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Exetrius posted a topic in Guilds of HistoricaOnwards, to the Moruth Higlands! The Civil War of Nocturnus was yet to reach its climax. Lord Raavage had moved into the Rakath Mountains to retrieve the Necromancer's Helm, accompanied by a strong military force to ensure the perilous descent into the underworld was victorious. With part of Raavage's attention and strength diverted, the forces of the Resistance moved to the heart of Nocturnus - the Moruth Highlands - by the thousands, to strike the Black Spire as hard as they could. Gal-Turok's army split up in numerous groups, each heading their own way through the Moruth Swamplands. One such group had almost crossed the Moruth, when they ran into a checkpoint. Guard In the name of Shadowmere, I require you to state your name and business! Goblin chief I have orders not to answer to mere minions. Let us pass, or bring me your superior! Guard Well, aren't we being a little rough, Southerner - Guard 2 - He will be here shortly. Messenger Sorry to keep you waiting, sirs. Our chief is busy at the moment, but I can authorise you to pass if - Goblin chief - Authority or not, the battle is out there, and we gotta go! Messenger Hang on, hold up! I have intel on what's up ahead, but first I need you to verify you are men of Gal-Turok. Goblin chief Isn't that obvious then? Messenger I'm terrible sorry to tell you this, but there have been reports of complete goblin squadrons resurrected by the Spire, sir. That news had to settle. The goblin chief promply removed his helmet. Goblin chief ... Unbelievable, that can't be! How... vile, they are! Alright, here is my seal ring. I can assure you my men are alive, even if some don't seem like they are, and we are twenty-four in total; six canoes. Messenger That's all I needed to know, sir. Please proceed! Goblin chief My men, we are moving! Thank you.. eh- Messenger -Keruem, sir. Be wary of the friends who are foes. Goblin chief We will... --- Hi, here's another scene from the Nocty Civil war (previous one: Ambush in the Rakath). I hope you like it!
Since departing from Baron Lonnidas, night had fell, and Remington wandered through the lamplit streets almost aimlessly. "You can't miss it; they say all paths in Rockwail lead there." Remington was dubious as to wether Lonnidas's statement was true, as he had been walking for several hours and the only thing he'd found that even resembled the mausoleum was a small undertaker's shop, the owner of which was convinced that Remington must try out one of his coffins. He also noted another peculiar thing about Rockwail; while there were quite a few people out and about during the day, it was nowhere near the amount of people on the streets at night. It seemed the entire city was nocturnal- even cold-blooded creatures like snake and frog people. Somebody around must have known how to get to the mausoleum, but asking for directions was more than difficult with no voice... If he could curse under his breath, he would have. Eventually, the bard came to a cross in the roads. He looked down the pathways and saw that they all seemed to diverge out into more and more roads, all expanding outwards from his point. So where was the mausoleum? Suddenly, Remington was distracted by the sounds of a struggle, and peered down the unlit path where the noise came from. Out of the darkness ran a snakeman, clutching something in his hand. Under the light of the lamp beside him, Rot could make out that it was some sort of yellow gemstone. Then another figure burst out of the shadows, wearing a leather cuirass, and a large helmet. "Stop that man! My diamond!" cried the figure. Remington shrugged. What was the worst that could happen? As the snakeman passed him, he swung his loot into his nose, knocking him down onto the ground. The other figure caught up quickly and stumbled to a stop, panting heavily. Once he regained his composure, he picked up and pocketed the gemstone, then turned to Remington. "Good sir, that was a mighty swing for a bard! I do hope your lute is undamaged." He spoke loudly and with a regal accent. Remington looked over his lute and ran his gloved fingers across it. Other than a small blood stain, it seemed to be ok. He raised his thumb to the man. "Excellent! That is good news. My name is Sir... Sir Knight... Ahem, Sir Knightington!" The bard raised an eyebrow. "Sir... Crownknight?" "Fine," he sighed, dropping the accent to reveal the ragged, hissing voice of an orc, "it's Keel. That diamond is a family heirloom. Listen; I owe you, big time. If there's anything you need, I'll do it." With a smile, Remington pulled the letter out of his pocket, wiped a droplet of blood from the snakeman's nose, and scrawled 'mausoleum' on the back of the paper. "The mausoleum? It's right there... How did you not notice it? Anyway, if you're going in there, I can help you out. It's pretty dangerous, but I've been before," Keel responded. "So... What are you waiting for? Let's go!" --- Sorry about the poor quality of some of these photos, I didn't notice until after I'd taken them. Some more pictures of the moc: I'm not as happy with this as I was with my last moc, because when I built it I was pretty low on parts from being too lazy to break down my previous builds. I'm probably going to build some more Rockwail stuff in the future, but this should be one of the last builds of the Rockwail streets for a while. The next build you can expect from me will be of the catacombs beneath the city... C&C are welcome, have a great day!
Remington Rot knew from the moment he entered Moruth that it was going to be uncomfortable, but he never guessed that I would be quite as bad as it was. The air in the swamp was so thick you could cut it, and the strong, stale smell of the moat water (if the oozing, green mass could even be called that any more) lingered in the back of the dead man's throat like an unwanted guest. Out of the ground before him rose the looming outer walls of Rockwail- the safest place in Moruth. Unlike many of the swamp villages, Rockwail was built on a bed of rock; in fact, the whole fortress was believed to be carved out of one huge boulder by dwarves hundreds of years prior. The place was surrounded by a field of smaller boulders, floating in the stagnant waters of the swamps, giving the local area the name 'the Boulderbogs'. At the gates of the stronghold, Remington handed the guard on duty a letter. The man looked Rot up and down scrutinisingly, before scanning over the letter and handing it back to him. "Hmm. Sounds believable to me. I'll take you to the Baron." Remington nodded. The guard inserted a large key into one of the doors and twisted it. With an audible thunk, the door unlocked, and he hauled it open. "Come on in. I'm gonna guess Theophraster told you how to get here?" Remington nodded once more. "Figures. Him and the Baron were close. Y'know, you're lucky to be here. Not many people outside these walls know that this place exists. That's why they call it the secret city." The two passed through the gates and walked briskly down a long, twisting, cobblestone road. Being inside the walls showed the place to be less of a stronghold and more of a small city- crooked, towering buildings lined the streets and dark shadows were cast over the ground by the makeshift wooden walkways above them. Rockwail was a sprawling, squalid maze of narrow pathways and haphazardly constructed dwellings that leaned into one another like drunkards. The style of architecture seemed to change from building to building, and Remington recognised several different species and ethnicities as he and the guard wandered through the town. "You didn't see all this from the outside, huh? Yeah, not many can see through the magic shield Theophraster put up when he and Baron Lonnidas started to put Rockwail together. Takes a very powerful mage to see through it. They say people don't even see the walls of this place unless they're expecting to." As they began to reach the north-easterly corner of the city, the houses seemed to thin out and the paths got thicker. The very corner of the wall was in sight. Remington recognised the dwarven stylings in the wall; they reminded him of the lavish guild halls he used to sing in. The ground was no longer cobbled- instead, it was simply rough stone, and they walked down a gravel path. Wooden scaffolding was put up in the corner, where it seemed the last of the dwarven tiles lay. The beaten, crumbling walls really showed the age of the place. "There used to be a shrine to some dwarven god here, hence the fancy tiles, but it collapsed in an earthquake. It was a long time ago, though- before any of us, or anybody else alive for that matter. Before they even built the walls. They reckon this spot was what Rockwail started from," the guard told Remington. He wasn't sure how long the guard had been talking, as he was too busy taking everything in, but he got the gist of what he was saying; Rockwail was old. Remington spotted a tall man standing at the bottom of the scaffolds, and guessed by the epaulettes that he was the baron. He was a heavyset man, wearing worn scale-mail, a thick, grey cloak and the beige sleeves signature to the guards Remington had seen around the city (and, indeed, beside him). The Baron carried a longsword and a slightly rusted shield from the Ssilyrrlith era. A black eyepatch covered one of his eyes, and Remington could see the pink end of a ragged scar poking out beneath it, running down his cheek. "Baron! I have a man here to see you, name of Remington Rot. He can't speak, and has a letter for you to read- it says he knows Theophraster," the guard spoke up to the baron, then handed him the letter. Baron Lonnidas nodded as he read through it, his long hair bobbing slightly, and when he spoke, his moustache wriggled like a caterpillar. "Hmm, very good, Petir. You can leave now, I'll talk to the boy." The guard, Petir, then left hurriedly. "So, boy, you know Theophraster? He's an old friend of mine, a good man. I understand you're looking for your voice?" Remington nodded enthusiastically. "Well, you're in luck. I know how to help you out; one of the guards, Gawyne, had a similar problem, and he found his voice in a place in Avalonia, called the Hall of Songs. i don't know the way there, but he said he was guided by a traveller named The Weaver, and I do know where to find them. In the middle of the city is an ancient dwarven mausoleum known as the gauntlet. You can't miss it; they say all paths in Rockwail lead there. The mausoleum leads to a series of catacombs, where The Weaver trains. But, by the looks of you, you won't make it through easily on your own. I'd look for a mercenary to help take you to The Weaver." Remington processed the information slowly, then finally nodded and smiled. "Glad to be of assistance. Any friend of Theophraster is a friend of mine. Good luck, Remington Rot." --- So, that's part deux of Remington's story. Now time for some extra pictures of the moc. The whole moc! The back is super ugly, and I sorta forgot to make battlements for the rear of the wall (y'know, where they're most needed... :| ). The scaffolding, and a closer look at the dwarven architecture. Well, I think that's all. C&C is welcome!
Remington Red was once the greatest and most famous bard in all of Historica. He was well known for his talent across all instruments, but he favoured the classic lute when he sung his songs. His talent was so great, that it is said he could beat any challenger in a musical duel; however, this turned out to be more of a gift than a curse, and many other bards from across the country grew to despise him. Red's ego grew and grew until he started to get noticed by forces greater than himself. A great and powerful demon, Zoroaster Bombaster, challenged Red to a battle of the bards and, using his demonic talents and trickery, managed to beat the bard at his own game. The price for losing was his soul, and Red died soon after. However, in Nocturnus, death is only temporary. Theophraster Bombaster, the half-brother of Zoroaster, brought the bard back to life as Remington Rot, in hopes that he would defeat Zoroaster so that Theophraster could take his throne. Upon death, one generally finds that they lose their ability to talk- and despite no longer being under the ground, Remington Rot had no voice. Thus, he found himself in the swamps of Moruth in search of Baron Lonnidas, one of the few people he knew would be able to get him his voice back. After all, how could Rot once again become the greatest bard in Historica without being able to sing? --- This is the start of the adventures of my sigfig, Remington Rot, and my first set of mocs for GoH! C&C is appreciated :)