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Not all of Mitgardia is covered in snow year-round! Outposts in the south near Avalonia usually experience four seasons every year and are considered particularly nice postings among the Guild's soldiers. Wow, I'm truly amazed this thing has been going for 10 years now! A couple more pictures are here. C&C always appreciated!
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The Goddess: Hel Entry for GOH's Anniversary Challenge: Tale. Before continuing, make sure to read the prequel, so it makes (more) sense: Chapter I: The Last Eye As always, a cup of warm beverage should go well from this point on. Enjoy! ... The road tightened between two ebony walls, lost among grey twisting clouds, and Fiobvr felt the need to breath deep and swallow his own freezing breath to make sure his chest would fill. At the bottom, where the parallel walls met the ground, two wooden towers erupted next to a long wall of black timber, and a small, almost hidden gate hailed unlikely wanderers. In its front, a set of spikes carved onto the ground, pointed towards the road, and reminded unwelcomed visitors to turn on their heaves. What once was a forgotten village, almost overnight, had become a stronghold secluded from the world they all knew. The gorge. A roar thundered, as the wind hissed and spit sideways defying the Norseman against a falling pit. Every move could mean a stumble and every stumble could be his last. Away from the dirt path, he walked unnoticed through the mountain, barely seeing beyond the fog. He climbed the ebony rock until he found a crack with a smooth surface and a canopy to protect from the storm, high enough for him to gaze inside the walls. And there he stood, deafened by an eternal whistle, watching the stillness of the gorge, where day and night were just the same, and no living person would pass by. Until one day, someone did. From the snow-covered path, among the clouds that drifted low over the ground, a figure covered in pelts appeared as if from nowhere. He led a small cart pulled by a scrawny mule. Its load tightened under a blanket. He stood by the gates for longer than one should and waited to be greeted. But as far as he could tell, no one was around. Not at the watchtowers, not at the clearing path, and not a glow of a lamp light was seen in the past days. For what he knew, the place was empty. Yet, lifeless as it was, a buzzling sound clang and the crackling of wood echoed along the corridor formed by the mountains. A small fissure cut the wooden walls, and the gates of Völsung yawned open. The cart rider dumped his load in the stronghold’s deserted patio. A dozen long and heavy sacks piled atop each other and rolled sideways on the snow. He dragged the sacks one by one, aligning them as a farmer prepares the land for a crop. Once all twelve sacks were displayed, he opened each, revealing twelve bare corpses that lay still on a cold white blanket. The man rushed to his cart and pulled the reins, leaving behind a trail of death. On a ledge on the face of the mountain, one man stood still, grasping for an understanding that did not come. But from beneath the wind, the storm, and the dancing fog, inside those walls, a faint orange light glistered at the base of the opposite ridge. What looked to be a wall of stone was turned into a hollow cloister inside the mountain. The faint light became brighter, and the silhouette of a person stood under the cold archway marking the entrance of a grotto. Its face was protected by a hood and a cloak clapped and flapped in the wind. A staff pierced the white ground as the person stood in front of the line of silent bodies. From inside the cave, ten, twenty, thirty men appeared carrying twelve wooden logs, cut, and scraped with perfection. Next to the corpses, those big chunks of wood were loosened. And as if moved by the same rhythm, like a dance they practiced over and over, all bodies were tied to the logs and lifted. Twelve pillars were pinned to the ground, pointing to grey skies, served as racks to the bodies, purple with cold that hung feet up and heads down, aiming at an empty bucked that trembled in the breeze. The hooded figure then lifted her staff and pressed it against one of the hanging man’s chest that bent inwards with a crack. A black whole twinkled when the staff was pulled, and a black viscous liquid slithered across the man’s chest and neck. It drifted, dividing itself upon reaching his chin and ears, consuming his expressionless face before dripping on the bucket beneath him. And soon, she had twelve buckets filled with the black liquor of death. All men walked back inside the cave, buckets in hand, as the woman followed. Her cloak flapping with excitement. She then stopped and turned, facing the pillars. As she opened her arms and bent her head to the sky, a glowing light kindled at the bottom of each pillar, fighting against the blowing ice with unfair advantage, for within a heartbeat, a small flare turned into a firepit that consumed twelve heads, twelve bodies, twelve men. Just as it all started, the raging storm swiped, taking Fiobvr from his feet. Icicles flew, cutting the air with the force of a thousand blades. A roar bellowed from the sky and made the world tremble when the warrior heard a voice whisper in his head. The storm washed the clearing with a new layer of untouched snow, finding its way across the tight walls of the gorge. And where once was a woman, now remained only the shadowed entrance of a cave. ... After two days tucked in a whole, up on the road, another cart appeared. The norseman left his post and moved behind the cart as it stopped by the piercing pikes and thick wooden walls of Völsung. As the rider waited on the thundering winds, Fiobvr sneaked under the cloth protecting the content, and waited in the dark, together with the cold remnants of his fellow northern men. A roar echoed through the gorge and the cart moved once again. Fiobvr closed his eyes and let himself be manipulated. Tossed, pushed, and dragged on the snow, he struggled to contain his grunts and shivers. And once the cart rider rode back to where he came, the warrior opened his eyes to see a line of twelve bodies resting on the ground, where he was the thirteenth. He shook the snow, ran, and ducked next to the entrance of the cave, praying he had remained unseen. Within moments, that faint orange light glistered from inside the cave once again, and an army of men walked out, followed by a woman. Her face was painted blue, and she held a staff ornamented with teeth and bones, dragging a line on the pale ground. Fiobvr was fast to sneak inside the cave. While he made his way past tunnels and wholes, the idea of a staff piercing his chest crossed his mind and a taste of metal touched his tongue. The snow dissipated inside the cave, and for a moment, the warrior felt lost under the faint glow of the torches. But beneath the dust that covered the ground, he noticed the weak markings of a trail. He followed. His steps echoed with the slightest move, and found himself in a room, where the air turned thick and warm, and the stone walls flashed like fire. A set of pillars held the ceiling from falling, and a set of steps, carved in the stone, led to an altar, where a thousand candles burned. But among the tinkling blaze and the muffled scent of smoke, a pile of bones intertwined and melded to form the throne of an unborn king. It was an ugly thing. Cracked bones made the throne’s arms, spines made the spindles, femurs made the uneven frame of the rails, and every inch made Fiobvr shiver with the sour taste of his stomach. Next to the throne, he saw a bowl made of rock. It was filled with a thick dark liquid that lay still and shone with the blaze of the candlelight. Fiobvr examined and thought of those men tied overturned in the open. But from the narrow entrance of the room, he heard the mumble of footsteps, and a faint glowing light swept the ground. He ran and hid behind a pillar, watching the room get smaller and smaller. The ground shook, and an army approached, moved by the power of one piece: the sorceress. Eleven buckets were emptied in the basin, and it drank the liquid with an unhuman thirst. The walls narrowed and a wind swiped. The deep echo of a voice, exulting in a feast sounded when the buckets filled the bowl, calming its belly, and pleasing its spirit. “Feed me”, it said in a deep voice that rang in the warrior’s chest. And as the twelfth bucket spilled its content, a drop cracked the surface and slithered to the floor. All men kneeled as the sorceress stood feet away from the basin and turned, staring at the twisted empty throne. Arms wide open, she bent her head to the ceiling and the white balls in her sockets glistered with the dancing light of the candles. She then uttered words he could not understand and struck her staff on the floor, when a cold wind swiped, darkening the room in an unbroken shadow, leaving behind a fumed scent. An empty silence prevailed. But the tinkle of a drop hitting the surface shredded the stillness of the void, followed by another drop and one further. And the gutting growl of a beast echoed in a slow demonic breather, confronting all men’s beliefs. A single candle kept its light, and under a faint glow he saw the throne was no longer empty. The sorceress hissed with a trembling voice and a few more candles lit, revealing what Fiobvr never though his eyes would see. Atop the altar, materialized what could only be the proof the Gods had turn their backs on the land of the living. For there stood a beast that was not living nor dead. A shadow drifted on floor and as it thickened, it formed the whiskered hooves of a goat, wrapped in a sinuous tail. Following its belt, it built the naked torso of a man. A layer of stretched skin covered the remnants of its pale flesh hanging from a whole amidst the broken bones of an opened chest. From atop his head, two horns twisted over edged ears. But those eyes... made of the piercing flame of the Ancient Ones, were soaked in angst and horror. They took every breath, every glimpse, and every soul. Two red eyes cut the dark, iced the room and filled it in dismay. “Look me in the eye and face your summoner”, the sorceress found her voice looking straight at the beast, as it muttered a visceral rumble like a starving animal. “Take me to your garden and open your gates to me, for now what divides our worlds apart... is no more” she shouted, as the beast roared and clamped its boned jaw. “Embrace me as your own and let us seek those who oppose our ways. Take me to an eternal life and let us rule the world from beneath the earth, from above the clouds and from between the winds”. She cried, as the candles raged across the room with a raging whistle. “Take my hand and I’ll raise as the Goddess of Life and Death!”. With open arms, she reached out her hand. The beast did the same as its cold fingers touched the woman’s flesh. Their fingers entwined and never parted. Beast and sorceress walked to the throne at the center of the room, as they revealed to the world their unity in a ceremony despised by the gods. The woman sat, chin up and spine stretched, as her smile glistered in the fire, and a soft voice reverberated once more: “My queen...”. With the flick of a candlelight, just as the spirit appeared, the cave was left in the dark, and both vanished in the air, into the underworld, leaving behind an empty throne made of bones. … Fiobvr found himself alone, walking through the dark tunnels of Völsung. He found its way out of the fortress, out of the fog, but his mind never left. Three days passed as he approached the flowing banners that marked the entrance to the village he knew so well. A hollow belly and the memories of a horned spirit loaded his thoughts. But the jittering and mumbling of wandering people, merchants shouting, and farmers farming was blurred by an unusual silence that made Fiobvr’s throat tighten once again. He led his hand over his chest, searching for a hole that he could not see, but swore was there. His hand lowered and squeezed the hilt of his sword as his feet sunk in the snow. There, where four familiar walls made of stone met, remained nothing but a colorful sea of distant memories fading with the white snow. Buried in the cold, the souls of a thousand loved ones searched for the rascal that inflicted their tragic fate. Two red eyes that would forever stare into Fiobvr’s dreams. Hel. THE END. ___________ Louis of Nutwood For Mitgardia! If you've reached this point, thank you so much for reading through. Please, let me know what you think of the build and the story. Skol!
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Ütoverögat Entry for GOH's Anniversary Challenge: Tower. (As always, a cup of warm beverage should go well with the following read. Enjoy!) High up in the cold mountain peaks of the white north, where the winds hissed and the storms blew, there was one rule that reigned above all: the rule of the stronger. Younglings were thought to embrace the snow, to cherish the blowing wind and to endure with a hollow belly. The ones who took those teachings by heart were most likely to survive the bleak environment of the vast and unexplored Frozen Beyond. Yet even those who grew a thick skin and sustained through nights of famine were subject to perish on the hands of wild beasts, raging diseases or lingering savage tribes. To survive meant to gather and form a family. For as a group, people were stronger, and for the group they fought not only for their own lives, but for the ones they have learned to share their lives with. There was one village, though, that contrasted from the rising communities. Instead of relying on fishing and agriculture, and establishing trade relations with neighboring families, they trusted on a different source of strength that was unknown to most. This village, called Völsung, was establish up in the North, somewhere past the last remaining road. In the center of a gorge, it was surrounded by two ebony cliffs of frozen black stone, where rivers have dried, trees did not grow, and no animal found reason to walk by. It was a dead land, buried under a thick mist and doomed to remain untouched, hidden from gods and men. But fat wooden towers, heavy timbered walls, and massive speared palisades appeared over time, indicating the entrance to an uninviting nest. It raised suspicion amongst the northern clans. After all, how could these people survive in the middle of nowhere, under an unstopping storm, without provisions from any of the known villages and apparently, without ever opening their gates? Everyone had questions, but no one dared speaking aloud. That same year, as all years past, just when the winds turned colder and the frost covered the crops, people were called to prepare for the time of shortage and ensure their comfort during days of blizzard. But that year, winter came in a flash. Faster and stronger. Even those accustomed to a life of clenching teeth felt tricked by the gods, for the blowing winds came without a warning and brought the thickest clouds and a lingering shadow that enforced an unending night over their homes. A darkness that took away their harvests, their sleep, their children. Everything. People cloistered. They hid themselves from the unnatural force they could only assume was cast by the gods and prayed their villages would not be chosen. Still, a small group of men set foot on the road with only their loved ones in mind, and blades in their scabbards to calm their disquiet. But this winter was different. They fought against time and nature to stock for a time of uncertainty. Yet they strove to understand a force that slipped from the grasp of reason. Fiobvr followed, as it was his duty, and prayed in silence in an unsettling farewell. “I’ll always protect you”, whispered the farmer to his family, facing the spreading clouds over the mountaintops. ... Fiobvr walked the lonely streets of the camp he knew so well, under a black mantel that covered the world. Starless skies swallowed his puzzling dreams and filled his chest with frozen air. The distant glow of a dancing fire revealed at least one man amongst all farmers and fishermen was awake. There was no doubt. He knew who it was, and therefore forced himself to think of scenarios in being summoned at this hour, while all others slept, meant a good thing. But no blessing came to mind. The lingering air inside the tent was thick and warm, and Fiobvr thanked the Gods for feeling the tips of his callused fingers once again. Leaning over a hardwood table, the figure of a man made of nothing but muscle, dwelled over a wrinkled map as his hair, clamped in silver rings hung over the world as a pendulum. His eyes turned to the woken farmer, briefly turned into a warrior, and a puff of air fled from his clenched teeth. “Gather your belongings and empty your tent. You will leave at first light,” said the chieftain from behind a thick beard. “You may form a group of men to accompany you, to make sure your travels are safe.” “All of my belongings, Lord?”, Fiobvr said puzzled. “Where should I leave to?” The Chieftain emptied his lungs and his head sunk between his broad shoulders, as his eyes wafted across the map. “A messenger was sent west to report on our families”. He paused, looking for words. “Many villages remain tall and strong. These have opened their gates to the neighboring families in need. Some other villages, though... had to be evacuated”. His finger drifted across the map and landed over a vast forest Fiobvr recognized in a heartbeat. There was a handful of friendly villages, and amongst them, Høydefür, the one village he knew more than any other. Home. His mind was filled by warm thoughts of Nyeda and his sisters, Phili and Teri. Yet, he shivered, conceding the arrival of the sudden winter, and realizing his task up in the cold mountains of the North was far from complete. “For all we know, Høydefür fell.” Are they safe? Fiobvr wanted to ask, but a sudden freeze grabbed his throat, and he could not find his voice. “Roligsfrakk is well provisioned, and I trust your family will find comfort by their heaths. But I reckon your sisters will feel safer in your presence,” said the warlord, his breath frosting in the dim light. His braided hair swung like a bell, from one side of the map to the other. Fiobvr followed. “The last group... they did not go west,” Fiobvr observed. But in truth, he did not need the reply. He was summoned in the middle of the night, not to bring distress. He was asked to leave before dawn, not to raise more speculation, he figured. That meant all he needed to know, and a sudden shudder raised to his collar. The chieftain’s eyes moved across the map up to the north, and stood over a neck, where two ridges met. The gorge. “Everything leads to the same place. The Frozen Beyond.” He grunted. “We can send men to protect the whole land. But until we understand what happens inside those walls... we and our families will live in fear, waiting for a shadow to swallow the sun and bury ourselves in the snow”. His eyes left the map and stared into the night beyond the cloth of his tent, as the candlelight danced in the silence. Rumors. Fiobvr heard all of them. People spoke of sorcery and Seidr magic. Of a blood-thirsty creature brought from the underworld that meandered with the winds. Of a whisper chanting in the storm. Of the return of the undead... Rumors. Nothing but rumors. That was what he kept telling himself. But truth be told, they haunted his sleepless nights. Because beyond the rumors, Fiobvr saw the villages with his own eyes. Dortvaenir, Khardun, Sjenervandt, once prosperous and full of life, were taken by the storm in a sudden, and were now sunken in the snow. Deserted. Taken by the dark shadows of an unknown strength, blowing from the North, and their people were nowhere to be seen. It all happened so fast! He knew the rumors, aye. But those were not the works of rumors. Those were something else. Fiobvr swallowed and struggled to find his voice. The image of empty cobblestone streets filled his mind and twisted his guts. The chieftain’s words echoed in his mind. “Until we understand... our families will live in fear.” “Aye. I’ll leave before dawn.” A distant glow burned the sky behind the cracked contour of the mountains, taking the night as the falling snow covered the footsteps of the Norseman marching into the frozen mist. ... Amidst the white fog and the cutting storm, the shadow of a structure, tall as a mountain, defied the cruel weather. From atop the wooden pillars flapped the green and golden banner of the northern folk, marking the final stretch of the world known to men. Ütoverögat. The last eye. Fiobvr stopped. His feet hiding in the snow, cloak flapping in the wind. Before reaching the arch of stone that divided the two worlds, he looked over his shoulder, beyond the path that brought him thus far. He glared beyond the mountaintops and the grey sky. Gazing deep into the past, he embraced the warmest of his memories, and begged for the spirits to guide his path. From this point on, what remained was the unknown of the Frozen Beyond. “I’ll always protect you,” he whispered once more, hoping to meet his family once again. ... ... Following chapter: Chapter II: Daemon's Throne ________ Louis of Nutwood For Mitgardia! Hope you all like it, and if you had time to read (thank you!), please let me know your thoughts. Skol!
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Previously: A New Post at Gammeltårn Party Supplies Perils Old and New Unsought but Welcome Out Through the Market Embarking Once Førstlys had disappeared in the distance, the wind caught their sails and the ship surged westward, slicing through the growing whitecaps and skipping over the deepening troughs between the swells. Their course carried them rapidly past the rocky southern coast of the Burial Isle, whose sloping hills soon grew to craggy peaks and towering cliffs. Throughout the afternoon they kept their distance from the increasingly jagged shore, for which Kjell was thankful, as the seas rolled more violently the further they sailed. He felt his nerves were tight enough just worrying about the waves, and wasn't sure he'd be able to worry about the mighty rocks against which they crashed as well. He and the other men said very little, each fighting his stomach (with varying success), while the gold-clad elves moved quickly and efficiently around them, seemingly unperturbed by the motion of their vessel. As the sun descended and lit upon the horizon, the old elf turned to his helmsman. "Vaikea olla oikealla." The helmsman shouted a few quick commands and, to Kjell's alarm, the ship wheeled about quickly and tacked rapidly to the north, directly towards the cliffs. He wanted to yell, but dared not open his mouth. In a matter of minutes the dark mass of the coast loomed before them, and to either side in the gathering twilight could be seen great sea rocks, jutting from the churning waves like gnarled fingers. Panic began to overtake Kjell; gone was the nausea, and in its place was the hollow fear that he might soon be swallowed by the endless, frigid darkness upon which they foolishly danced. Beside him the old elf was calm. Soon the foam of the mountainous swells, which relentlessly battered the rapidly-nearing cliffs, was all that could be seen in the dusk. The old elf raised his right hand before him, his left hand held to his chest, and quietly but clearly spoke, "Kuíave fōd thu luz." Out of the night a pale light shot across their path, illuminating the base of the cliffs in a blue glow, and beyond it the waves seemed to calm. Still, before the ship they yet surged, and the old elf turned once again and spoke to his helmsman, "Tee kaivoon, setten nomeasti vasemmalle." The ship shifted course slightly, cutting along a deep valley in the water. Kjell couldn't breath. The helmsman shouted again, they shot across the light onto smooth water, and immediately turned hard to port. They glided over the glassy surface, down a narrow aisle of water between the rock face and the luminous wall that held the raging sea at bay, and Kjell saw that the light progressed in a steady chain between the sea rocks. As they neared one, the dim light revealed that the wall issued from openings in a structure that was built into the landward side of the rock, hidden from any eyes that would dare to search from the Bay of Storms. Nearly as tall as the rock itself, the edifice towered over their ship as it passed. In awe, Kjell turned to the old elf and breathlessly asked, "What is this? Who built it?" Again, the slight smile played at the corners of the elf's eyes and he replied, "These are the Lánfadan. They were built in the long distant past by the Pinnothen, whose blood you share." Kjell could not summon a response so, unprompted, the elf continued, "They were a great students of the world about them, observant of the flow of energy through the earth, trees, and sky, and were insatiably curious. They soon mastered the ability channel that energy, direct it as they desired, and bend it to their considerable will." "They quickly became renowned as master builders and craftsmen, and a formidable force on the field of battle. Even among the mightiest of kingdoms in the land, the most prudent rulers chose to offer generous terms of allegiance." "But if they were so mighty, what became of them?" asked Kjell. "Unrivaled might is its own greatest threat," the elf replied. "With no opponents to face beyond their borders, the Pinnothen turned inward. Princes coveted the power of kings, and the wars that brother waged against brother all but destroyed them. But that, I think, is a tale for another night..."
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Felt great to do building for a GoH challenge again! The tower style is largely based on my previous Harburg Castle, which is nearly 5 years old now. Crazy. And the roof is the same basic design, and you can find our tutorial for that here. Lord Karsten always makes it a point to personally inspect the various watchtowers situated around Harburg’s borders several times a year, and often Eryl or Elise accompanies him. Recently Historica has enjoyed a time of relative peace, but Karsten won’t let his men fall into carelessness. Few more pictures on Brickbuilt.
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Previously: A New Post at Gammeltårn Party Supplies Perils Old and New Unsought but Welcome Out through the Market The quay was crowded with sailors and merchants who hurried between the boats, barges, and ships at dock. Smaller craft suited to the plying the island's rivers had nestled into the berths along the outer wall of the structure, while the seaworthy vessels were docked in the dredged-out depths of the inner harbor. The air was filled with shouting and laughter in countless tongues, and wares in all manner of boxes and caskets were piled all about. The Lord of Førstlys and his second son, Kjell, accompanied by Ulrik Dunwald and trailed by a small retinue of guards, forged their way through the bustling throngs. At the end of the quay they passed through the sturdy bastion that served as customs house, watch tower, and lighthouse, and out once more into the autumn sunlight. Beside the pier lay a ship unlike any they had ever seen. Brilliantly white and glistening with gold, it was larger than even the great Kaliphlian dromons that had sought shelter in the harbor during the Elemental Crisis, all those years ago. Before Kjell could find words to remark on the sight before them his father had hurried onward to the elf. The mysterious visitor, who had promised passage across the impassible seas that guarded the southern coast of the Burial Isle, strode forward to greet the approaching men. "My friends," he said, offering an outstretched hand, "the hour is upon us. Let us make haste, that we trade not kind winds for long farewells." Kjell's father took the elf's hand and spoke solemnly. "I fear that I shall never show you the true depths of my gratitude. Though perhaps fortune will yet favor me, and you shall grace our halls again ere the end of my rule. At that time I shall certainly try." The elf smiled and bowed his head, then turned and swept down the gangplank. The Lord of Førstlys turned to Kjell and placed an arm upon his shoulder. "My son, may the gods guard your footsteps and their wisdom guide your hand. Bring your cousin home." "As you will father," Kjell replied. He bowed, turned, and, followed closely by Ulrik, boarded the ship. The crew of elves moved deftly to cast off and set sail, and soon the quay was shrinking across the widening water. As Kjell lost sight of his father amid the teeming shadows and forms of an increasingly distant Førstlys, a wave of fear and resentment washed over him. He hated the formality and decorum that kept him from embracing his father in the face of uncertain fate, and he hoped with all his heart that that had not been the final farewell that they would share.
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Chapter 1 is there, Chapter 2 is here Chapter 3 Once, Ava left our house to scratch one more name from his list, it was the sixth or the seventh. Well, I can't remember well, it was so far from now... He left after borrowing a carriage from a neighbour of ours. He was supposed to come back within three days, however after the fourth day, he was still missing... When he reached home again on the sixth day, he told us that on the way back, he had a problem with an axle of the carriage and had to stop in the nearby town with a stable where the smith can repair. He didn't want to give back the carriage with a wheel broken... The village where he stopped is not so far from here and is well equipped. The stable even have an attic where they can store the hay surplus. Extract from the memories of Achille, woodman of Mitgardia You surely recognise the roof technic... Please do not hesitate to comment. I clearly need to improve the backwall (not pictured), but it will have a special thread on it later. I am still missing pieces so I "filled" more than really build it. Thanks to the medieval forge, I can now start build a little more... The textures is also a focus I need to have in future build. I will try to improve this one if he survive my kid play test. The awning is very fragile because I added it after building the left part of the stable... I was about to rebuild but it hold so I didn't touched it finally. I like the drinker for the horses but I find it a little crude. In the end, I would like to propose it for the phase 2 of stable for the Age of Mitgardia event.
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Dragons are somewhat rare in Mitgardia, and while some are tamable, most are deadly if reclusive wild animals. The Western Large-Maw Wyvern species is known for eating deer, bear, and especially mammoth--putting its disproportionately large head and mouth to good use. While they typically inhabit the more remote mountains and foothills north of Erikson and avoid contact with humans, every now and then one of these winged fire-breathers is pressured out of its home range and become a hungry menace to the smaller villages in the country between Erikson, Falkidalr, Nordheim, and Northridge. It's good to build in the Guilds again! I actually started the dragon before even last year's CCC and had it almost complete back then but didn't finish it or build anything to go with it. The wing fabric was designed by me in FUSION360 and then laser cut. Totally a fantastic way to do this kind of stuff as opposed to trying to cut stud-sized holes with a leather punch or something and the outline with a rotary wheel and scissors--I tried that with a test piece, it's not fun and frayed edges are a thing. CAD makes relating all the features super accurate, even through the angles created by the hinges. More angles in the Flickr album. C&C is always good.
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Chapter 1 is there. Story of Ava, chapter 2. It took him several years to scratch all the names on the list... He went through all Mitgardia to "complete" his list as he used to say... He came back from one of his travels and told me that he got the final clue to reach the destination of his quest thanks to a young girl. She was only six... I didn't asked how he got this clue. As usually, he stayed one or two days before leaving again... When he left our house for the last time, he explained us confusedly that he now knows where the source of all his problems lies. He can now face and destroy it. The vortex is now reachable in the ruins north of Arnarvhall. He turned back and it was one of the lasdt time we see each others... Extract from the memories of Achille, woodman of Mitgardia Comments are welcome of course. :-) I am still struggling with pieces... The vortex needed to be improved but I didn't found how.
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Tales of Valnötstrad Svart Dyr, The Black Dragon “The man stormed into our village as a sudden summer rain. His clothes were ragged, torn, and burnt, and his sunken eyes showed what could only be described as fear in its most visceral state. Before he could mumble a word, we knew the tale. We knew the threat. How could we not? His town was the third to be attacked since last we saw the full moon. Soon, there would be no other villages left untouched, and ours was just as exposed. The man pointed to the setting sun, indicating the beast went west, where the dirt path led to the wetlands. We gathered our spears, packed our shields, and bid our loved ones farewells. Our feet sank with every step, and when the dirt path turned to mud, we heard the roar of a thousand demons, drifting among the woods. The party divided to flank whatever it was we would encounter until we reached a clearing. And there, we saw it. Its meandering tail, its thick skin made of leather, its long neck that could reach the sky. From its end, yellow fiery eyes showed no recollection of a soul, but the primitive drive of a starving animal. He opened his pale wings and embraced the water, the trees, that small group of once brave, diminished to nothing but frightened warriors... Hell, it took the whole swamp. Its belly shone and its teeth glistered with the blinding light of its breath. The cold wind became a scorching wave of flames that took our brothers and our courage in a heartbeat. But with my last sigh of hope, I grabbed the shaft of my spear and threw it at the beast. The spear hissed, cutting wind and flames before it cut the dragon’s flesh and landed on its chest. A demonic shout made the trees tremble and our hearts burst. With an impulse, the monster flapped its wings and flew away, leaving behind a hint of faith: a trail of red blood. Svart Dyr, the Black Beast is what we called it. That night, we did not kill it. It is a tale for another night. But that was the night we knew we could.” By Fiobvr the Wise, my grandfather. Louis of Nutwood ______ Built for CCCXVIII, Medieval Monster Menace Category. Hope you all like it. Would love some feedback.
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Story of Ava, chapter I The winter was ending, the snow was starting to melt and flower to bloom. I didn't know that it will be the day where something really strange would happen in my life. In this period, I make a short walk every day to reach the well next to the old ruins. This morning the air was nice and fresh, I was sure that the water would be available due to the melted ice. I was right by the way but in the end I did not bring any drop of water. Unlike every other occasion, the forest was quiet. When reaching the well, I saw someone lying next to our source of water. I ran to him because this night's temperature would be very hard to stand without a good fire. He was more fainted than dead and when I shook his shoulder to check whether he could answer me, his first words were to ask if he finally reached Mitgardia. Of course I answered : " Yes, just in the south of winter lakes". - At last, he said. He was really struggling to breathe and I asked who he is and why he is there. He just had the time to tell me : "My name's Ava..." before going into darkness again. I wanted to know a little more on him before bringing him home. Indeed, I didn't want to have any problem with a fleeing slave or a convicted offender. I looked through his stuff and just found his sword, few coins and a list of names, with dozens of names, and some of these are clearly Mitgardian names. I put everything in my backpack and dragged the man to my house to heat a little and save him. Extract from the memories of Achille, woodman of Mitgardia -------------------------- That's the start of the story of Ava. I hope you liked it. I don't know yet where this can go at all but if you want your name on this list, I would be happy to put it :-) --------------------------- --------------------------- Well, these are other the pictures of my first MOC that is not intended to be played with my kids ! Comments and critics are very welcomed. There are clearly lots to improve. First of all, I lack a lot of pieces as I am just starting lego (some pieces from my childhood, one set of lego friends of my daugther and some spare part bought here and there). Two creator box on the way should help. I am happy of the well even if not brilliant, it is all from my mind and did not get ideas on the net. I put some ruins at the back to give some background details and I found the balance nearly OK. Ruins could have been bigger if I had more grey pieces !!!). As major improvements, I know that the snow should be better (why do you think it happens in spring ;-) ), there is just small spot here and there and that is not good. Tree is at the correct size but it does not has the correct style to fit Mitgardia and semmes to be a little "poor". I also lack minifig parts so this one is not really up to the story, pose was always strange but I guess lying is not really the better way to expose them. The "stand" is horrible, I should find some other technics fitting "my inventory". I also need to give some better level design because is seems too flat and the spot on the right is not of the good color. In the end the quality of the picture itself must be improved, I have seen that there are some tips somewhere, and will go to have a look as soon as I have some time. If you know some ressources that might help a begginer, please do not hesitate to link it in bulk here, I'll have a look.
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`After a few months of training with the hunters, one day we where forced to go further from the village than ever before by a sudden landslide. After the landslide we found ourselves in a warm valley, unknown to me, where we could see spots of dry grass and flowers blooming amidst the snow. Karspart seemed nervous just like the other hunters, which I have never seen before. We stopped abruptly and all the hunters around me loaded an arrow into their bows while Karspart took out his sword. Karspart whispered to me to stay alert because the last time they came here the valley had belonged to an outpost from Nocturnus. We stayed in this position for what seemed like an hour, fearing the worst. We heard nothing that alarmed us and Karspart gave a sign that we should get closer to what seemed to be a building in the middle of the valley. As we stepped forward we looked for any movement or any sound that could be dangerous. And as we went closer we saw more and more that the structure was broken and swords and shields lay scattered around covered with snow. We still did not dare to lower our guard because we knew it could be a trap. We searched the ruins thoroughly, but we found no sign of life. The whole thing seemed to be abandoned. But why? Late in the evening we finally returned to our village unharmed. None of the hunters spoke about it and I did not want to say it out loud, but I think that the war is over. But if so, how long ago did it end? ` -Ronan I had a very busy year with not much time to build or post, so as a consequence this build is a year old. I hope I will be able to build more this year and keep improving (because I am not really happy with the end result of this build)! This is the first time I tried to edit the photo's. Previous parts of the story: 1. Flockwood's forgery (intro) 2. Finding a profession 3. Finding a profession 2 4. With the hunters
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Previously: A New Post at Gammeltårn Party Supplies Perils Old and New Unsought but Welcome The autumn sun had nearly reached its zenith as Kjell and his father made their way from the stronghold and down to Førstlys' harbor. Avoiding the prying eyes of the High Road, they took the Watchman's Way and picked a path through the bustling Lower Market. "Father, know that I do not question your judgment, but I must know why you entrust me and my task to this envoy," Kjell pressed as they walked on. "You speak as though you are old friends, though I have never heard his mention." His father was slow to respond, pacing deliberately through the crowd with his guard behind him. "When I was young, perhaps not even half your age, we hosted this very same elf in our halls. He spoke little of his origins, though he told many tales of our own island, as if he had lived several lifetimes upon our shores already. During his short stay he taught my siblings and me to read books and scrolls from my grandfather's library that even our most learned scholars could not decipher, and he showed my father and me many of the island's secret and forgotten places. He was among us for but a few seasons, and then, quite abruptly, he departed and did not -until this day- return." "So why return now and entangle himself in our domestic affairs? While I am grateful for his aid, I am loathe to let a new friend fight our battles for us with so little a commitment of our own strength." Kjell grumbled, his legs aching to reach their destination with more urgency than his father would allow. "As he told us earlier, he believes that this domestic affair aligns with his own task, and coincides with his purpose in returning to these shores," his father replied. "Though, as to our commitment, fear not my son. Some of your compatriots returned from their ranging this morning, and have volunteered to join you in relieving your cousin. Ah! Here comes one of the very same hardy fellows!" The lord of Førstlys halted and waved as a tall, swarthy, mail-clad man cut a path through the crowd, his heavy grey cloak billowing behind him. Kjell recognized Ulrik Dunwald and his confidence swelled. It would truly be a boon to have a company of Skygger at hand. Ulrik reached them, stopped, and offered his sword as a sign of fealty. "My lord, I am yours to command!" Kjell's father inclined his head in acknowledgment, and Ulrik turned to Kjell. "My captain, it has been to long since my Shadows and I have ridden at your side. We are happy to do so once more." "And I am happy to have you at my side, old friend," Kjell replied, offering an outstretched hand. "Then let us make haste," Ulrik exclaimed. "Glory, and a ship, await!"
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“We apologize, great serpent of the seas, for we do not live in harmony with our Mother Nature”, said the Elders in a time long gone. With the drop of the first snowfall, came the season of shortage, when not a seed grew from the soil and men would hide within their homes. In need of stockage to go through Winter, men raged against each other in pursue of a better crop, a better land, a better life. But as years passed, Winters became longer and colder, and the Elders presumed it was a curse from the Gods. “We do not live in harmony with Mother Nature, who gives so much, but asks so little in return”, they proclaimed, convincing all men to establish a ceremony of appreciation, hoping the Gods would be pleased enough to end the Winter season. For seven days, a selection of the most dexterous, cunning, strong, and sharp men were set to battle each other in a series of games for the appreciation of the Gods, to thank them for sharing their knowledge, protecting the mortals, and providing for the crops. By the end of the seventh day, guided by the ancient Elders, all men were sent to the seashore, where the golden sun would set on the horizon as a white mantel of snow covered the rocks. There, the results of the games were shared with the public and the man with the lowest scoring was pushed into the waves, as an offering to the Gods. Facing the edge of the world, to the eternal sea, the Elders called upon Jörmungandr, the sea serpent, and offered him a cleansed soul. But snow continued to fall. The second man with the lowest score was sent forth, and as the Elders proclaimed the sayings that would wake the giant serpent and bring an end to the cold winds. But once again, snow descended from the sky. This time, Fiandr, the strongest of all men, most dexterous and cunning, winner of the Games Ceremony took the lead. He walked along the rock wall up to the highest cliff, where a lonely tree hung with white leaves. Fiandr faced the eternal sea and called the serpent. [We apologize, great serpent of the seas, for we do not live in harmony with our Mother Nature. We apologize, great serpent of the seas, for we do not seek your guidance, but our own foolish desires. We apologize, great serpent of the seas, for what we do cannot be undone. But here I stand, devoid of arrogance, proud or greed, offering my life, if you are merciful enough to take it. Take my flesh, for it does not suit me anymore. Take my blood, for it does not serve me anymore. Take my soul, for it does not scream, anymore. Take my life, and I will swim alongside you in your castle under the waves, protecting the world of the living and nurturing a life of balance and harmony until time stands still.] Fiandr screamed at the waves, his breath a smoke of frost. He took his knife, gleaming with the last light of the sun, and with a sharp movement, he cut open his wrist, letting a red current flow like the northern rivers. Before the first drop of blood reached the ground, a blue serpent emerged from the frigid waters of the eternal sea. As fast as its head left the water, it dove back in, taking with it the soul and flesh of the most skillful of the mortals. The Elders stood as the last snowflake detached from the grey ceiling that covered the world, and a warm breath of wind caressed the land. From this day on, when the cold winds blew and the Season of Shortage began, The Games Ceremony took place as a way for the mortals to show their appreciation for the Gods, for the winner to claim its rightful place alongside Kevin, the Jörmungandr, sacrificing his life, and for the Gods to show their mercy. “We apologize, for we do not live in harmony with our Mother Nature” _______ Louis of Nutwood. _______ Really hope you all like it. Skol!
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The Frozen Beast I’ve heard tales of dragons guarding treasures. I’ve heard songs of dragons that held knowledge. But the story behind this one, is a little different. Past the ridge of cold mountains, after the forests and bays, there is a mountain that grows beyond sight. Afar the tallest of the trees and over the ceiling of clouds, it breaches the skies and hides its summit behind the vast unknown. The Elders say there is a castle in its peak, from where both Midgard, the land of men, and Asgard, the land of gods can be seen. The legends speak that only at the top of the tallest tower, the gods are prone to hear your prayer. Many have tried to claim the tower and make their way to the hall of the gods, but every time a man proclaims himself its ruler, a beast comes forth to end its reign. Frøstdjur, it was named. The Frozen Beast. White wings, as bright as the sun. Its breath as cold as a thousand winters. If one is worthy enough to hear the voice of the gods, only the beast will tell. No man should enforce himself to the great hall of the gods, for only they know our destiny. Frøstdjur protects this truth and their will, making sure the chosen ones are heard, and the unworthy vanish in the frozen wind. ________ Really hope you like it! For a long time I wanted to build a dragon, and Zane's Titanium Dragon (70748) from Ninjago series was my inspiration. It was a challenge to make it sturdy, but I'm happy the way my creature MOCs are coming to life. This is an entry for the Summer Joust 2020 "The Frozen North" Category. Make sure to check the micro-scale version of this story, Sannhetens Fjell Would love to hear what you all think. Skol! Louis of Valnötsträd
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This is my entry for this year's Summer Joust, in the "Every Set Could be a Castle Set" category. It's a castle-ification of Friends set 41391 Heart Lake City Hair Salon - and a freebulid for Mitgardia as well as an Age of Mitgardia House II entry here in GoH! _______________________________ As a Dwarven barber, Per Wilkinsson had always considered that facial hair was a matter of utmost importance. A silky, impeccably plaited moustache showed off high social status in a tasteful, distinguished way. A disheveled, bushy beard indicated more than just a lack of elegance. He had been apprentice to the best barbers in Omurtag, had obtained the repected title of Master, and had learned all the arcane secrets of his art. He was at the very peak of his career when his wife unexpectedly inherited a significant mining concession in some remote, backwater corner of the Heavenly Mountains. And she decided they would move there. A simple life and the jolly atmosphere of a familial mine, away from the vicissitudes of the bustling city - that's what she suddenly wanted for their children. Undaunted, Per decided he would open his own barber shop there, civilize the local savages and bring them the light and benefits of proper beard grooming. _______________________________ As usual, a few more information of plants and animals is included in the hidden section below! And, also, a comparison with the source set.
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Hey everyone! This is the first in a series of builds I am going to be doing that are inspired by Challenge V but were a little late so I’m doing them anyways. I hope you like it! Recently, Eoin had been tasked by Jarl Olav, to find a fleet of Valyrian warships that were supposed to be sent to help during the wars with the Algus in Mitgardia. They were told by the Valyrians that the fleet was sent, but it had never landed, so now it was his job to find out what happened. Eoin had decided that it would be best to search the shoreline in case they had been blown off course and lost. If that didn't work he knew he would have to get on a boat and search the islands and ocean just off the coast, but that would take ages so he was trying to avoid it by scouring every beach along the coast. He had finally found it, after months of searching! Or at least one of the ships, but it looked like it had been looted by bandits and there was no sign of any of the other ships or soldiers... As he approached the bandits drew their weapons and threatened him: "Don't you come any closer!" "What do you know of the Valyrian fleets?" replied Eoin hopefully. The two looked at each other, and shrugged before readying their weapons and attacking! Eoin easily dispatched the two poorly trained bandits, then started to search for clues. After looking through the boxes, he found all the sort of valuables that would be expected in a warship including the bandits own weapons. It seemed after reading the bandit's journals that they had found the ship ruined on the beach, but were waiting untill the spring thaw to visit the more southern markets in Avalonia. However, still nothing about the soldiers. As he was turning to leave, Eoin stopped as something had caught his eye. There were tracks leading away into the mountains to the north. They were old, but there was a lot and the seemed to be going in the same direction. Eoin had heared legends of the mountains, known as the Frostpeak Mountains and they were mostly used to keep small children from exploreing them since no one had actully returned alive. This was not a good sign...
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After spending the better part of the season up north in Mitgardia, Rhalyf heads south looking forward to warmer Kaliphlinian temperatures. The beauty of the frozen lake and snow covered trees unnoticed as the cold wind whirls past. This MOC is my entry into the Frozen North category of the Summer Joust 2020 competition. I’m also submitting this MOC for review in the University of Petraeas Doctorate of Historica Program under the following category Landscape Design → Snow and Ice Website | Flickr | YouTube
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A few years ago, on one of his travels, Tabib D'Odo found himself in the frozen land of Mitgardia. He had made the journey to try and establish some relationships with the northern people as he knew it might come in handy in the future. This was before Mophet had grown to the city it is today, but Tabib had already started to prepare for what he hoped would come. He knew the resources from the northern forrests and mines were instrumental to what he hoped Mophet would one day become. Accustomed to the warmer weather in the glorious sand pit that was Kaliphlin though, he did not enjoy the rugged climate...nor was he too fond of the short-in-stature, and grumpy dwarfs that inhabited the land...But sometimes one must do what is required. He found himself in the southern parts of Mitgardia, west of the Winterlakes, before deciding that he had travelled far enough. On his way to Mitgardia he had passed through some very pleasant villages and made some good aquaintances which he hoped would be beneficial in the future. Had had also heard wispers of a magnificent city in the sky but failed to really grasp where this place was located. As he walked through the forrest carrying a bag of Kaliphlian spices and herbs intended to ease any negotiations, he came across a watchtower near a place called Kiruna. He was greeted by a short and very sturdy man that called himself Sten Håård. He was the captain of the watchtower and along with two of his camrades it was his responsibility to watch over the region. A small, nearly frozen river ran alongside the watchtower and around it, a few chickens slowly walked about. Tabib and Sten got along surprisingly well and after a few pints of ale, Tabib was informed that trade with the northern tribes in the area would not be a problem. He left the frozen land with a smile on his face, and started the long journey back to his beloved sand pit, of which he was very proud to be a part of. So this is another one of my entries to the summer joust, this time in the frozen north category. Hope you guys like it!
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Natural History - A Guide to Historican Flora and Fauna
Aurore posted a topic in Guilds of Historica
7 June 2021 - Added @The Stad's giant hare and @Grover's Nocturnus plants! Feel free to add your ideas or suggestions. And, of course, feel free to use those plants in your builds! ________________________ Natural History of Historica A collaborative herbal book Volume I - Herbs Marsh-mallow (Althaea Officinalis) Marsh-mallow is native to the humid western coasts of Avalonia. Mostly known for the candies that are made from its root, it also has interesting medicinal properties for the treatment of cough and throat ulcers. Parts : leaves, stem, flower Angelica (Angelica Archangelica) Angelica is a common sight in northern Historica. Since its appearance is quite similar to poisonous species, however, it is rarely foraged in the wild. Cultivated, it is widely used in the traditional Mitgardian cuisine - especially candied as a decoration for cakes. Its medicinal uses include, but are not limited to, the treatment of all kind of digestive troubles. It is also said to be an efficient magical protection against curses. Parts : leaves, stem, umbels NEW Deadly Lavender (Atropa Angustifolia) - by @Grover This rare flower is found naturally only in humid, swampy areas of Nocturnus, and when found is usually co-located with spreading starmist. The plant is noted by its black stem and three leaves. The roots, stem, and leaves are all highly toxic if ingested, causing hallucinations and delirium, and are sometimes dried and crushed to use in various poisons. In the spring, lavender flowers can sometimes be seen on this plant. Curiously, the flower is not toxic and is the key component in several medicines, poultices, and spells, so is harvested by herbalists and spellcasters. Hypericum (Hypericum Perforatum) Hypericum is generally considered as a noxious weed that challenges gardeners from all over Historica with its invasive growth and resilience to weeding. However, its is welcome in most herbal gardens since its oily extract is very useful to heal wounds and burns. Opinions seem to differ as to its magical properties. Many people believe Hypericum to protect from evil spirits, while gardeners seem to find the plant more annoying than any spirit it could protect from. Parts : leaves, stem, flower Mandrake (Mandragora Officinarum) An aura of mystery and magic surrounds the Mandrake. Native to Varlyrio, Kaliphlin and southern Avalonia, it's not easy to cultivate in Mitgardia. The result is worth the effort though, as this plant can be used to prepare one the most efficient sedatives known to the Guilds. It's also hallucinogenic and hypnotic, and is thus highly sought after by charlatans and fake shamans. Parts : leaves, stem, flower White nettle (Lamium Album) White nettle is a very common plant that can be found in grasslands and forests all over Avalonia and Mitgardia. All parts of the plant are edible (and have a surprising mushroom flavour), and the leaves can also help with melancholy. A so-called Aureum variant, which features bright lime leaves, can be found in the southwestern foothills of the Mitgardian Heavenly Mountains. A rumor says its unusual coloring indicates the presence of gold underground. The inhabitants of the little village of Horgaard know it's simply an horticultural experiment, escaped from the garden of a local herbalist… Avalonian Crown Lily (Lilium Avaloniflora) - by @Grover The Avalonian Crown Lily is native to the coastal areas of Avalonia, particularly in the Mystic Isles. Its occurrence is uncommon in most areas, but it is cultivated and traded around Historica, so is a common ornamental potted plant. It gets its name from the large white bowl shaped flowers ending in spikes like a crown and is noted for the pollen covered pistils, usually golden yellow, that protrude from the flowers. Parts : stem, calyx, corolla, pistil Volume II - Bushes NEW Spreading Starmist (Prosopis Azure) - by @Grover Commonly found across Nocturnus, Spreading Starmist is a low-growing bush with bright blue leaves and a black stem. It grows in almost any soil and is considered a nuisance in many area It also leaves black stems everywhere when it is done growing, causing headaches for cleanup. The plant is non-toxic, and does not contain enough nutrients to feed livestock, so is not cultivated intentionally. The wood is sometimes used for cookfires where it imparts a smoky flavor to meats. Volume III - Trees NEW Purple Locust Tree (aka Red Pea Tree) (Robinia Purpura) - by @Grover This medium sized deciduous hardwood grows across lower elevations of Nocturnus and slightly into the other guilds in the area around Cedrica. It has occasionally been planted in other areas where it can become invasive. It is considered a nuisance tree due to the red pea-pod fruits it bears in the spring, which drop everywhere, requiring cleanup for landscaping. The wood is hard, but is not particularly useful for building due to the small, twisting, and generally spindly nature of the tree trunk, which limits the size of boards produced from it. Volume IV - Animals Common Field Wombat (Wombatus Agerus) - by @kahir88 A medium-sized rodent eats plants and smaller insects. Avalonian farmers have long struggled to drive them away from their lands. Males are particularly aggressive when their territory needs to be protected against other males. Many Avalonians take advantage of this and make to fight each other for amusement. Common Seagull (Larus Historicus) - by @Grover The common seagull is native to all the coasts of Historica and is a common sight there. These gulls flock in large number, particularly around sources of food, and are somewhat of a nuisance in coastal urban areas, making a mess wherever they are found. These birds are noted for their white color with grey and black wing markings. Omurtag Zwergpinscher The Omurtag Zwergpinscher, colloquially known as the Dwarven Devil Dog among Human communities, is a breed of domestic dog developed by the Mitgardian Dwarves of the Heavenly Mountains. Renowned for their vigilance and tenaciousness, Omurtag Zwergpinschers make excellent guard dogs and ratters. NEW Avalonian Giant Hare - by @The Stad Brought to Gammeltårn by refugees from Avalonia during the Elemental Crisis, the Avalonian Giant Hares were kept for their flavorful meat and supple pelts. Several years ago, four of the five breeding pairs on the island had been set loose during a violent storm, and now herds of the docile, dog-sized rodents could be found menacing crops around the island. -
This is my entry to the Eurobricks Flower Show! It's also a freebuild for Mitgardia here in the Guilds of Historica. __________________________ As an aspiring herbalist, Sigrid used to find most of her ingredients in the forest that surrounded the village. But while gaining experience, she felt the need to grow her own garden. She needed to keep the most useful plants within easy reach - and also wanted to make experiments with flora that would not grow natively in the Mitgardian mountains. In a few years, she had managed to gather many medicinal plants from Mitgardia, and to acclimate a few ones from Avalonia. And her garden kept growing : there were still so many plants to learn about! __________________________ As with my previous builds, the spoiler section contains details about the featured flora. __________________________ Since many commenters seemed to enjoy the well, there is now a tutorial here in my flickr! Credits : the birch tree uses Katie Walker's leaves weaving technique.
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[MOC] Challenge V. Category A: Howling in the Mountain
Louis of Nutwood posted a topic in Guilds of Historica
Entry to Book III, Challenge V: Category A - The Varlyrian Troops. Howling in the mountain. The chilling cold pierced through my leather jerkin as if there was nothing but my bare hands to cover me. Rigid with the frost, my cloak flapped nervously behind my back and pulled me south, alerting me – no, begging me to turn back and run. But after a handful of days travel, I reached too far into the mountains to return, and was too committed to find the truth, even if it meant never to reveal it. It had been months, since these strange events have been occurring outside our once calm and monotonous village. It did not happen once or twice, but numerous, countless times, every so often – and I remember the day it started. It was late in the night when I woke to the sound of Bartosz, our grey-skinned hound, barking frantically at the kitchen window – it was unusual for him, as for the past 7 winters, he’d slept curled and tucked in his own fur under the wooden structure of my bed until sunrise. That night, tough, he’d made a fuss. Wheat grains covered the timbered floor, the oak-chair my pa built was split around the cottage and he’d scratched the whole wooden door from waist height to bottom so vigorously that the fur around his paws was tainted burgundy with his raw blood. For the first time in years, he glanced at me, ears pointed to the ceiling, his white teeth as large as my fingers glowing in the moonlight and liquid dribbling from his mouth to the floor, the muscles in his shoulders swollen, spasming at me, and he growled. A sound born from the core of a threatened, fearful beast. It made me tremble, for I was not staring into my dog’s eyes, but into the soul of a monster dragged only by its primal senses. I realized it was not only Bartosz who was acting strange, but in the distance, I heard the howl of another dog, and then another. It was rather a chant, as possibly all the dogs on the village were now howling to the moon, as if calling their animal companions to a feast, or worse: issuing an alarm – a pack behavior to become alert of what’s to come. It happened again and again, and it drove us insane. Not only the howling, but the growing cold that rushed through the village every time harder and harder. You see, we live in a village – the last human village before reaching the mountains - that’s not that far from the sea, filled with arable land, soft ground, perfect for planting fruits and vegetables – it rains when the sun is hotter, and the climate is rather friendly apart from occasional winter winds that come from the mountains. But it got so cold, so unexpectedly... Nothing grows from under thick layers of frost, week after week. So, it drove us... insane. Particularly Frignevr, the blacksmith – that poor bastard. He was as short-tempered as he was big, and you would mistake him for a giant if he wouldn’t assure us his mother and father were as human as they could be. That one night, I felt the chill stretching through the holes between the planks that held my house together, Bartosz woke and ran, and the howling started. Amidst the whistling chants, a desperate roar, not from any dog or beast, but from what could only be a giant man, echoed on the stoned streets of our frost covered village. That horrific gutted scream smashed our doors, hammered our ears, and settled within our dreams, and just as it started, the unnerving, desperate cry ceased, giving way to a perpetual dead silence that endured ‘til morning. From between the ice-covered mountains, the first light of the day painted over the white mantel a red trail to a land uncharted, for this was marked only by the spilled droplets of blood of one of our own. That day, attending for the realms request, an expedition of ten men was sent to investigate. That night, not only the hounds and wolves howled a constant, tenuous melody, but a raw smell, a stale, moldy whiff, a stench of putrid decay took the streets, and uninvitedly entered our homes. The smell was eventually dissipated into the mountains, from where the expedition never returned, and the trail faded over the layers of unwanted and unexpected snow. Under pressure, the realm gathered another fifty men – swordsmen, archers, bannermen, carrying the white and gold markings on their shields – for a second expedition, along with hounds and eagles trained to detect hidden trails and follow camouflaged scents. Sixty men short, the army supposed to protect our sons and wives started to look faint and incomplete, specially when four days past their departure, the group that left to the sound of our prayers, vanished and buried our hopes under the falling snow. At night I did not sleep, but jumped aside when the dogs started barking, the nauseating odor invaded my house, and a deafening roar that combined a thousand lions sounded across the cobblestone paths, and made my chest tremble with a shiver running through my spine. I wanted to move but couldn’t – and I prayed for the souls of those poor men that would never return to our lives. I woke to the unnerving sound of a fist pounding at my front door, and as sudden as the cold took our village, and our blacksmith and our army, I knew my time had come. “Ready your shield and sword. Beg your family farewells. We part on the morrow”, signed the High-King, the Rego, over his waxed seal. Carpenters, fishermen, merchants, old and young, experienced or – most likely – not, with sword in hand. The few remaining that populated our village reunited where the first light of day shone: between the mountains where a trail of blood leaded the way to our uncertain destiny. We camped by night if we were lucky enough to find a rathole or a cave, or under the starts and the moon, and the rocks and the cold, and marched by day, following whatever was left of the expedition before us – pikes, helmets, messages left on walls and trees, pieces of cloth, footprints... Until there was nothing left to follow, but a dim and distant rotten and burnt smell that refused to cease. Every morning, our group turned smaller and weaker, as the members of our crew perished to the fierce conditions and reckless paths we were thrown into. By night, we heard the scuttling screams and roars coming from above us and echoing through the scars carved over centuries on the rocks. Looking ahead to the unknown, the vagueness to put reason to the sounds, the smell, the unhuman thirst to kill and its psychological defiance, drove one by one to an abyss of despair. That night, we took shelter on a cave, and shared its roof with a family of skeletons that made this gap on the mountain their home for centuries. Despite the blowing wind and the drenching humidity, we were able to light a fire and roast the last of our game. While sucking the lean meat from the fragile bones of an overcooked squirrel, I glanced towards the bottom of the cave where the carcasses of our hosts lay, and looking into their empty sockets, I saw my destiny. On the wall, black markings made of coal caught my attention. The drawings depicted a group of men being followed by a larger silhouette with pointy ears. It could be a wolf if it were not for its height. A demon, perhaps, or a vision from people long forgotten. On the first light, I left the cave and my companions behind, for during the night, they have all joined our hosts in an eternal sleep. As I approached the summit, that putrid smell turned sour, stronger than ever, as if a thousand bodies were left in the open to disintegrate over time. The snow turned thicker, and the paths became steeper as I pushed myself against the blowing wind, depriving me from seeing ahead. My hand lifted and covered my eyes, and from between my purple fingers, I saw a narrow path that pushed the snow aside and left its markings on the ground – a fresh trail, I realized. I followed the trail as it took me to the summit of the mountain. Two pillars emerged from the ground like snow-white banners, showing the world the peak was claimed – not by men – but by nature itself. Molded into the rock, was the inner part of a dome protecting its center from the what looked like a shire devoted to – if not built by – the gods themselves. In its center lay huddle made of what appeared to be a tangled amount of... what is that? I approached it and identified the maze being made from bones stripped from flesh, broken, smashed, and crushed into a bed that smelled of mold and rotten flesh. Big and small, long, and thin. I saw the fabric scratched along the way, and the splinters of weapons left throughout the mountain. These were the remains of the expeditions, the leftovers of our friends, the pieces of our royal guard. I lifted my cloak to retain the nauseating smell, while struggling not to vomit as I moved closer to the basket. Inside were the remains of animals and men, piled at each other through time. Cornering a rock, I followed the trail of bones, and then I heard. The visceral sound of a meal being eaten, meat being pulled from the bone, blood dripping, and a constant snort of desperation. Over a large pile of bones, a dark creature full of fur leaned and feasted. Its dangled black hair dripped with blood, and the stench was more than I could bare. It looks like... a wolf. And I remembered the drawings on the interior of the cave. Three, maybe four times my size, thick and muscular, its arms stretched wide could reach me in a heartbeat. I tried to sneak away, but the mere sound of my pounding heart must have alerted the beast. It turned and stared with fearsome yellow eyes, and as I pointed my spear to its chest, one swing of its long and hairy arm was enough to blind my sight and numb my senses. Laying on the snow, my sight turned darker and I heard the bark of my best friend Bartosz. …The councilor knocked at the Rego’s chamber door. “Your Highness, we are being called to position in the war of the continent. They ask for men and weapons. Our presence is demanded at once”. The Rego took the parchment and tossed it in the hearth. “How can I take part, when all my men were sent to the mountains and failed to return?” ________ Louis of Nutwood. Hope you like it. Would love to hear thoughts and comments. -
AoM Barracks phase II: Thorshaven training ground
Beleg the Ranger posted a topic in Guilds of Historica
http://[url/https://flic.kr/p/2j1WRDw][/url]20200514_101038 by pope.dt06 , on Flickr Beleg the Ranger, after returning from a long trip, finds the Mitgardian peasants around Thorshaven severely lacking in training. He brings several of the young ones who dream of fighting to his private sparring ground, centered on an ancient shrine to the War God. He aims to train them into a professional mercenary force that might eventually be hired in the rapidly developing Nocturnian Civil War... I am going to document the adventures of Beleg and his band of mercenaries, who you will get to know better, after I finish moving. This is a build that I made a while ago, and the story was a little hasty, but I hope you will enjoy it! Click on the photo, and you will see a pic of the shrine in the corner. I am moving, so you'll not see a lot of me on the Forums. I hope to get back into building in a month or two. -
While I still have several old models that need posting, this is my first new GoH build since moving to Billund! Quite a simple scene, but I do like how the walls of the bridge flare slightly thanks to the 1x2 rounded plates. Eryl goes for a walk outside Harburg with one of the loyal family dogs following along. More builds to come
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Last weekend, my husband challenged me to create something that would make me happy, and that I would actually finish by sunday evening. I decided to go on with Age of Mitgardia, and here is the result! __________________ Spring had come in Mitgardia. The snow had already melt in the southern foothills of the Heavenly Mountains, and the deep forests around Horgaard were slowly waking up after the harsh winter. Sigrid usually woke up early at this time of year, and enjoyed going on a ride around the village. She listened to the birds, observed the vegetation, and sometimes stopped just to pick something interesting. This morning, she had noticed the bright breen, tender tips that were blossoming on the fir trees. Perfect to make cough syrup....or some flavoured beer. __________________ As usual, more info on the featured flora and fauna below. My herbalist sigfig could soon create a "Natural History of Mitgardia" encyclopedia...
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