes traveling around the architecture as he went. It wasn’t long before he was in the town square. It bustled with life, as many cities do, and appeared to be filled with the many people you expected to find in a city: scholarly types, simple workers, merchants. Nothing was too out of the ordinary for a city that was nothing more than a rumor and legend in his homeland. 

As Jovan’s eyes scanned the plaza he was quick to spot out some things that may be of use: a man selling books, a makeshift smith, a clothier. He let out a sigh that betrayed a hint of frustration, his hands on his hips. Were it not for the goal he had had on his way to this city, it would have been somewhere he could spend a month before he moved on. Such cities as this always had things to be done in them. He ran a mental checklist to see if there was anything that he needed from the stalls. Nothing crucial, but some books would be nice. Approaching the stall, Jovan said a hello and perused the options that were available to him. There were a few bestiaries, some fiction, and indeed, a few books on curses. He had never seen the copies on offer before, as would be expected of such a distant land. A few minutes later and he was walking down the right branching path, his pouch a little lighter and his pack a little heavier with three new books he had purchased: Monsters and Curses, Curses and How to Cure Them, and Curses: Reality or Superstition?

After a short time the gatekeeper’s directions proved correct and Jovan came upon the inn, indeed named ‘Inn and Boarding’. There was no time to waste with sunset coming soon, so the Witcher was quick to go inside and approach the Innkeep. Hopefully they had a room, or it would be impossible to hide his lycanthropy in such a crowded city. “Excuse me,” Jovan said, leaning on the counter. “Do you have a room available?”

[aeoldrias]

The in was, strangely, not that busy. Perhaps the fact it was still early in the day, or the fact visitation was more strict, there were only a handful of individuals sitting around tables and talking, aside from the Inn keep himself and what appeared to be workers scuttling about. Even so, it was a comfortably atmosphere, the tall ceiling sloping over the common room and a balcony like overhang looked down with rows of doors nested there in. 

Setting down the cloth he had just been cleaning the counter with seconds ago, the Inn keep smiled becomingly at the new guest. “I think so, one sec...” Snapping his fingers to call a server over, they spared a few words before she hopped back to work and he back looking towards Jovan. “Yup. Just cleaned, single bed. Nothing fancy, mind ya but room includes boarding as well. 10 gold for a night.”

[the-wolf-in-the-witcher-blog]

Answers from Aeol Drias [Closed rp with AeolDrias]

Deep within a mountainous region, on an dizzying peak, books tell of a place known by the name ‘Aeol Drias’. It is a stronghold, filled to the brim with battlements mixing both nature and man, the home of powerful magicians set out to destroy a faction know as ‘The Fold’. It is said to hold much arcane knowledge, ranging from simple spells to the most dreaded of curses. Yet to get there, it is many days of travel over high altitudes in unforgiving mountainous terrain. The price of traveling there, then, is only worth it to some. - Myths and Legends of Arcane Strongholds, Chapter IV: Aeol Drias

==============================================================

On a high peak where the clouds rested lazily an arms length away, a small opening could be seen, and in it, a furred form. The werewolf sat hunched, rocky walls surrounding him as he gazed out of the cave which had been his home for the past night. The sky was slowly becoming lighter, and finally, after hours of waiting in this position, the first rays of sun peeked over the horizon and illuminated his cave. His Witcher’s eyes narrowed to let in as little light as possible as the sun’s warmth washed over him, and then the transformation begun. The pain was still there, but he was used to it by now. When it was over, he was Witcher once more; crouched and naked in the chill of an early mountain morning. For a few minutes he remained like that, contemplating what he was. Then with the sun half-rose, he stood, and walked to his gear. 

With clothes on and blades firmly secured, Jovan was ready to continue his trek. It had been weeks getting to this point: a week-long boat ride to another continent, then two weeks of travel on horseback through barren wastes until the terrain became too difficult for the animal and the horse was set free. Then several days of clambering over rocky terrain surrounded by trees at the foot of the mountains, drinking from ponds and hunting local wildlife to refill dwindling supplies. And finally, what led him to this point: the past three days had been devoted to mountain climbing, resting in caves thousands of feet in the air when lucky, and when not, ridges barely a man wide. 

Yet Jovan knew he was close, and hopefully it would all be worth it. He flipped open the book, bought with what little coin he had from a merchant after having heard rumors of the city. It was a large gamble, but if what he had heard from travelers on the road and read from this book was true, then perhaps this stronghold would hold the key to curing his lycanthropy. He looked again to the sketch: 

a castle city in the side of a mountain. He had approached from the north, meaning far more mountain climbing than the entrance to the valley, but also that the worst of the wastes would be avoided. And according to the book, because he did that, that meant Aeol Drias would be over the next ridge. 

The book was packed away, and withdrew a potion: Wolf. Wolf, with the focus and coordination it provided, would make mountain climbing much safer and faster as he could find the next handhold with ease. Jovan drank it, and then left the cave, looking to the next foothold and finding it with ease. Quickly he scaled the mountain, daring not to look down to where death awaited him thousands of feet below. He was already close to the top, and so the climb there took only half an hour. For the next hour he clambered across the rocks of the peak until he reached the other side. Crouching at the edge and looking down, the Witcher was met with the ground thousands of feet below. Scanning the mountains before him, there was no stronghold to be found. He cursed. Perhaps it was over the next ridge? He looked for an easy way around, but saw none. He was on one side of a huge valley, and whether he went around the top or through the valley there was still going to be plenty of climbing. 

With a sigh he pulled out an iron stake, then hammered it into the rock. A length of long, sturdy rope was tied to the stake, and then tugged several times to make sure the whole thing would hold. Then the coil was tossed over the side. The rope was grabbed, the Witcher hung back, and slowly began walking backwards down the side. When he was fully confident it would hold, he jumped, loosening his grip on the rope to slide down, then tightening again when he landed back on the cliff-face. Slowly but surely, he made his way down the mountain. After half an hour of this, he was at the bottom. Another half hour trek over uneven terrain surrounded by trees and he was at the mountain on the other side. 

For the next six hours Jovan climbed, grateful for the relatively small size of this valley for the shade it provided from the relentless sun. Were it not for the mutations of his body, he would have grown tired far before he reached the top. Yet by the time he arrived there, he was only hungry, and so he ate the last of the deer he had hunted several days ago, then continued across the mountaintop. Half an hour later he had reached the other side, and gazed for the stronghold. A relatively large valley was set out before him, but there, on the end of it enclosed by mountains, was what he had been searching for. He held up the sketch in his book to compare. Indeed, it was the same Aeol Drias as the one he had read about, looking just as fearsome and secluded as Kaer Morhen. If her were to find answers, this would be where.

Gradually making his way around the mountain ridge, the Witcher eventually found a set of stairs the size of a road, hewn out of the rock. With a sigh of relief he dropped onto them, then checked the sun before continuing on. It was mid-afternoon. Plenty of time before the sun set and his transformation happened. Gradually he climbed the steps, until finally he reached the very top. Before him stood a large wall, with two towers on either side. Set between them was a gate. He approached the gate, and knocked on it, then waited for a reply.

@aeoldrias

[aeoldrias]

At the edge of the road was the barbican, it’s large stone frame imposed into the rock and dirt face and barred entrance by a heavy portcullis wedged between two greater towers. Even before the Witcher knocked, guards had seen his approach. It was not regarded with any suspicion, many came and went from the outer city of the compound, be them traders, family, scholars, researchers, soldiers or mages; It mattered not. Worn well were these stone steps, hooves and feet beating down at all hours.

From behind the solid bars, the barbican housed a checkpoint, the structure set off to the side away from the entrance and across what appeared to be stables. A lone guard approached the divide, looking over this rugged man between the bars. They wore a simple studded leather jerkin, offset by metal pauldrons and a rough hewn cap emblazoned with the symbol of Aeol Drias. Not really gear fit for heavy combat, but instead belonging to one that had to take many records and sit comfortably.

“Welcome, traveller. Normally the gates are open, but recent trouble has forced us to keep tighter control on check-in procedures. What brings you to our Order’s compound?”

[the-wolf-in-the-witcher-blog]

Not too long, and Jovan spotted a man approaching him through the bars. The man bore no signs of hostile intent, but even if he had the mere sight of him was good. It would seem Aeol Drias was more than a legend, that there were people living here, and perhaps there were answers to be found. 

“Answers,” was the Witcher’s reply, short and simple, then upon realizing that it may not be enough. “I seek access to your archives. I have heard many good things of their contents, and wish to see it for myself. I have some questions that need answering, and nothing that I’ve found in your standard library has contained those answers. So will you let me through?” Politics, a Witcher’s worst nightmare. Jovan hoped that this ‘trouble’ would not prevent his entry, nor would he be dragged into it. 

[aeoldrias]

While not the guards place to grant access to the archives, he could still guess what the answer would be once this man was there. “The Archives are normally restricted to members of the Order of Aeol Drias. While a public library does reside here, you will have to inquire with those inside about access to the Inner-City Archives.”

Before finishing his words a hand was waved to someone unseen, and with many creaking, groaning shifts in the metal the portcullis was slowly raised to accommodate the visitor through. Stepping back to his posting, he motioned for Jovan to come. “Unknowns that pass much sign in, a security precaution. Rules here are fairly standard: Weapons sheathed unless being crafted upon or examined for trade, Spells are restricted to training areas only, keep sound to a minimum after dark as not to disturb those sleeping.” There was a ledger set upon the posting shelve, and with it a quill and ink. A few other names had been jotted down, times recorded, as well as reasons for passage.

[the-wolf-in-the-witcher-blog]

Jovan’s brow furrowed as the guard explained the rules of the Archives. Weeks of travel and he would be locked out unless he joined the organisation. Which as far as the Witcher could tell wasn’t too open to visitors. As he had thought before: politics, a Witcher’s worst nightmare. His brow remained creased and his arms crossed as the portcullis was brought up. When it was finally up he gave a long, drawn out sigh, his expression relaxing and his arms unfolding. Hopefully the normal library would have what he would need, or he could gain access to the Archives another way. Perhaps they had monster troubles that needed solving. Without waiting any longer, he walked through the gates and into the stronghold he had spent so long getting to.

The rules were simple enough; standard of any major city, and the process for checking in surprisingly simple. Taking the qull in hand, the Witcher scribbled his name into the ledger; his name scribbly and messy, going outside of the box and the ink applied too heavily in some places. It was clear that his hands weren’t trained well in writing, but nevertheless the name was there: Jovan Scindet. With that marked down and his entrance official it felt like the end of a long journey, and the beginning of a new one. The Witcher stepped out of the small room where he had checked in and put his hands on his hips, observing the masonry. Ancient, but well kept. His eyes went to the sun, the iris narrowing to a slit so as to let as little light in as possible. It was only a few hours before nightfall, and with that his transformation. He would need to get somewhere secluded before that happened. Turning back to the scribe, Jovan called out, “Could you direct me to the nearest inn? Or wherever guests stay.”

[aeoldrias]

“Of course. If you follow the main road out of the barricade, you will encounter the main plaza. go right, and keep walking until the ‘Inn and Boarding’ sign marks a building on the side of the way. You can’t miss it.” Without missing a beat, the man was quick to return to his duties and take note of this new visitor before continuing his filing of the last nights encounters. Thus Jovan was left to his own devices in wondering the outer city.

It was very well organized the buildings before him. Stretching out was the main road, thick enough to allow at least three carriages to travel side by side were it needed and paved in smooth cut flagstones. It continued unbranching until the main Plaza as noted, the entire paved area expanding into a large circular open space. One who frequented the city would know this is where any festivities, shows, and open agoras were held to the public. From there the road split into a cross, the two side paths heading off between rows and rows of buildings, each of various sorts be them shops, stalls, storage or more. The main road continued from this split, however, leading to a massive bridge as wide as the rest of the paving, and beset by two massive carvings on either side of it’s mouth. This bridge seemed to be the only way over a very deep, and very vast crevice in the mountain, and beyond was yet another wall to guard the inner city beyond. Rising up the mountain one could see many more buildings within, their architecture much more grand than the common build of the outer hold.

Around Jovan people went about their business. Goods were sold, horses stabled, people talked, scholars debated, and off to the more recessed side lanes and benches there were those merely enjoying reading or the sun of the afternoon. Many races were accounted for, and given the hustle and bustle found in most cities no one paid the Witcher any mind.

[the-wolf-in-the-witcher-blog]

Answers from Aeol Drias [Closed rp with AeolDrias]

Deep within a mountainous region, on an dizzying peak, books tell of a place known by the name ‘Aeol Drias’. It is a stronghold, filled to the brim with battlements mixing both nature and man, the home of powerful magicians set out to destroy a faction know as ‘The Fold’. It is said to hold much arcane knowledge, ranging from simple spells to the most dreaded of curses. Yet to get there, it is many days of travel over high altitudes in unforgiving mountainous terrain. The price of traveling there, then, is only worth it to some. - Myths and Legends of Arcane Strongholds, Chapter IV: Aeol Drias

==============================================================

On a high peak where the clouds rested lazily an arms length away, a small opening could be seen, and in it, a furred form. The werewolf sat hunched, rocky walls surrounding him as he gazed out of the cave which had been his home for the past night. The sky was slowly becoming lighter, and finally, after hours of waiting in this position, the first rays of sun peeked over the horizon and illuminated his cave. His Witcher’s eyes narrowed to let in as little light as possible as the sun’s warmth washed over him, and then the transformation begun. The pain was still there, but he was used to it by now. When it was over, he was Witcher once more; crouched and naked in the chill of an early mountain morning. For a few minutes he remained like that, contemplating what he was. Then with the sun half-rose, he stood, and walked to his gear. 

With clothes on and blades firmly secured, Jovan was ready to continue his trek. It had been weeks getting to this point: a week-long boat ride to another continent, then two weeks of travel on horseback through barren wastes until the terrain became too difficult for the animal and the horse was set free. Then several days of clambering over rocky terrain surrounded by trees at the foot of the mountains, drinking from ponds and hunting local wildlife to refill dwindling supplies. And finally, what led him to this point: the past three days had been devoted to mountain climbing, resting in caves thousands of feet in the air when lucky, and when not, ridges barely a man wide. 

Yet Jovan knew he was close, and hopefully it would all be worth it. He flipped open the book, bought with what little coin he had from a merchant after having heard rumors of the city. It was a large gamble, but if what he had heard from travelers on the road and read from this book was true, then perhaps this stronghold would hold the key to curing his lycanthropy. He looked again to the sketch: 

a castle city in the side of a mountain. He had approached from the north, meaning far more mountain climbing than the entrance to the valley, but also that the worst of the wastes would be avoided. And according to the book, because he did that, that meant Aeol Drias would be over the next ridge. 

The book was packed away, and withdrew a potion: Wolf. Wolf, with the focus and coordination it provided, would make mountain climbing much safer and faster as he could find the next handhold with ease. Jovan drank it, and then left the cave, looking to the next foothold and finding it with ease. Quickly he scaled the mountain, daring not to look down to where death awaited him thousands of feet below. He was already close to the top, and so the climb there took only half an hour. For the next hour he clambered across the rocks of the peak until he reached the other side. Crouching at the edge and looking down, the Witcher was met with the ground thousands of feet below. Scanning the mountains before him, there was no stronghold to be found. He cursed. Perhaps it was over the next ridge? He looked for an easy way around, but saw none. He was on one side of a huge valley, and whether he went around the top or through the valley there was still going to be plenty of climbing. 

With a sigh he pulled out an iron stake, then hammered it into the rock. A length of long, sturdy rope was tied to the stake, and then tugged several times to make sure the whole thing would hold. Then the coil was tossed over the side. The rope was grabbed, the Witcher hung back, and slowly began walking backwards down the side. When he was fully confident it would hold, he jumped, loosening his grip on the rope to slide down, then tightening again when he landed back on the cliff-face. Slowly but surely, he made his way down the mountain. After half an hour of this, he was at the bottom. Another half hour trek over uneven terrain surrounded by trees and he was at the mountain on the other side. 

For the next six hours Jovan climbed, grateful for the relatively small size of this valley for the shade it provided from the relentless sun. Were it not for the mutations of his body, he would have grown tired far before he reached the top. Yet by the time he arrived there, he was only hungry, and so he ate the last of the deer he had hunted several days ago, then continued across the mountaintop. Half an hour later he had reached the other side, and gazed for the stronghold. A relatively large valley was set out before him, but there, on the end of it enclosed by mountains, was what he had been searching for. He held up the sketch in his book to compare. Indeed, it was the same Aeol Drias as the one he had read about, looking just as fearsome and secluded as Kaer Morhen. If her were to find answers, this would be where.

Gradually making his way around the mountain ridge, the Witcher eventually found a set of stairs the size of a road, hewn out of the rock. With a sigh of relief he dropped onto them, then checked the sun before continuing on. It was mid-afternoon. Plenty of time before the sun set and his transformation happened. Gradually he climbed the steps, until finally he reached the very top. Before him stood a large wall, with two towers on either side. Set between them was a gate. He approached the gate, and knocked on it, then waited for a reply.

@aeoldrias

[aeoldrias]

At the edge of the road was the barbican, it’s large stone frame imposed into the rock and dirt face and barred entrance by a heavy portcullis wedged between two greater towers. Even before the Witcher knocked, guards had seen his approach. It was not regarded with any suspicion, many came and went from the outer city of the compound, be them traders, family, scholars, researchers, soldiers or mages; It mattered not. Worn well were these stone steps, hooves and feet beating down at all hours.

From behind the solid bars, the barbican housed a checkpoint, the structure set off to the side away from the entrance and across what appeared to be stables. A lone guard approached the divide, looking over this rugged man between the bars. They wore a simple studded leather jerkin, offset by metal pauldrons and a rough hewn cap emblazoned with the symbol of Aeol Drias. Not really gear fit for heavy combat, but instead belonging to one that had to take many records and sit comfortably.

“Welcome, traveller. Normally the gates are open, but recent trouble has forced us to keep tighter control on check-in procedures. What brings you to our Order’s compound?”

[the-wolf-in-the-witcher-blog]

Not too long, and Jovan spotted a man approaching him through the bars. The man bore no signs of hostile intent, but even if he had the mere sight of him was good. It would seem Aeol Drias was more than a legend, that there were people living here, and perhaps there were answers to be found. 

“Answers,” was the Witcher’s reply, short and simple, then upon realizing that it may not be enough. “I seek access to your archives. I have heard many good things of their contents, and wish to see it for myself. I have some questions that need answering, and nothing that I’ve found in your standard library has contained those answers. So will you let me through?” Politics, a Witcher’s worst nightmare. Jovan hoped that this ‘trouble’ would not prevent his entry, nor would he be dragged into it. 

[aeoldrias]

While not the guards place to grant access to the archives, he could still guess what the answer would be once this man was there. “The Archives are normally restricted to members of the Order of Aeol Drias. While a public library does reside here, you will have to inquire with those inside about access to the Inner-City Archives.”

Before finishing his words a hand was waved to someone unseen, and with many creaking, groaning shifts in the metal the portcullis was slowly raised to accommodate the visitor through. Stepping back to his posting, he motioned for Jovan to come. “Unknowns that pass much sign in, a security precaution. Rules here are fairly standard: Weapons sheathed unless being crafted upon or examined for trade, Spells are restricted to training areas only, keep sound to a minimum after dark as not to disturb those sleeping.” There was a ledger set upon the posting shelve, and with it a quill and ink. A few other names had been jotted down, times recorded, as well as reasons for passage.

[the-wolf-in-the-witcher-blog]

Answers from Aeol Drias [Closed rp with AeolDrias]

Deep within a mountainous region, on an dizzying peak, books tell of a place known by the name ‘Aeol Drias’. It is a stronghold, filled to the brim with battlements mixing both nature and man, the home of powerful magicians set out to destroy a faction know as ‘The Fold’. It is said to hold much arcane knowledge, ranging from simple spells to the most dreaded of curses. Yet to get there, it is many days of travel over high altitudes in unforgiving mountainous terrain. The price of traveling there, then, is only worth it to some. - Myths and Legends of Arcane Strongholds, Chapter IV: Aeol Drias

==============================================================

On a high peak where the clouds rested lazily an arms length away, a small opening could be seen, and in it, a furred form. The werewolf sat hunched, rocky walls surrounding him as he gazed out of the cave which had been his home for the past night. The sky was slowly becoming lighter, and finally, after hours of waiting in this position, the first rays of sun peeked over the horizon and illuminated his cave. His Witcher’s eyes narrowed to let in as little light as possible as the sun’s warmth washed over him, and then the transformation begun. The pain was still there, but he was used to it by now. When it was over, he was Witcher once more; crouched and naked in the chill of an early mountain morning. For a few minutes he remained like that, contemplating what he was. Then with the sun half-rose, he stood, and walked to his gear. 

With clothes on and blades firmly secured, Jovan was ready to continue his trek. It had been weeks getting to this point: a week-long boat ride to another continent, then two weeks of travel on horseback through barren wastes until the terrain became too difficult for the animal and the horse was set free. Then several days of clambering over rocky terrain surrounded by trees at the foot of the mountains, drinking from ponds and hunting local wildlife to refill dwindling supplies. And finally, what led him to this point: the past three days had been devoted to mountain climbing, resting in caves thousands of feet in the air when lucky, and when not, ridges barely a man wide. 

Yet Jovan knew he was close, and hopefully it would all be worth it. He flipped open the book, bought with what little coin he had from a merchant after having heard rumors of the city. It was a large gamble, but if what he had heard from travelers on the road and read from this book was true, then perhaps this stronghold would hold the key to curing his lycanthropy. He looked again to the sketch: 

a castle city in the side of a mountain. He had approached from the north, meaning far more mountain climbing than the entrance to the valley, but also that the worst of the wastes would be avoided. And according to the book, because he did that, that meant Aeol Drias would be over the next ridge. 

The book was packed away, and withdrew a potion: Wolf. Wolf, with the focus and coordination it provided, would make mountain climbing much safer and faster as he could find the next handhold with ease. Jovan drank it, and then left the cave, looking to the next foothold and finding it with ease. Quickly he scaled the mountain, daring not to look down to where death awaited him thousands of feet below. He was already close to the top, and so the climb there took only half an hour. For the next hour he clambered across the rocks of the peak until he reached the other side. Crouching at the edge and looking down, the Witcher was met with the ground thousands of feet below. Scanning the mountains before him, there was no stronghold to be found. He cursed. Perhaps it was over the next ridge? He looked for an easy way around, but saw none. He was on one side of a huge valley, and whether he went around the top or through the valley there was still going to be plenty of climbing. 

With a sigh he pulled out an iron stake, then hammered it into the rock. A length of long, sturdy rope was tied to the stake, and then tugged several times to make sure the whole thing would hold. Then the coil was tossed over the side. The rope was grabbed, the Witcher hung back, and slowly began walking backwards down the side. When he was fully confident it would hold, he jumped, loosening his grip on the rope to slide down, then tightening again when he landed back on the cliff-face. Slowly but surely, he made his way down the mountain. After half an hour of this, he was at the bottom. Another half hour trek over uneven terrain surrounded by trees and he was at the mountain on the other side. 

For the next six hours Jovan climbed, grateful for the relatively small size of this valley for the shade it provided from the relentless sun. Were it not for the mutations of his body, he would have grown tired far before he reached the top. Yet by the time he arrived there, he was only hungry, and so he ate the last of the deer he had hunted several days ago, then continued across the mountaintop. Half an hour later he had reached the other side, and gazed for the stronghold. A relatively large valley was set out before him, but there, on the end of it enclosed by mountains, was what he had been searching for. He held up the sketch in his book to compare. Indeed, it was the same Aeol Drias as the one he had read about, looking just as fearsome and secluded as Kaer Morhen. If her were to find answers, this would be where.

Gradually making his way around the mountain ridge, the Witcher eventually found a set of stairs the size of a road, hewn out of the rock. With a sigh of relief he dropped onto them, then checked the sun before continuing on. It was mid-afternoon. Plenty of time before the sun set and his transformation happened. Gradually he climbed the steps, until finally he reached the very top. Before him stood a large wall, with two towers on either side. Set between them was a gate. He approached the gate, and knocked on it, then waited for a reply.

@aeoldrias

[aeoldrias]

At the edge of the road was the barbican, it’s large stone frame imposed into the rock and dirt face and barred entrance by a heavy portcullis wedged between two greater towers. Even before the Witcher knocked, guards had seen his approach. It was not regarded with any suspicion, many came and went from the outer city of the compound, be them traders, family, scholars, researchers, soldiers or mages; It mattered not. Worn well were these stone steps, hooves and feet beating down at all hours.

From behind the solid bars, the barbican housed a checkpoint, the structure set off to the side away from the entrance and across what appeared to be stables. A lone guard approached the divide, looking over this rugged man between the bars. They wore a simple studded leather jerkin, offset by metal pauldrons and a rough hewn cap emblazoned with the symbol of Aeol Drias. Not really gear fit for heavy combat, but instead belonging to one that had to take many records and sit comfortably.

“Welcome, traveller. Normally the gates are open, but recent trouble has forced us to keep tighter control on check-in procedures. What brings you to our Order’s compound?”

[aeoldrias]

[[PHASE2, FRONT5 -STORM THE KEEP]]

A rallying cry, an arm in the air, a signal given. The Forces of Aeol Drias and Avernus marched forward, battering down the body riddled roads, painting the flagstones in even more ichor and flesh. The bitter cries of undead circled about them, unhallowed grounds desecrated by Ostarion's touch, a blight to be cleaned.

The way was straight forward, but innumerable obstacles still had to be broken down before they could get the Silencer into the inner citadel courtyard. There was no time for doubt, the final staging had begun and backing down was not an option for either party involved.

[[Post order: Abaddon, Wraith King, Troll warlord, Phoenix, Vengeful Spirit, LifeStealer, Silencer]]

Violet Silencer Side: for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride​| nortromthesilencer | jahrakal-the-troll-warlord​ | vengeanceismymistress  Red Silencer Side: king-of-wraiths  | ask-icarus-phoenix | red-hand-of-death

[aeoldrias]

[[PHASE2, FRONT4 -DISTRACT THE GUARDS]]

Spells and swords clashed as a thunderous roar that hovered in the air around blood stained armor and screaming cries of deathly embrace. The walls had fallen and from them poured the soldiers and heroes, their combined might cutting swaths through the undead legions that attempted to barricade the way forward. 

From the Northern entrance a group split off, their objective clear: To tie as many troops as possible into a pointless chase, distracting them and allowing the central force time to spearhead through into the citadel courtyard. 

[[Posting Order: Puck, Lich, Batrider, Bloodseeker, Crystal Maiden, Slark ]]

Violet Silencer Side: butsketr | puckthefaeriedragon | ask-rylai-the-crystal-maiden Red Silencer Side: strygwyrthebloodseeker | ethreain-the-great-lich Outlying (No one’s side): stabbyfishman

[aeoldrias]

Dota 2 War, revamps

Due to some people leaving, the fronts have been changed and there are only a few remaining battles to be conducted. The finale will occur, even with Red no longer here, as Abby and Lyra will be doing their parts off sight then they will be posted on the nortromthesilencer account.

[[PHASE1, FRONT1 -WESTERN GATES]] is DONE

[[PHASE1, FRONT2 -QUAY SIDE]]  is DONE

[[PHASE1, FRONT3 -NORTHERN WAREHOUSES]]  is PENDING REPLIES but we are continuing anyways with phase 2. From here on in, it is assumed Doom and his daemon's have pulled out of the war and are not in Franktou any longer, leaving an opening for the rest of the forces to push inwards.

NEW WAR FRONTS

— PHASE TWO —

FRONT FOUR Objective: Distract the Dire / Undead Guards

Violet Silencer Side: butsketr | puckthefaeriedragon | ask-rylai-the-crystal-maiden Red Silencer Side: strygwyrthebloodseeker |  @ethreain-the-great-lich Outlying (No one's side): stabbyfishman

FRONT FIVE Objective: Storm the Keep

Violet Silencer Side: @for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride | nortromthesilencer | @jahrakal-the-troll-warlord | vengeanceismymistress  Red Silencer Side: king-of-wraiths  | ask-icarus-phoenix | red-hand-of-death

— FINAL PHASE —

FRONT SIX Objective: There can only be one Participants: asknortrom | nortromthesilencer (Will be done off Tumblr and posted afterwards)

FRONT UNKNOWN Objective: Aftermath Participants: askfacelessvoid | ??? (Depends on results of other threads)

PLEASE CONFIRM YOUR POSITIONS WITH ME, AND I WILL START THESE ASAP.

[aeoldrias]

[[PHASE1, FRONT3 -NORTHERN WAREHOUSES]]

Having transferred payloads from the western-gate and meeting with the others at the rendezvous point, the remaining soldiers of Aeol Drais took station from their escort of the Goblin Techies and situated themselves behind the front lines. With them, the forces of Salemene stood, headed by the 'Scourge' that was Luna Moonfang and the King of Sands, Crixalis. 

Again there was to be an explosion, and with it another battle waged in this grant siege.

[[Order: techies-demolitions | oblivionmage | askthemoonlightrider | doomreigns | crixalisthesandking ]]

[aeoldrias]

[[PHASE1, FRONT2 -QUAY SIDE]]

The signal was heard as the explosion echoed across the city and riverside, reverberations creating ripples against the dockside. In order to create space for the other unit's Kunkka was ready to split Dire forces, assaulting them from the trade routes and forcing a secondary defense.

Troops and ships ready, he pulled the anchor and set in to the port mouth.

[[Order: askkunkkatheadmiral, asknortrom (Vespasio), aggronstonebreak, i-bring-the-song-of-death, the-grandest-magus ]]

[aeoldrias]

[[PHASE1, FRONT1 -WESTERN GATES]]

An ominous haze clung to the early morning air, the sun yet to show it's face from over the horizon. Each company had broken off as needed, and here before the western front stood the main brunt of the Radiant forces, awaiting the signal to storm the gates and breach the walls.

They waited for an explosion. They waited for war.

[[ORDER: techies-demolitions , the-dark-rot , grandthief , barathrumthespirit , askkardel , got-a-sparerib ]]

[the-grandest-magus]

for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride:

[askthemoonlightrider]

Read More

[war-always-changes-archive-deac]

Tresdin followed Nortrom’s explanations, her eyes focused on the map, her look earnest and somewhat concerned. Inwardly she compared this plan for the liberation of Franktou with the plan for the battle in Stonehall, Tresdin was happy to see that this one was a lot more thought out. But still there were some weak points.

"Now this is truly an offensive plan. If only one of our flanks breaks away…", she shook her head. "Well our flanks wont break away.”

"I think the Bronze Legion would be of best use at the northern gate. We are not as much as we used to be,", a silent sigh followed these words, "wich allows us to move quick in the dock yards. Still we are well equipped, so we can capture or destroy any found equipment.”

"With the right weapons,", a quick look to Luna, "we should be able to make this quick and successful. Also i’m happy about everyone who comes to support.", she nodded towards the sandking.

[aeoldrias]

The Factols considered every heroes words carefully, assessing each idea and fact as it was said. Knowing only a short briefing of each of the others strengths and weaknesses, it was hard to add anything else to the plan or suggest changes: Most of this was riding on the Silencer to deal with.

Clearing his throat the Factol Tactica finally spoke. "Your offer of arms for dealing with our more spectral enemies is most appreciative, Moonrider. If you are in need of a workshop to finish your creations while here, we would be more then able to provide. As for troops, each of the siege parties will be accompanied by a platoon to assist in their tasks. We will provide a run down with every one of our soldiers to make sure they know who not to target, as I would rather avoid any mistakes when it comes to the battles."

Leaning over the table and folding his arms before him, the Factol narrowed his eyes towards the citadel. "Silencer, your orders remain the same: To take the traitor alive. If you are unable to achieve that then you know the alternative course of action... He can not be permitted to die and be recreated by the ancient as an escape."

[war-always-changes-archive-deac]

"First of all,", she glanced at the Silencer as she stood up, "i’m here because a friend asked for my help."

Tresdin looked into the round, down to her escort and back at the Silencer.

"Well, this is not everything. It is also in the interest of Stonehall to stop the campaign of this self-proclaimed king.”, venom dripping from the last word, “But also personal interests, as it should be known that there are demons and other vile creatures in the dire armys,”, she glanced back at the Sandking for a moment, “that need to be, crushed.”. Tresdin paused her flow of words to take a swig from her water. 

"Stonehall’s armys already had more than one military altercation with dire and wraith troops, so whatevers this so-called Ostarion holds against us, my legion and i are ready."

[aeoldrias]

The Factol-Legatus took up her turn, standing and giving a sweeping bow to those seated around the table. "As the Factol-Legatus of Aeol Drias, it is my duty to oversee diplomatic relations, and as such I will be acting as a liaison for the duration of your stay here with us. If there is anything you need, be it issues with food, lodging, hospice, general inquiries, or the like, please do not hesitate to contact me. You are all guests of the Order and we wish to make sure that your stay is a pleasant one."

Returning to her seat she nods towards the armored male. He arose, platemail clinking against itself with every motion. "When the Order is called to task for matters of conflict or war, it is my job to oversee the processes and sort our troops. While I do not doubt your battle prowess after the stories I have heard of your battles, it would be ill advised to fight this alone. As such, the men and women of Aeol Drias stand ready, our battle mages, archers, soldiers and healers will be backing up your war efforts. Our Infiltrators and informants have been hard at work providing us with the details needed to make this operation run as smooth as possible." Clearing his throat, the Factol-Tactica continued, "Normally we wouldn't interfere with a border dispute of this type, but due to the traitorous element on the enemy team, we can not sit idle and let this occur uninhibited."

[askthemoonlightrider]

A few moments after the sandking had arrived and relaxed himself a bit, the tall form of Luna could be seen entering the great halls. The elf was covered head to toe in full elven armor she had made, and she carried a sack over one shoulder, and in the other her helmet.

"Moon blessings, i regret my latness, I had found wraiths attacking a village on my way here which had to be put down. Permanently." luna said with a satisfied tone. Finding a seat for herself, she placed the sack by her feet for safe keeping and brushed a strand of blue hair away from her eyes. "Who else are we expecting?" A distracted Luna asked as she found a wine she liked.

[war-always-changes-archive-deac]

The heavy steps of armoured boots echoed through the halls as Tresdin and two of her closest warriors marched along the hallway. Not paying attention to the guards and servants passing through.

The message arrived at night, still she did not hesitate to mobilize her troops, and at dawn the remaining cavalry of the Bronze Legion sat down in motion towards aeol drias.

"Oh well,", the Legion Commander entered the great hall, "am i the last one?". Tresdin started to greet everyone individually, except the Sandking, proceeding down the hall.

[aeoldrias]

Upon hearing that the others had arrived, the back doors swung open and from them two rather ornately dressed individuals entered. The servants bowed at their passing, and even the Silencer dipped his head in respect.

One, a physical bull of a man ordained in full plate save for his head that instead was wrapped by short wavy locks of brown, flicked his arm at the Silencer and threw a large scroll casing his way before taking a seat at the table. The other, a woman of average build wearing flowing robes of ivory silks and lace, sat to the other side.

Looking the Silencer's way, the woman nodded and spoke authoritatively. "Seeing as you hold the knowledge of everyone here, it would be best if you were to present the room."

[aeoldrias]

War Council

Many more guards lined the corridors and courtyards than normal, their vestments emblazoned with the heraldry of Aeol Drias. It was rare that any but the upper echelons of the Order were permitted into the inner city, yet today was one such exception. Here, inside of the central citadel in the grand compound of Aeol Drias, would a meeting of minds take place. Here, would the plans be laid forth and finalized for the siege on Franktou and the falling of a traitor.

Escorts were set at the mountainous pass-way to siphon those attending towards the compound unhindered, and the gates were watched over intently. Patrols lined the outer city and a closed off walkway was declared leading from the outer-walls to the inner, both in the interest of security and so the esteemed guests did not get lost navigating towards the citadel.

The meeting hall was furnished with broad wooden tables that circled a central dais, heavy chairs set about so that everyone attending could face one another. Servants were on hand, waiting to cater to the needs of those that would arrive, and the softly sweet fragrance of mountain flowers wafted about the room from the many ledges extruded from the vaulted ceiling where they were planted.

Everything was ready. The time had come.

------------------------ POST ORDER ------------------------

aeoldrias​

nortromthesilencer​

for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride​

the-grandest-magus​

crixalisthesandking​

askthemoonlightrider​

war-always-changes​

[[Just to avoid any mix up or confusions.]]

[aeoldrias]

Traxex approach the Compound's large gates of inner city. She looked around seeing if she could sneak in somehow but neglected to find a way a soft spot in the defense. She sigh at her failure before she came upfront with the gate and pounded on it for a guard to come greet her.

Looking down from the tower perch, a wall guard saw the mysterious blue figure and called down to her. “Who goes there? State your business!” She didn’t look like a trader, nor did was her outfit emblazoned with the mark of Aeol Drias. The inner walls were privy to Order members only and their guests, so the guard questioned her reasoning for being there.

[gingerpaw-companion-deactivated]

"Reasoning is my own. But I’ve come to see the choose one. Nortrom. I’m sure if you told him I’m here he would say I’m allied with him."

[aeoldrias]

The guard disappeared for a second before returning to his post and looking down at the Drow once more. "I've sent someone to summon him. Without proper authorization you can not be permitted past these walls, Madam." He tried to not stare, but her blue skin and white hair was an oddity in these parts. Hopefully she wouldn't be waiting long, though one never knew what duties or meetings occupied the Battle-mage's of Aeol Drias during the day.

[aeoldrias]

"Hello there, old friends of mine! How has time been treating you?"

Viewing the letter as nothing more than the taunting words of an immature traitor, the Headmaster crumpled the paper and didn't deign to respond.

[aeoldrias]

Traxex approach the Compound's large gates of inner city. She looked around seeing if she could sneak in somehow but neglected to find a way a soft spot in the defense. She sigh at her failure before she came upfront with the gate and pounded on it for a guard to come greet her.

Looking down from the tower perch, a wall guard saw the mysterious blue figure and called down to her. "Who goes there? State your business!" She didn't look like a trader, nor did was her outfit emblazoned with the mark of Aeol Drias. The inner walls were privy to Order members only and their guests, so the guard questioned her reasoning for being there.