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[Minifigs] Hademar's Household (Chronicles of Embervale Digression #3)
Aurore posted a topic in Guilds of Historica
My entry to the "Farmstead Figures" category of this year's edition of Brickscalibur - and a handful of hard-working citizens for Avalonia! --- Hademar Half-Dwarf had lost two fingers and half a leg to war. Yet he deemed himself fortunate, for when peace had come the Baron had granted him several acres of fertile land and a few heads of cattle. This enabled him to marry his long-time sweetheart. They were blessed with five healthy and hard-working daughters. And for years their little farm kept thriving nicely. Until one day an old friend of his, a former brother in arms, showed up at the gates with a frightened young girl. An orphan, he said. A poor little thing he had rescued from brigands. They talked about the old times, they talked about their fallen fellows and about the ones who lived, and his comrade soon talked Hademar into welcoming the girl in his household. And while he welcomed her with warm words and open arms, Hademar felt deep in his heart that this meant trouble for his farm and his family. From left to right: Hersent, Heloïse, Hildegard with baby Hemma, Heilwig, Hademar Half-Dwarf, his old comrade Renart, the orphan girl, and Hermine with her horse Hero. -
[Freebuild] Embervale Castle - Elvish Crypt (Chronicles of Embervale Ep.04)
Aurore posted a topic in Guilds of Historica
THE BUILD THE STORY Previously, on the Chronicles of Embervale: Alrune met an old friend who passed her an order from her mother. Tasked to retrieve the embalmed heart of an ancient hero, she eventually got qualms of conscience and refused to comply. Chronicles of Embervale Ep.05 - A Wail in the Night Featuring… Alrune The Lady of Embervale, mage Evrart The captain of her guards Grog A goblin guard Seisiri An unwelcome visitor “Sir, Sir! Open the door! Serious matter, I swear!” the squeaky voice of a goblin shrieked. Evrart curled up under his blanket and desperately tried to ignore him. It was the third time this week his insufferable subordinates had come to wake him up in the middle of the night for so-called serious matters. The last time, it was about a nightmare. Not some kind of demonic horse, as he had initially understood, but just a bad dream. And they had waited until he had gathered and equipped a whole squad to eventually spill the beans. The screaming was going on. The goblin even started to bang on the door – and Evrart could have sworn he heard him sob. He came to realise the pesky little bugger would not stop. He begrudgingly left his bed and opened the door, only to find Grog, the smallest, weakest, nicest of the goblin guards, panicking in the corridor. “There’s a ghost with a corpse in the elves’ crypt, sir!” the goblin whined as soon as the door moved. “Sounds regular. Leave me alone!” “But sir, it’s a ghost of the Boss’ mother!” “What the…When did her mother pass away?” “No no no, sir! Not what I said! Not a ghost of her mother, a ghost of her mother!” Evrart sighed and rubbed his eyes. All right. He had no clue what Grog was talking about, but still: it was his duty to deal with intruders. He ordered the goblin to gather a squad. Thinking it a little more, he sent him wake up Lady Alrune and her uncle first. Whatever the Lady's mother had to do with this, it seemed to be a family affair. Then, once equipped, he reluctantly headed for the elvish crypt. He positively hated the funerary complex that previous owners had found tasteful to set up under Embervale Castle, a labyrinth of bleak passageways connecting an absurd number of crypts and vaults. Many of those had interesting architectural features mirroring the fancy ornaments of the castle above, but he found those displays of pride distressing in the cold and darkness of the underground. The elvish crypt was one of the most elaborate parts of the catacombs – and, indeed, there was presently a ghost inside. A bluish-skinned lady with fine yet shrivelled features, whose face displayed a smirk when Evrart entered the room. “Someone, at last! No offence, but hospitality leaves a great deal to be desired in this castle!” “Hospitality is for guests, not for ghosts,” he grumbled while scanning the room. There was something white on the catafalque behind the spirit. “Ghosts?” she laughed – a clear, but eerie laugh that sent a shiver down his spine. “I’m not a ghost, my fair sir, I’m a banshee. I have a present for Lady Alrune d’Embervale, from her loving mother.” She waved a hand at the catafalque and floated aside as Evrart cautiously approached it. A corpse. The thing on the catafalque looked very much like a corpse wrapped in a white shroud – just as the goblin said. As he stared as it, the already icy temperature in the crypt seemed to drop a little more and the Lady of Embervale entered the room. “Your Highness,” the banshee stated in her honeyed voice, and bowed. “Your mother wants you to know that you have greatly disappointed her.” “I always do so, Seisiri," Alrune replied. "Could you be more specific?” “Her Grace had entrusted you with a simple, basic mission. And you failed, if you may be so kind as to excuse such a severe word. But as a matter of fact, you could not even retrieve some helpless heart from a mundane mausoleum.” "This is between her and me. I’m certainly not answerable to an underling, and I’m not going to discuss the matter with you.” The smile of the banshee got wider, and she hovered towards Alrune until their faces were only inches away. The Lady quivered, but did not move and held the spirit’s stare. “Someone else has disappointed Her Grace, ma’am,” Seisiri sneered. “Your Halfling friend, the one she had tasked to ensure you would follow the orders. Her Grace kindly sends you her body: she will make a pretty little undead servant! Her Grace also says you need to be reminded you’re a necromancer, ma’am – it’s not good for you to be surrounded by so many beating hearts.” Alrune turned pale, and she cast a dismayed glance at her captain. He silently folded the shroud aside to reveal the face. And his heart missed a beat when he recognised the corpse: she was, indeed, the friendly, cheerful halfling who had given a book and a letter to the Lady at the summer fair. He nodded sourly. Glowing darts of magic whizzed from Alrune’s fingers towards the banshee, who dodged and burst out laughing. As the elf aimed a second spell, more powerful but hardly better prepared, the laughter of her opponent morphed into a creaky, high-pitched howling. Evrart felt his mind crack like a crashed mirror as the wailing increased. He saw Alrune collapse. He struggled briefly but faltered, and passed out just as three black daggers darting from the darkest corner of the room took the banshee down. ...to be continued ADDITIONAL PHOTOS -
A vignette of the wheelwright’s guild house in my city Dandelume. I will post som history and further builds in the upcoming weeks since I have finished them in the order I wanted to for my story! Feedback always wanted.
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Erdils story began in a fishmonger’s tiny cottage near the small river of Aerima. The river Aerima is one of many tributary streams of the grand Avalonian river, moving past Dandelume all the way to the hidden city Zamorah on the mitgardian boarder. Erdil's mother died in childbirth and he had no siblings. Growing up with an aging father, Erdils childhood was therefore filled with much work and less play in the solitude cottage. His father, Obardil could still get some fish out of the water but he was too weak to travel. Hence Erdil was forced to bring his fathers wheelbarrow with fish to the market at Nhymride to trade for other goods or coins. The aged father of Erdil was Obardil, a proud man that lived his life by his two inherited mottos: perseverance and discipline. His lifelong craft as a poor fishmonger had taken its toll and expedited his declining years. For more builds and story: Dandelume-thread
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Breaking out the discussion on AI generated concept art from the main Kaliphlin thread. Reserving first post for highlights. Feedback and requests for other renders are very welcome! I'd be happy also to work on some other guilds's if someone wants some copyright-free concept art for those environments too
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Tried to make some concept art for Varlyrio also before my Midjourney susbscription runs out. I've based most of these prompts on my understanding of the contents of the Varlyrio wiki page. Illyria was tricky for the AI, perhaps not so much to make suitable Mediterranean Medieval/Renaissance enviroments but to not have them spammed with modern day tourists and other details by the AI And if you don't mind the electrical cables and parked bicycles that the AI kept adding: Dwarven dwelling in the Coluna mountains: Inland sea: Plantations/orchards: Quarry: Some concepts for the inhabitants of Varlyrio. Dwarven artisans: Leander merchant in Illyria Orc raiders: Minotaur pirate:
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Made some AI-generated concept art for Mitgardia too. You are welcome to use any of these pictures however you want! I would also happily accept ideas for improvements and especially ideas for other environments to try to generate Sometimes things don't go as expected, asked for a ranger hunting moose...but it turned out to be more of a fusion between the two But I thought they looked a bit cool so I'll put them here.
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My entry for the "Your crew" category of this year's Colossal Castle Contest! And more citizens for Historica... Hear ye, hear ye, good people of Historica! Today, only in your town, Janko and his Jolly Jokesters! Come, listen close, and follow the adventures of the legendary King of Kazoo, played by yours truly - Jannnnko! Come, and scream in terror facing Gaston - he's your living nightmare! Come, and fear for Romarich - so good at impersonating fair damsels that many a noble has already asked for his hand! Come, and admire Kes' adroiteness - our little elf, now way taller than you! Come, and applaud Elmer - the bravest, the mightiest, the hottest of us all! Come, good people, and cheer for Janko and his Jolly Jokesters!
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Nestled in the busy streets of the city of Albion in Avalonia is a cozy bookstore. Although small in size, it is packed from floor to ceiling with books of all shapes and sizes, and is renown for being one of the best places in Historica to find knowledge. From ancient tomes to magical spellbooks, Nocturnus cookbooks full of questionable recipies to Varlyarian romances, any type of book can be found here, for the right price... Notes: Hi guys! This is a 8x32 Modular Bookstore I built for my LUGs build challenge . Of course, I decided to build mine medieval themed and set in Avalonia. I posted this a bit ago on Flickr, but hadn't gotten around to posting it here until now. Hope you enjoy
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Under the blood tree The carnivorous blood tree of Nocturnus was rare - thankfully - and deadly. As it digested its victims, the soil around its roots would stain red. This faded over time and only the collection of bones within the twisted roots hinted at its terminal hunger. Build notes This is my entry for the gradient category of Summer Joust 2022. The minifigure harkens back to my CMF entry last year and the two Nocturnus troublemakers.
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I'm reposting my entry for Brickscalibur here, the Monarchic Minifigures category - photo, text and reading! The build: The story: Were-beast hierarchies were notoriously fickle; leaders changed with the moon phase: wax, wane or sickle. The Wulf-Tang Clan was one such curious case; led by Matriarch Wulf, firm grip on the royal mace. Rip, Fang and Wrinkle, her loyal sons three; keeping them in line? Certainly not free: Pay for the damage when Rip fought in bars; Pay off the victims whose tongues Fang kept in jars; Pay for the tools as Wrinkle read the moon and stars. A change in the guard, though, when the harvest moon come: as Runt took over as leader of the pack, with his running mate Ocker watching his back. Sweet Lily, too, had ambition for the peak; Trice already she’d eliminated the weak. A lick of charm, males ate from her mitten; Runt, especially, reduced to a kitten. What she couldn’t obtain with just feminine wiles, Lily removed with a drop from her poisoned vials. Regardless of whoever was leader day-by-day, everybeast knew don’t cross were-coon Fay. As den-mother, her power was wide; Get on her wrong side? Your tail was fried! But one thing was true across all the moon’s phases, the bottom of the heap was reserved for tree grazers; Were-beaver serfs – they might not be free, but leaders beware … they could still fell the family tree. The poet's reading: If you like to hear the bard's own reading of this story, there is a sound file available on the Brickscalibur Discord server here. I don't think I can upload to here directly (or to Flickr). Build notes:
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Salt is the chief export of the Westersands. A critical ingredient for preserving food across Historica makes the work in the heat of the desert a worthwhile venture. Camels carry it out of the desert into the towns and cities of Kaliphlin and beyond.
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My entry to the "Gradient" category of the 2022 Summer Joust. And also an Historican urban legend... Noone really knows if Galder survived the encounter, to which Guild he belonged, or even if he actually existed. But anyways. This, kids, is why you shall not forget to deactivate your planar portal once you're done with today's experiment.
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[Freebuild] Embervale Castle - Basement (Chronicles of Embervale Digression #2)
Aurore posted a topic in Guilds of Historica
Fleshing out Embervale Castle...and taking part in this year's Summer Joust, in the "Subterranean" category. --- Guard Captain's log, arcane date-time 140630B SUM 1322 Intruders broke into the basement. Two killed, two captured. One vanished. No own casualty. Minor material damage. Prisoners interrogated: they’re from the Adventurers' Guild, tasked to retrieve some magic gizmo (see attached drawing). Contracting party unknown. They had a map marking the hidden room in Lord Dresghar's cheese cellar. I'm off to the city to have a word with the representative of said Adventurers' Guild. Side note: the trap in the goblins’ crypt was triggered. No need to feed the plant-thing below before next week. --- Level 0: from the scullery, access to the well and to the storage room below (with a handy goods elevator - carrying barrels while using a ladder is quite a delicate task). Level -1: just a regular storage room, with food and jumble. Level -2: the goblin guards' crypt. The idol's pedestal is held together only due to the friction of its side plates. Messing with it - e.g. removing the idol - triggers a trapdoor that leads direcly to the lower level. Concealed behind a sturdy, regular stone wall without any secret door, this level also includes a treasure room shielded by a shadowguard... Level -3: let me introduce you to Eriaxis Monstrosa, a subterranean carnivorous plant from the Kolgari realm, that definitely appreciates the snacks the trapdoor above keeps sending it! Level -4: the cheese cellar and the well. And a secret door hidden in the wall, that leads to a (rather disappointing) secret room... -
A "military" build to flesh out Embervale in the Historical Settlements and one day get it included in the "Avalonian Sites and Monuments: a comprehensive guide"...and also my entry for Brickscalibur's "Interior Architect" category. Here are the command room and the armoury of the castle of Embervale! (Global photos in the hidden section) The story - Chronicles of Embervale Episode : To arms! Featuring… Alrune - The Elf Maiden, Lady of Embervale, mage Dresghar - The Chronicler, her faithful uncle, erudite Evrart - The (recently promoted) captain of her guards Gram - A guard Rex - The guards’ pet tarasque Goblin guards, skeletons "So, how are you doing?" Dresghar cheerfully asked the captain. Brooding next to the window of the command room, his arms crossed and his eyes gazing into space, Evrart let out a slight sigh but did not answer. Shortly following their expedition to the druidic mausoleum, out of the blue, Lady Alrune had come up with the unfortunate idea to appoint him as the captain of her guards. Her goblin guards. Only recently had the pesky little thugs dropped the idea of eating him, he wondered how she could think they would obey him anytime soon. "Are you alright?" Dresghar repeated. Evrart sighed again and gestured toward the courtyard on the other side of the window, where a few goblins were enthusiastically poking each other with blunt spears. "I’m trying to get them through basic training, sir. Teamwork. Hierarchy. Elementary hygiene. Stuff like that." "And it doesn’t go as intended?" "Oh well, they happen to follow my orders from time to time. And they know which side of a spear is supposed to be pointed at the enemy. I guess that’s a start." One of the goblins tripped over his own weapon, fell in a puddle, and made all the others giggle foolishly. "Let’s just hope the lady doesn’t have short-term military ambitions, sir." Evrart turned his attention away from the goblins – his goblins – and observed Dresghar snooping around the command room. It was a large study located in one of the most ancient parts of the castle, reflecting the architectural style of the humans who had built the early stronghold rather than the ornate design of the elves who had later besieged it, won it, and rebuilt it. The successive elven governors of the castle had kept the room as intact as possible, going so far as to hire human workers to renovate the elaborate parquet floor and furniture. Lady Alrune’s father, who had used the place as his headquarters during all his campaigns, was allegedly the first to add his coat of arms and colours on the walls and decorate with personal items and weapons. "Do you know how to read and write?" Dresghar suddenly and unexpectedly enquired. "More or less, sir," Evrart replied after a short hesitation. "The baron I used to serve taught me how to sign my name and read simple messages." "Well, I guess that’s a start,” the elf sneered. "Now that you’re an officer of Embervale, you’ll need to participate to administrative tasks as well as military ones." Evrart rolled his eyes. "Very funny, sir." "Oh, I’m not joking," Dresghar replied with a mischievous smile. "There. Here are the books where my niece was recording her military expenditures. She’s very bad at accounting, even you can’t do worse. Give it a try!" And, still smirking, he left the room and abandoned Evrart with a pile of books and the unpleasant feeling of being snookered. First, irksome goblins, and now administrative chores. Why did he come to Embervale already? Oh, right, he had no place to live when the baron got rid of him, and he deemed the lady here as a respectable person. --- He spent the rest of a day – an eternity – struggling to decipher the tiny, tight handwriting of the said lady. He was almost concluding she had encrypted her writings, when an ear-piercing shriek shrilled. He froze, all senses in alarm. And soon, he heard the distinct sounds of a scuffle right from the next room. The armoury. He rushed out, only to find three panicked goblins trying to fend off a much larger group of skeletons. Good old stupid skeletons, wielding decaying weapons, fighting bluntly without a hint of cooperation. Not that it really put them at disadvantage against the goblins, who were hardly better at tactical thinking. Frightened eyes were peeking out from the door that led to the guards’ dormitory: the rest of the goblins, not even helping their comrades in need. And, much to Evrart’s surprise, Alrune was in the room too. Unarmed, her hair undone, wearing a white nightgown, she was trying to comfort the guards’ pet tarasque cub. He briefly wondered why she was playing damsel in distress instead of fighting, but chose to focus on more immediate issues. "Get out, you wimps!" he shouted at the hidden goblins. "Take weapons and fight!" He heard them squabbling and moaning, but only one of them hesitantly ventured out of their lair. And stopped halfway when he noticed he was alone. Exasperated, Evrart crushed a few skeletons out of his way and reached the strongest among the fighting goblins. "Gram, make those cowards come out! If any of them dares to resist, feel free to tear off their ears – or whatever else comes to your mind!" The goblin flashed him a vicious smile and headed to the door. A few squeaks and screeches later, the whole company was in the guards’ room and frantically grabbing the nearest weapons. "Leave those freaking spears alone! Take clubs and maces!" the captain yelled. "Clubs and maces, you freaking fools!" Gram repeated while dropping her own spear. And, much sooner than Evrart had expected, all the intruders were shattered. --- The goblins cheered and drank all night long, boasting at their military prowess. The next morning, their captain was in a foul mood and had a severe headache when he met Alrune for their daily brief. "I regret to say that, but I have yet to find where the skeletons came from," he reported bitterly. "Really? They simply come from the basement. I animated them in the catacombs under the castle." He recoiled, staring at her in disbelief. A silence fell. And last. "I’m what your people call a dark elf, and I’m a mage," Alrune finally stated, her voice deeper than usual. “How could you not expect me to know enough necromancy to animate a few skeletons?" "If you say so! But why the heck would you do that to attack the armoury? I mean, your own armoury?" "It was a live exercise for the goblins and you! Or rather, an undead exercise," she added with a slight chuckle he found appalling. A rather puzzled Alrune watched him leave the room swearing under his breath. She had given him a trusted position, helped him train his men – err, goblins, and yet the guy was still as grouchy as ever. Oh well, humans. Strange people, really.
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The build: The Rise of Slågö Farm The story: Marija Slågö ran one of the most productive horticultural centres in Notomys. While the land had always been fruitful, Marija’s hard work, shrewd business sense and innovation had taken it to new heights. This had seemed unlikely even one year earlier. Back during the Drow-Elf civil war, Marija’s husband Grigor had been wounded defending the hamlet. Several years trying to fight off infection and caring for her increasingly debilitated husband had seen the farm slowly neglected. When Grigor finally succumbed to death, Marija was left with two toddlers and one newborn. Some in the village urged Marija to abandon the farm and return to her childhood village. Marija had other ideas. Leaving would mean betraying her husband’s dreams and leave their children ignorant of the home they’d built together. Instead, she vowed to turn the farm around. First, her mother-in-law Đoris moved in to assist with caring for the children. The homestead itself was built around a large, stone storage room perfect for storing the root vegetables that were their staple crop. Accessed through a wooden ladder, the second floor was a single room, dominated by a large bed with enough room for Marija, Đoris and the two wriggling toddlers. The infant, at least, had its own cot. A small kitchen, play area and Gregor’s dented amour completed that floor. A small attic completed the structure. Ever since the war, Marija kept her bow and a full quiver up there; with windows on each side, she could defend the homestead from all sides. Marija’s second intervention was to sidle up to the local gnomish tinkerer and convince her to develop some new fan-dangled beehive prototypes. Marija had noticed that, the more active the farm’s bees, the more plentiful their crop. One of the local wood elves even volunteered to maintain the hives in exchange for a small portion of the honey. With the new beehives working a trick, Marija also increased the wildflowers surrounding the farm. While some neighbours considered this a waste of precious labour, Marija was convinced it would support her valuable pollinators. While she didn’t yet have a buyer for her abundant flowers, she was hopeful the well-to-do Varlyrian newcomer in town might be persuaded to purchase some. Finally, Marija also scaled up her manure production. She liked to repeat the story of the visiting scholar from the University of Petraea who’d tried to convince her that soil in the Enchanted Forest was so fertile, you could plant beans anywhere and overnight expect to find a giant beanstalk. The truth every Avalonian farmer knew was that soil gave back what you put in – and that meant compost. So Marija struck up a deal to secure copious amounts of the best manure available: centaur manure! Forest fillies were regularly seen lugging bulging sacks up Slågö farm track, leaving shortly after, light of step, and accompanied by the clink of coin. This season, Marija and Đoris’ efforts had come to fruition: a great crop of spuds and peppers; pumpkins, red and green gourds well on the way; and the full crop of giant corn sold even before it matured! Of course, none of it would have been possible without the support from the other women of the village, many of whom had lost their own relatives in the war. Inspired by stories of the Avalonian Oak Maidens and Sword Sirens, Marija was one of the founding members of a small archery militia, alongside the trapper Jultarra and the hunter Roisin. As a small way of giving back, Marija had chosen to host a banquet to mark the graduation of four new, fully-fletched members of the archer’s guild. First up was Ari, manager of the local delicatessen; next was the fisherwoman Sofia; followed by Bess, whose mother ran the tavern. The last to attempt the test would be the Cyclops Scythia. This would be her third attempt, having struggled to overcome her lack of depth perception. To assist Scythia, the other guild members had pooled funds to buy her a crossbow. Hopefully this time would be different - at the very least she had been warned multiple times not to hit the old beehive! The cast: The Slågö family and helpers Marija, Kalene, Miri, Đoris, Cara, the cat, the bees, Medb, the chickens, the armadorses The centaur gong farmers: Đamerus, Thalile, Sophare The archery guild: Jultarra (trapper), Roisin (hunter), Ari (delicatessanier), Sofia (fishmonger), Bess (publican's daughter), Scythia (Cyclops), Zara (butcher), Joan (baker), Alice (candlestick maker), Agnes (shopkeeper), Donika (shepherd). Build notes: More photos on my Flickr album.
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The build: Lord of the Flies Agaric The story: Mushrooms were big business in the Enchanted Forest and one of the best mushroom groomers was Flix. The pixie specialised in painting fly agaric mushrooms, making sure their white spots were vivid and perfectly round. While mushroom grooming was often a relaxing task, Flix was always wary of insect attacks and kept his rapier with him at all times. Build notes:
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Previously... The Architect's Ascension: Part IV Arama sprinted through the windy passages, narrow alleys, and cobbled streets of vast Illaryian. Then she jumped onto a roof and caught sight of Ristoro hurrying through the thoroughfare far ahead. She rushed on across the roofs, leaping the gaps, landing with only a soft thud, her cloak floating out behind her. Arama rushed on across the roofs, leaping the gaps, landing with only a soft thud, her cloak floating out behind her. Suddenly Ristoro heard something above him. He looked up and he saw a shadow watching him coolly from the roofs far above. Now he was even more afraid of the ragazza who had followed him so quickly and found him without erring far in the depths of the greatest city in the realm. He looked up and he saw a shadow watching him coolly from the roofs far above. He couldn’t outrun her, and he knew he didn’t stand a chance in a fight—he didn’t want to kill her anyway! What could he do? There was a bridge. At least Ristoro knew how to swim! He threw off his sword and sprung over the side, landing in the canal below with a splash. Arama knew the canals like the back of her hand. With one deep breath she plunged off the rooftop, tucking her dagger in her sleeve. The canal here was deep and narrow. Arama landed on the other side of the bridge, pitching far below the depths of the water. She spread out her arms to slow her fall. In another second Arama had Ristoro’s doublet in her hand. She lifted him up against the wall on the side of the canal, but she had to let him go to get a breath of air. Ristoro scrambled up onto the cobblestones, but now he was in a cortile with only one entrance, where Arama De Cioto now stood. Ristoro Moccenigo shook in an almost unreasonable fear. Now he was in a cortile with only one entrance, where Arama De Cioto now stood. “Cieli! Just get it over with!” he screamed, petrified. "Just get it over with!" Ristoro screamed. “Stolto, does it look like I have a blade in my hand?” Arama answered with affected dryness, showing her outstretched and empty palms to him. “Così,” Ristoro started nervously. “You aren’t here to seppellire a blade in me?” “No,” she said sweetly. “I just want you to talk. Why didn’t you answer the question Luca asked you?” “You want to kill my fratello and not me?” Ristoro asked, unable to swallow his saliva. For reply, Arama’s eyes glittered. “It’s no use, there’s no point! Ilazio already told the De Fioris that–” “I know,” Arama said, a perturbed glimmer passing across her face. She hadn’t really known that. So it really was too late. She grit her teeth. They just had to ride it out. It sounded like a very dangerous storm. It was time to be brash and reckless. “Vedo, you probably know what Ilazio wants to do,” Ristoro said in a very low voice. “He’ll kill you and il nostro caro Rego!” he warned. “Let him do it,” Arama replied brazenly. “If he kills me it wouldn't matter. But he can’t prove anything he says.” “You, like Signore di Carlo, underestimate mio brother. I’ve seen his plans and correspondences, De Cioto!” “It doesn’t matter what he knows,” Arama smiled thoughtfully, “it matters what he can show, what he can get people to believe. It's not the first time he’s spread false rumors. He would never live another day if he assassinated the Rego.” Arama looked defiantly at the waters of the canal behind her. “Then, I believe,” Ristoro answered, “he will kill you.” A sharp hiss echoed throughout il cortile. Both Ristoro and Arama were caught off guard. They both paused, without further discussion, each searching the dim backstreet courtyard for signs of any intruder. Arama let her knife slip down into her palm again. Then all of a sudden, a shadowy figure, contrasted by a drawn sword with golden hilt engravings, leapt from a window in the stone building behind them, landing beside Ristoro who immediately began to back away. A shadowy figure, contrasted by a drawn sword with golden hilt engravings, leapt from a window in the stone building behind them. The shadowy figure pushed back his hood. Ilazio Moccenigo had heard every last word. .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. “Buona serata,” I greeted gruffly, my sword pointed at the two traitors. One had succeeded before in obstructing my plans, but questa notte, I would ensure that they both failed. I began moving towards them, then stopped as I saw a flash of metal. Arama drew a hidden dagger from within her clothes. “Certo, buona serata!” Arama had drawn a hidden dagger from within her clothes, but she didn’t stand a chance against my long, sharp blade. Then, when Ristoro tossed her his sword from the bridge where he had left it, although she caught it deftly in the air with her other hand, I could tell that she was more accustomed to fighting come una assassina rather than a proper duelist. Ristoro tossed her his sword from the bridge where he had left it. Her arms seemed to be shaking slightly, and her footwork was like a tigress ready to pounce upon her foe from behind, not from ahead. But she was light and agile, and playing right into her strengths, Arama ran for it, quickly scaling the walls of il cortile until she reached the roof above. In return, I gave chase. She was light and agile. I could hear Arama’s breath from above me as she silenziosamente prepared to leap across to the nearest roof. She would never make it. “Don’t!” I yelled from the roof below her feet which I was quickly pulling myself up onto. “What do you care if I do?” Arama murmured in reply, but before she got a chance to, I grabbed one of her moving feet, rolling onto the roof beside her. Arama was about to jump to the other side of the street. Arama threw herself down beside me and I spun out of the way just in time. I felt her knife sound against the terracotta altana as it dug deep into the spot where my chest had been a moment before. Her dagger was stuck there now. Arama swept her feet at me as I leapt up and took a better stance upon the roof, but she was too far away. She had to hold up her sword to me. I had the advantage now, but I was still waiting for something unexpected. So far, only I have delivered soprese. Arama stood on the defensive, frustration written on her visage. But I wouldn’t commit. “You want me dead,” I smiled at her eagerly, “not the other way around.” “I wanted to get out of here,” Arama whispered sulkily, pulling her mask below her mouth to breathe, “you wouldn’t let me get away. So if you don’t want me dead, climb down, or let me jump.” “Letting you make that jump? Not if I don’t want you dead. But maybe I do, so go ahead.” Arama made a gesture. “But I’m not putting away my sword. Do you think I am some stolto like my brother, to just let you kill me?” Arama laughed. “Tell me again why you’re mad at me?” she asked. “You killed my father,” I hissed, “and your Rego will pay, just like you, stupida girl. You think life is nothing? You take your own and others pretty carelessly.” “Don’t become careless with yours,” the girl replied, sweeping at me at last with the edge of her sword. Our blades met with my parry and swift counterstrike. Before Arama could recover, I struck out again, the force behind my blade driving her back along the steep roofline. We drove quietly back and forth at each other, our swords ringing through the otherwise silent night. With efficiency, I contrived to drive her back with each of our moves, using forces similar to those which balanced a crane in my father’s constructions to turn everything to my advantage. Arama’s strikes became more wild and her defense mere seconds from la morte. She was still smiling though. Infine! There was a gap, a risky manovra with ricche ricompense. I lunged, hoping my feet would not slip on a loose tile, my glittering sword striking true. Time seemed to slow. A shuddered breath escaped the lips of mia avversaria. I did not wait to see my vittoria. Quickly, I retracted my blade and swung, using shear impact to dislodge the sword from her clammy hands. Then I mercilessly shoved her off the narrow roofline while she looked down at the ever growing blood stains on her fancy clothes. My sword had gone through the chainmail that she wore beneath her dress. Only one image clouded my thoughts, the image of her shocked, and forse scared, expression followed with ragged breaths and dripping blood, an image branded into me. Ristoro backed away from the crumpled, limp form that ended on the cobblestones below. “Ilazio?” he said, his voice filled with discomfort and uncertainty. He shuddered again as I dropped to the cobbled streets below, this time with my gold-inlaid sword sheathed. Mio fratello looked confused, his eyes going back and forth between my demented visage and the bleeding corpse that was Arama di Athena De Cioto. Finally making up his mind, he darted for l’ingresso del cortile. I simply turned and watched as he scurried away. My attention then shifted back to the velvet liquid running freely through the cracks in the cobbles. More blood would flow, abbastanza presto. I unsheathed my sword slowly, letting its ring echo, while I walked over to the shuddering figure, covered in her own blood. No, not quite a corpse yet. The fall had only been about a story, and she knew how to land, although she must have been very bruised. My sword had only pierced her side, not her heart. Not yet. “I'm not afraid of you,” Arama whispered, looking up at me kindly, her breath increasing in pace and raggedness as I descended upon her like a ravenous Mitgardian wolf. I stood over her, the tip of my blade less than a millimeter above her beating heart. The girl still struggled like wounded prey, trying to back away. Maybe she did have another dagger, but she couldn’t use it now. She was dizzy and sick. Arama could barely lift her head, she was so weak. My sword followed, forcing her to concede. Arama let herself drop onto the stones, looking around, to make sure that I was the only one with her. She saw through a black haze, my sword hanging above her. Her last knife dropped from her hand. “Tell Luca I love him,” she said, whispering, wincing and hiding her face behind her arm. I craved that! I was overjoyed to hear it, my entire case proven by its denier! In my mind her guilt was sealed now. But… still. My heart rate increased, breaths ragged as the maledetta below me. Soon, every rag of the vendetta I wanted would be mine! I roughly grasped Arama and bent my sword down to her throat, prepared to strike home. Suddenly her unusually neat hair, wandering in wisps below her half drawn hood, was the same hue as Aurelia’s. I shook my head, scowling fiercely—this was not the time for doubts. Did my padre look this way before di incontrare la morte? I must, I must kill her! As I looked down at her, the image flashed again, then images of mio papà coursed through me. “Go ahead, I guess it was always coming to this,” Arama shrugged, tears falling down upon her stomach and mixing with sangue. I lifted my sword arm up once again, this time to kill! I made a bloodthirsty roar—but then I immediately dropped my blade to the blood-stained pavement. “Bene! I can’t,” I said at last through ragged breath. I staggered away from Arama. “This isn’t what I wanted.” “Che cosa?” she asked meekly. Her arm lowered from her face, and she looked at me with a tired, scared and confused question in her eyes. “I saw him, mio padre in my mind. Revenge won’t bring him back from la morte. It’s only a path of destruction… per tutti!” I said, facing away from the girl who had almost become a corpse. My breath was still coming rapidly, my heartbeats deafening every other sound. I was on the verge of spinning round, of doing it, and of taking my own destruction too if I had to! But I forced myself to speak, and mio voce came from a different person, a body, not a mind. “Arama, I just realized… what you did was horrible, but if I killed you now, just for vengeance, to satisfy myself… that would be horrible too!” I cried. I faced Arama De Cioto again and walked over to her, leaning in close to her teary face, where she had placed her palm and left a stain of blood. Then I whispered into her ear, pleading with her even though she was completely in my power, “Just take my forgiveness and go!” “I’ll love you for this,” Arama replied with a sudden merry feeling waving over her body. She pushed me away from her with her arm and closed her eyes, taking in a rasping breath. That confused me. She loved Luca di Carli! Would she betray him this easily? Is that what she meant? Maybe she just used the word carelessly… or maybe Luca was just like Prince Råiden to her. Would she betray him because I let her live even though it was my deepest desire to slit her very throat, simply because I couldn’t, I really couldn’t, kill her? She pushed herself off the stonework, one hand stopping her blood from flowing too freely, supporting herself on the wall with her other hand. I could tell her whole body was jarred by her fall. Maybe she had some broken bones. She still might die—was it crueler to leave her here than to run my sword through her side again? “No, wait, Arama,” something inside of me twisted, “I… I can’t let you go like this. Non c’è modo…” She looked at me with confusion in her eyes. “Why not?” she asked doubtfully. “You might die before you found help. That would just be more cruelty,” I said, looking boldly at her, as frankly as I could, although something rebelled in my stomach. “I never wanted to be cruel or evil! I can’t bear death, Arama. I don’t really want to return murder for murder.” I hung my head, my fists clenching and unclenching convulsively. Arama looked at me blankly. “Che bene,” she murmured. “I thought you wanted to kill me.” “I did.” .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. Arama’s head throbbed profusely. She reached underneath the uncomfortable blankets placed on top of her and winced as she located the wound. So it had happened in verità, it wasn’t a dream. She hurt all over anyway, so it wasn’t like a surprise. Arama growled at the pain. He had told her, “You might die before you get help. That would just be but more cruelty,” before helping her to a farmacista. “You’re really thinking this through,” she had almost retorted. But she couldn’t understand what he was thinking. How could anyone change at such a moment? Maybe after you killed someone, then you might repent. But this was really weird. Although Ilazio had saved her life, and been very emotional about it too, now he seemed rather cold to her. She had made a few attempts at light conversazione to distract herself from her pain, pain that the brooding man sitting on the stool opposite her bed had caused and didn’t seem to care that she was suffering, and he had all but ignored her. How could he care for her all of the sudden? To help save her life, to give her food and water, and even do his best to make her comfortable. Arama tried to see through the man. She had met one or two pacifisti before, tame people, but she had never heard their stories. Was this how it happened? She didn't understand. These thoughts only made the throbbing worse. Arama’s head sagged back against the soft pillow, darkness enclosing her as her tired eyelids fluttered and then shut. Her breath came normally now. “Grazie,” she muttered in her sleep. “Molto grazie.” .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
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The woods of Avalonia were home to many critters, familiar and rare, wild and civilised, magical and mundane. One that was rarely sighted was the shy talzoin. Sometimes called “cave-bears”, the talzoin lived underground in the Wizard’s Spine mountains. The bipedal creatures were covered in thick grey fur and sported four eyes, which granted clear sight in the dark caverns and tunnels they carved in their subterranean domain. On odd occasions, talzoin would emerge into the surface forests for a spot of moonlight.
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[Freebuild] Hunting the blue woolly eel (Anguilla galidoris)
Eyrezer posted a topic in Guilds of Historica
The build: Hunting the blue woolly eel (Anguilla galidoris) The story: Every spring, baby blue woolly eels migrated up rivers from the ocean, a highly anticipated chance to catch the small delicacy. Its ocean breeding grounds had never been found, a mystery the mermaid Ciara and her ikateren friend, Weroti, were determined to solve. They tracked the elvers into the depths of the ocean, fending off shark and other predators of the deep. Eventually, they came across an ancient seamount, covered with corals, kelp and other life. As they drew close, the pair saw two of the monstrously large blue woolly eels, their gaping maws displaying circle after circle of razor sharp teeth. Could these be the original progenitors of the tiny delicacy? Ciara knew no one would believe them - unless they could bring back one of the eels as a trophy! The hunters: Ciara was a young mermaid, living in a commune off the southern coast of Avalonia. For work, she tended the kelp gardens and warded off the giant sea turtles that liked to uproot the plants. She was often seen riding the wake of the Varlyrian schooners that traded goods along the Avalonia coast. Weroti was a wiry ikateren, a tentacled race allied with the mermaids. Weroti was the spawn of the local chieftainess and recently earned his coming of age tattoo on his arm. He was eager to prove himself as a worthy heir to his mother despite it being almost unheard of for a male to lead an ikateren school. Ikaterens were bipedal creatures typically patterned in orange, red or green. They had fins on their legs and a long spiny tail that aided in swimming and balance. They had black eyes and two wattles around their mouths. Build notes: -
Shisha Parlor Zahra’s Hookah Lounge in old Petraea is as exquisite as it is exclusive. The finest flavored hashish is smoked in a luxurious rooms with impeccable service.
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In the glorious city of Albion, the capital of Avalonia, there are many taverns and inns famous for their fantastic food and drink. This particular tavern is a popular hangout for Avalonian guardsmen and servers a large variety of ales and other spirits.\ I built this nearly a year ago now, but I was waiting to try and build a landscape to go with it ( which never happened), and I forgot that I hadn't posted it to GoH yet.
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[Freebuild] Something was rotten in the forest of Notomys
Eyrezer posted a topic in Guilds of Historica
The build: Something was rotten in the forest of Notomys The story: After the archery graduation ceremony at Slågö Farm, Tarra rejoined her litter mates at their trappers’ camp in the forest. While she loved the women in the local archery militia – their steely determination to protect their families, their commitment to mastering their skills, and the warmth of community they shared – they were still foreign. Human ways were different and often strange to the ways of Tarra’s people, the Jerboans. Take for instance, the women’s militia garb. It wasn’t a uniform – they were too informal for that – but most chose to dress in green robes thinking this would help them blend into the Enchanted Forest. Maybe it did if you relied so heavily on sight, but for Jerboans, whose ears were as large as heads, all it did was generate many sounds foreign to the woods: leather rubbing on wool; wool rubbing on burlap; burlap rubbing on furs. She’d tried suggesting the women wear less but that idea had only gained traction with Scythia the Cyclops – and even Tarra herself opposed that idea! In her absence, Tarra’s litter mates Otis and Bibly had continued trapping and skinning martens. This season they’d set up temporary camp near a pond that provided ready access to fresh water. Marten furs fetched a good price at the hamlet of Notomys and it had been a bumper season. “Look at this monster,” said Otis eagerly on Tarra’s return, showing off a plump marten. “I should get double for this pelt!” “‘We’ will get double”, she corrected as she deposited a freshly caught hare by their hut. The camp was simple – not like the elaborate structures her human friends built: a simple semi-circular hut, covered in treated hides; a small cooking brazier; a drying rack; and a few supplies that couldn’t be foraged from the surrounding lands. This was another difference between the Jerboans and Humans – the former preferred more nomadic or semi-nomadic lifestyles while Humans seems to prefer to hide behind large stones. As Humans had moved in the Jerboans had accommodated them but it led to the curious naming of the hamlet Notomys. The word “Notomys” literally meant home in the Jerboan language but it had become just a place signifier in the common tongue. About a week later, the trappers received an unexpected visitor – another Jerboan accompanied by a white swap wolf. “Bayawarra!” called Tarra, recognising their guest. While Tarra and Bayawarra were from different packs, they had fought alongside each other in the Notomys militia years earlier. “It’s been too long. Do you know Otis and Bilby?” she said, introducing her litter mates. After introductions and niceties, Bayawarra took Tarra aside, his nose wrinkling as it did when he was contemplating something serious. “This isn’t just a friendly visit,” he began. “Have you … have you seen anything strange recently?” “Strange? Yes, definitely”, chuckled Tarra nervously, “I saw Bibly do some actual work!” “Oi! I can still hear you from over here,” interjected Bilby from the other end of the camp, “these ears aren’t just to make me pretty!” “But seriously, no, we haven’t seen anything odd that comes to mind. Why?” Bayawarra continued, “I’ve increasingly been coming across animal corpses in the woods, but they haven’t been eaten – or even touched by wildlife – as you’d expect. And some have had … well mutilations is the best work I can think of. Hearts removed but nothing else. And what concerns me most is that I can barely find tracks to follow.” He paused, petting his wolf. “Simma here can pick up a little scent, but I can tell it’s unfamiliar to her.” “Gosh – no we haven’t seen anything like that. It sounds creepy! You don’t suppose… no… Look, if you can’t track it, I’m not sure that I can do much better.” “Perhaps, but you know this area far better than I do. I’m starting to miss the Inner Marshes. I would really appreciate your help tracking this down – if you’re free to come that is.” Tarra knew a request like this from Bayawarra would only come if he was deeply worried. What could she say but yes? “Sure, Bay, I’ll come. Can you stay for some tucker first or do you want to move straight away?” Bayawarra agreed to spend the rest of the day at the camp. That night they all traded stories over the campfire; Bilby adding levity with his comic impersonations of friends and foes alike; Otis delighting with a few of the simple magic tricks he was practicing; and the tracking animals – Bay’s marsh wolf, Otis’ corhounds and Tarra’s fox – sniffing and grooming each other. It was a moment of rest and tranquility that poorly foreshadowed what was to come. Build notes: More photos on my Flickr album. -
[Freebuild] Embervale Advent Calendar 2021 - Heroic Fantasy
Aurore posted a topic in Guilds of Historica
It's this time of the year again - the time to light the fireplace, grab a glass of mulled wine and count the days before Christmas! From tomorrow onwards, I'll update this topic with a small build or a minifig per day. This year's theme will be broadly heroic fantasy, with comments from my main GOH characters Alrune (elven mage and lady of Embervale), her uncle Dresghar and Evrart (the only human soldier among their guards, the other ones being goblins). Now let's get started! -
I recently built the small Disney castle, which put me in a fairy-tale mood. So here is something more...sugary than usual. Now I need to find a bridge to my main storyline... The main photo is my entry for the "Kiosks" contest on Brickcentral, while the tidy vignette version is my entry for the "12x12 Vignette" category of Brickscalibur. Once upon a time, far away in the heart of the Enchanted Lands, there was a city. A city of lights and wonders, a city renowned for its alluring balls and fascinating masquerades. And in this city, there was a little mask-maker who had a secret...
