Gardens of the Moon (Inactive)

Game Master Aku Warashi

Ganoes Paran: "I want to be a soldier. A hero."
Whiskeyjack: "You'll grow out of it."


1 to 50 of 225 << first < prev | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | next > last >>

.


Dot .


Dot, for great justice!


Sir Dot-a-lot


1154th Year of Burn's Sleep
96th Year of the Malazan Empire.
The Last Year of Emperor Kellanved's Reign

The stains of rust seemed to map blood seas on the black, pocked surface of Mock's Vane. A century old, it squatted on the point of an old pike that had been bolted to the outer top of the Hold's wall. Monstrous and misshapen, it had been cold-hammered into the form of a winged demon, teeth bared in a leering grin, and was tugged and buffeted in squealing protest with every gust of wind.

The winds were contrary the day columns of smoke rose over the Mouse Quarter of Malaz City. The Vane's silence announced the sudden falling-off of the sea breeze that came clambering over the ragged walls of Mock's Hold, then it creaked back into life as the hot, spark-scattered and smoke-filled breath of the Mouse Quarter reached across the city to sweep the promontory's heights.

Ganoes Stabro Paran of the House of Paran stood on tiptoe to see over the merlon. Behind him rose Mock's Hold, once capital of the Empire but now, since the mainland had been conquered, relegated once more to a Fist's holding. To his left rose the pike and its wayward trophy.

For Ganoes, the ancient fortification overlooking the city was too familiar to be of interest. This visit was his third in as many years; he'd long ago explored the courtyard with its heaved cobblestones, the Old Keep—now a stable, its upper floor home to pigeons and swallows and bats—and the citadel where even now his father negotiated the island export tithe with the harbour officials. In the last instance, of course, a goodly portion was out of bounds, even for a son of a noble house; for it was in the citadel that the Fist had his residence, and in the inner chambers that such affairs of the Empire as concerned this island were conducted.

Mock's Hold forgotten behind him, Ganoes' attention was on the tattered city below, and the riots that ran through its poorest quarter.

Mock's Hold stood atop a cliff. The higher land of the Pinnacle was reached by a switchback staircase carved into the limestone of the cliff wall. The drop to the city below was eighty armspans or more, with the Hold's battered wall adding still another six. The Mouse was at the city's inland edge, an uneven spreading of hovels and overgrown tiers cut in half by the silt-heavy river that crawled towards the harbour. With most of Malaz City between Ganoes' position and the riots, it was hard to make out any detail, beyond the growing pillars of black smoke.

It was midday, but the flash and thundering concussion of magery made the air seem dark and heavy.

Armour clanking, a soldier appeared along the wall near him. The man leaned vambraced forearms on the battlement, the scabbard of his longsword scraping against the stones. 'Glad for your pure blood, eh?' he asked, grey eyes on the smouldering city below.

The boy studied the soldier. He already knew the complete regimental accoutrements of the Imperial Army, and the man at his side was a commander in the Third—one of the Emperor's own, an elite. On his dark grey shoulder-cloak was a silver brooch: a bridge of stone, lit by ruby flames. A Bridgeburner.

High-ranking soldiers and officials of the Empire commonly passed through Mock's Hold. The island of Malaz remained a vital port of call, especially now that the Korel wars to the south had begun. Ganoes had brushed shoulders with more than his share, here and in the capital, Unta.

'Is it true, then?' Ganoes asked boldly.

'Is what true?'

'The First Sword of Empire. Dassem Ultor. We heard in the capital before we left. He's dead. Is it true? Is Dassem dead?'

The man seemed to flinch, his gaze unwavering on the Mouse. 'Such is war,' he muttered, under his breath, as if the words were not meant for anyone else's ears.

'You're with the Third. I thought the Third was with him, in Seven Cities. At Y'Ghatan—'

'Hood's Breath, they're still looking for his body in the still-hot rubble of that damned city, and here you, are, a merchant's son three thousand leagues from Seven Cities with information only a few are supposed to possess.' He still did not turn. 'I know not your sources, but take my advice and keep what you know to yourself.'
Ganoes shrugged. 'It's said he betrayed a god.'

Finally the man faced him. His face was scarred, and something that might have been a burn marred his jaw and left cheek. For all that, he looked young for a commander. 'Heed the lesson there, son.'

'What lesson?'

'Every decision you make can change the world. The best life is the one the gods don't notice. You want to live free, boy, live quietly.'

'I want to be a soldier. A hero.'

'You'll grow out of it.'

Mock's Vane squealed as a wayward gust from the harbour cleared the grainy smoke. Ganoes could now smell rotting fish and the waterfront's stink of humanity.

Another Bridgeburner, this one with a broken, scorched fiddle strapped to his back, came up to the commander. He was wiry and if anything younger—only a few years older than Ganoes himself, who was twelve. Strange pockmarks covered his face and the backs of his hands, and his armour was a mixture of foreign accoutrements over a threadbare, stained uniform. A shortsword hung in a cracked wooden scabbard at his hip. He leaned against the merlon beside the other man with the ease of long familiarity.

'It's a bad smell when sorcerers panic,' the newcomer said. 'They're losing control down there. Hardly the need for a whole cadre of mages, just to sniff out a few wax-witches.'

The commander sighed. 'Thought to wait to see if they'd rein themselves in.'

The soldier grunted. 'They are all new, untested. This could scar some of them for ever. Besides,' he added, 'more than a few down there are following someone else's orders.'

'A suspicion, no more.'

'The proof's right there,' the other man said. 'In the Mouse.'

'Perhaps.'

'You're too protective,' the man said. 'Surly says it's your greatest weakness.'

'Surly's the Emperor's concern, not mine.'

A second grunt answered that. 'Maybe all of us before too long.'

The commander was silent, slowly turning to study his companion.

The man shrugged. 'Just a feeling. She's taking a new name, you know. Laseen.'

'Laseen?'

'Napan word. Means—'

'I know what it means.'

'Hope the Emperor does, too.'

Ganoes said, 'It means Thronemaster.'

The two looked down at him.

The wind shifted again, making the iron demon groan on its perch—a smell of cool stone from the Hold itself. 'My tutor's Napan,' Ganoes explained.

A new voice spoke behind them, a woman's, imperious and cold.

'Commander.'

Both soldiers turned, but without haste. The commander said to his companion, 'The new company needs help down there. Send Dujek and a wing, and get some sappers to contain the fires—wouldn't do to have the whole city burn.'

The soldier nodded, marched away, sparing the woman not a single glance.

She stood with two bodyguards near the portal in the citadel's square tower. Her dusky blue skin marked her as Napan, but she was otherwise plain, wearing a saltstained grey robe, her mousy hair cut short like a soldier's, her features thin and unmemorable. It was, however, her bodyguards that sent a shiver through Ganoes. They flanked her: tall, swathed in black, hands hidden in sleeves, hoods shadowing their faces. Ganoes had never seen a Claw before, but he instinctively knew these creatures to be acolytes of the cult. Which meant the woman was…

The commander said, 'It's your mess, Surly. Seems I'll have to clean it up.'

Ganoes was shocked at the absence of fear—the near-contempt in the soldier's voice. Surly had created the Claw, making it a power rivalled only by the Emperor himself.

'That is no longer my name, Commander.'

The man grimaced. 'So I've heard. You must be feeling confident in the Emperor's absence. He's not the only one who remembers you as nothing more than a serving-wench down in the Old Quarter. I take it the gratitude's washed off long since.'

The woman's face betrayed no change of expression to mark if the man's words had stung. 'The command was a simple one,' she said. 'It seems your new officers are unable to cope with the task.'
'It's got out of hand,' the commander said. 'They're unseasoned—'

'Not my concern,' she snapped. 'Nor am I particularly disappointed. Loss of control delivers its own lessons to those who oppose us.'

'Oppose? A handful of minor witches selling their meagre talents—to what sinister end?'

'Finding the coraval schools on the shoals in the bay.'

'Hood's Breath, woman, hardly a threat to the Empire.'

'Unsanctioned. Defiant of the new laws—'

'Your laws, Surly. They won't work, and when the Emperor returns he'll quash your prohibition of sorcery, you can be certain of that.'

The woman smiled coldly. 'You'll be pleased to know that the Tower's signalled the approach of the transports for your new recruits. We'll not miss you or your restless, seditious soldiers, Commander.'

Without another word, or a single glance spared for the boy standing beside the commander, she swung about and, flanked by her silent bodyguards, re-entered the citadel.

Ganoes and the commander returned their attention to the riot in the Mouse. Flames were visible, climbing through the smoke.

'One day I'll be a soldier,' Ganoes said.

The man grunted. 'Only if you fail at all else, son. Taking up the sword is the last act of desperate men. Mark my words and find yourself a more worthy dream.'

Ganoes scowled. 'You're not like the other soldiers I've talked to. You sound more like my father.'

'But I'm not your father,' the man growled.

'The world,' Ganoes said, 'doesn't need another Izrine merchant.' The commander's eyes narrowed, gauging. He opened his mouth to make the obvious reply, then shut it again.

Ganoes Paran looked back down at the burning quarter, pleased with himself. Even a boy, Commander, can make a point.

Mock's Vane swung once more. Hot smoke rolled over the wall, engulfing them. A reek of burning cloth, scorched paint and stone, and now of something sweet. 'An abattoir's caught fire,' Ganoes said. 'Pigs.'

The commander grimaced. After a long moment he sighed and leaned back down on the merlon. 'As you say, boy, as you say.'


PALE

In the eighth year the Free Cities of Genabackis established contracts with a number of mercenary armies to oppose the Imperium's advance; prominent among these were the Crimson Guard, under the command of Prince K'azz D'Avore (see Volumes III & V); and the Tiste Andü regiments of Moon's Spawn, under the command of Caladan Brood and others.
The forces of the Malazan Empire, commanded by High Fist Dujek Onearm, consisted in that year of the 2nd, 5th and 6th Armies, as well as legions of Moranth.
In retrospect two observations can be made. The first is that the Moranth alliance of 1156 marked a fundamental change in the science of warfare for the Malazan Imperium, which would prove efficacious in the short term. The second observation worth noting is that the involvement of the sorcerous Tiste Andü of Moon's Spawn represented the beginning of the continent's Sorcery Enfilade, with devastating consequences.
In the Year of Burn's Sleep 1163, the Siege of Pale ended with a now legendary sorcerous conflagration. . .

Imperial Campaigns II S8 volume IV, Genabackis
Imrygyn Tallobant (b.1151)


The old stones of this road
have rung with iron
black-shod hoofs and drums
where I saw him walking
up from the sea between the hills soaked red
in sunset he came, a boy among the echoes
sons and brothers all in ranks
of warrior ghosts he came to pass
where I sat on the worn final
league-stone at day's end –
his stride spoke loud all I needed
know of him on this road of stone –
the boy walks
another soldier, another one
bright heart not yet cooled
to hard iron

Mother's Lament
Anonymous

***

1161st Year of Burn's Sleep
103rd Year of the Malazan Empire
7th Year of Empress Laseen's Rule

'Prod and pull,' the old woman was saying, 'it’s the way of the Empress, as like the gods themselves.' She leaned to one side and spat, then brought a soiled cloth to her wrinkled lips. 'Three husbands and two sons I saw off to war.'

The fishergirl's eyes shone as she watched the column of mounted soldiers thunder past, and she only half listened to the hag standing beside her. The girl's breath had risen to the pace of the magnificent horses. She felt her face burning, a flush that had nothing to do with the heat. The day was dying, the sun's red smear over the trees on her right, and the sea's sighing against her face had grown cool.

'That was in the days of the Emperor,' the hag continued. 'Hood roast the bastard's soul on a spit. But look on, lass. Laseen scatters bones with the best of them. Heh, she started with his, didn't she, now?'

The fishergirl nodded faintly. As befitted the lowborn, they waited by the roadside, the old woman burdened beneath a rough sack filled with turnips, the girl with a heavy basket balanced on her head. Every minute or so the old woman shifted the sack from one bony shoulder to the other.

With the riders crowding them on the road and the ditch behind them a steep drop to broken rocks, she had no place to put down the sack.

'Scatters bones, I said. Bones of husbands, bones of sons, bones of wives and bones of daughters. All the same to her. All the same to the Empire.' The old woman spat a second time. 'Three husbands and two sons, ten coin apiece a year. Five of ten's fifty. Fifty coin a year's cold company, lass. Cold in winter, cold in bed.'

The fishergirl wiped dust from her forehead. Her bright eyes darted among the soldiers passing before her. The young men atop their highbacked saddles held expressions stern and fixed straight ahead. The few women who rode among them sat tall and somehow fiercer than the men. The sunset cast red glints from their helms, flashing so that the girl's eyes stung and her vision blurred.

'You're the fisherman's daughter,' the old woman said. 'I seen you afore on the road, and down on the strand. Seen you and your dad at market. Missing an arm, ain't he? More bones for her collection is likely, eh?' She made a chopping motion with one hand, then nodded. 'Mine's the first house on the track. I use the coin to buy candles. Five candles I burn every night, five candles to keep old Rigga company. It's a tired house, full of tired things and me one of them, lass. What you got in the basket there?' Slowly the fishergirl realized that a question had been asked of her. She pulled her attention from the soldiers and smiled down at the old woman. 'I'm sorry,' she said, 'the horses are so loud.'

Rigga raised her voice. 'I asked what you got in your basket, lass?'

'Twine. Enough for three nets. We need to get one ready for tomorrow. Dadda lost his last one—something in the deep waters took it and a whole catch, too. 11grand Lender wants the money he loaned us and we need a catch tomorrow. A good one.' She smiled again and swept her gaze back to the soldiers. 'Isn't it wonderful?' she breathed.

Rigga's hand shot out and snagged the girl's thick black hair, yanked it hard.

The girl cried out. The basket on her head lurched, then slid down on to one shoulder. She grabbed frantically for it but it was too heavy. The basket struck the ground and split apart. 'Aaai!' the girl gasped, attempting to kneel. But Rigga pulled and snapped her head around.

'You listen to me, lass!' The old woman's sour breath hissed against the girl's face. 'The Empire's been grinding this land down for a hundred years. You was born in it. I wasn't. When I was your age Itko Kan was a country. We flew a banner and it was ours. We were free, lass.'

The girl was sickened by Rigga's breath. She squeezed shut her eyes.

'Mark this truth, child, else the Cloak of Lies blinds you for ever.'

Rigga's voice took on a droning cadence, and all at once the girl stiffened. Rigga, Riggalai the Seer, the wax-witch who trapped souls in candles and burned them. Souls devoured in flame—Rigga's words carried the chilling tone of prophecy. 'Mark this truth. I am the last to speak to you. You are the last to hear me. Thus are we linked, you and I, beyond all else.'

Rigga's fingers snagged tighter in the girl's hair. 'Across the sea the Empress has driven her knife into virgin soil. The blood now comes in a tide and it'll sweep you under, child, if you're not careful. They'll put a sword in your hand, they'll give you a fine horse, and they'll send you across that sea. But a shadow will embrace your soul. Now, listen! Bury this deep! Rigga will preserve you because we are linked, you and I. But it is all I can do, understand? Look to the Lord spawned in Darkness; his is the hand that shall free you, though he'll know it not—'

'What's this?' a voice bellowed.

Rigga swung to face the road. An outrider had slowed his mount. The Seer released the girl's hair.

The girl staggered back a step. A rock on the road's edge turned underfoot and she fell. When she looked up the outrider had trotted past.

Another thundered up in his wake.

'Leave the pretty one alone, hag,' this one growled, and as he rode by he leaned in his saddle and swung an open, gauntleted hand. The ironscaled glove cracked against Rigga's head, spinning her around. She toppled.

The fishergirl screamed as Rigga landed heavily across her thighs. A bead of crimson spit spattered her face. Whimpering the girl pushed herself back across the gravel, then used her feet to shove away Rigga's body. She climbed to her knees.

Something within Rigga's prophecy seemed lodged in the girl's head, heavy as a stone and hidden from light. She found she could not retrieve a single word the Seer had said. She reached out and grasped Rigga's woollen shawl. Carefully, she rolled the old woman over. Blood covered one side of Rigga's head, running down behind the ear. More blood smeared her lined chin and stained her mouth. The eyes stared sightlessly.

The fishergirl pulled back, unable to catch her breath. Desperate, she looked about. The column of soldiers had passed, leaving nothing but dust and the distant tremble of hoofs. Rigga's bag of turnips had spilled on to the road. Among the trampled vegetables lay five tallow candles.

The girl managed a ragged lungful of dusty air. Wiping her nose, she looked to her own basket.

'Never mind the candles,' she mumbled, in a thick, odd voice. 'They're gone, aren't they, now? just a scattering of bones. Never mind.' She crawled towards the bundles of twine that had fallen from the breached basket, and when she spoke again her voice was young, normal. 'We need the twine. We'll work all night and get one ready. Dadda's waiting. He's right at the door, he's looking up the track, he's waiting to see me.

She stopped, a shiver running through her. The sun's light was almost gone. An unseasonal chill bled from the shadows, which now flowed like water across the road.

'Here it comes, then,' the girl grated softly, in a voice that wasn't her own.

A soft-gloved hand fell on her shoulder. She ducked down, cowering. 'Easy, girl,' said a man's voice. 'It's over. Nothing to be done for her now.'

The fishergirl looked up. A man swathed in black leaned over her, his face obscured beneath a hood's shadow. 'But he hit her,' the girl said, in child's voice. 'And we have nets to tie, me and Dadda—'

'Let's get you on your feet,' the man said, moving his long-fingered hands down under her arms. He straightened, lifting her effortlessly. Her sandalled feet dangled in the air before he set her down.

Now she saw a second man, shorter, also clothed in black. This one stood on the road and was turned away, his gaze in the direction the soldiers had gone. He spoke, his voice reed-thin. 'Wasn't much of a life,' he said, not turning to face her. 'A minor talent, long since dried up the Gift. Oh, she might have managed one more, but we'll never know will we?'

The fishergirl stumbled over to Rigga's bag and picked up a candle. She straightened, her eyes suddenly hard, then deliberately spat on to the road.

The shorter man's head snapped towards her. Within the hood seemed the shadows played alone.

The girl shrank back a step. 'It was a good life,' she whispered. 'She had these candles, you see. Five of them. Five for—'

'Necromancy,' the short man cut in.

The taller man, still at her side, said softly, 'I see them, child. I understand what they mean.'

The other man snorted. 'The witch harboured five frail, weak souls. Nothing grand.' He cocked his head. 'I can hear them now. Calling for her.'

Tears filled the girl's eyes. A wordless anguish seemed to well up from that black stone in her mind. She wiped her cheeks. 'Where did you come from?' she asked abruptly. 'We didn't see you on the road.'

The man beside her half turned to the gravel track. 'On the other side,' he said, a smile in his tone. 'Waiting, just like you.'

The other giggled. 'On the other side indeed.' He faced down the road again and raised his arms.

The girl drew in a sharp breath as darkness descended. A loud, tearing sound filled the air for a second, then the darkness dissipated and the girl's eyes widened.

Seven massive Hounds now sat around the man in the road. The eyes of these beasts glowed yellow, and all were turned in the same direction as the man himself.

She heard him hiss, 'Eager, are we? Then go.' Silently, the Hounds bolted down the road.

Their master turned and said to the man beside her, 'Something to gnaw on Laseen's mind.' He giggled again.

'Must you complicate things?' the other answered wearily.

The short man stiffened. 'They are within sight of the column.'

He cocked his head. From up the road came the scream of horses.

He sighed. 'You've reached a decision, Cotillion?'

The other grunted amusedly. 'Using my name, Ammanas, means you've just decided for me. We can hardly leave her here now, can we?'

'Of course we can, old friend. just not breathing.'

Cotillion looked down on the girl. 'No,' he said quietly, 'she'll do.'

The fishergirl bit her lip. Still clutching Rigga's candle, she took another step back, her wide eyes darting from one man to the other.

'Pity,' Ammanas said.

Cotillion seemed to nod, then he cleared his throat and said, 'It'll take time.'

An amused note entered Ammanas's reply. 'And have we time? True vengeance needs the slow, careful stalking of the victim. Have you forgotten the pain she once delivered us? Laseen's back is against the wall already. She might fall without our help. Where would be the satisfaction in that?'

Cotillion's response was cool and dry. 'You've always underestimated the Empress. Hence our present circumstances… No.' He gestured at the fishergirl. 'We'll need this one. Laseen's raised the ire of Moon's Spawn, and that's a hornet's nest if ever there was one. The timing is perfect.'

Faintly, above the screaming horses, came the shrieks of men and women, a sound that pierced the girl's heart. Her eyes darted to Rigga's motionless form on the roadside, then back to Ammanas, who now approached her. She thought to run but her legs had weakened to a helpless trembling. He came close and seemed to study her, even though the shadows within his hood remained impenetrable.

'A fishergirl?' he asked, in a kindly tone.

She nodded.

'Have you a name?'

'Enough!' Cotillion growled. 'She's not some mouse under your paw, Ammanas. Besides, I've chosen her and I will choose her name as well.'

Ammanas stepped back. 'Pity,' he said again.

The girl raised imploring hands. 'Please,' she begged Cotillion, 'I've done nothing! My father's a poor man, but he'll pay you all he can. He needs me, and the twine—he's waiting right now!' She felt herself go wet between her legs and quickly sat down on the ground. 'I've done nothing!' Shame rose through her and she put her hands in her lap.

'Please.'

'I've no choice any more, child,' Cotillion said. 'After all, you know our names.'

'I've never heard them before!' the girl cried.

The man sighed. "With what's happening up the road right now, well, you'd be questioned. Unpleasantly. There are those who know our names.'

'You see, lass,' Ammanas added, suppressing a giggle, 'we're not supposed to be here. There are names, and then there are names.' He swung to Cotillion and said, in a chilling voice, 'Her father must be dealt with. My Hounds?'

'No,' Cotillion said. 'He lives.'

'Then how?'

'I suspect,' Cotillion said, 'greed will suffice, once the slate is wiped clean.' Sarcasm filled his next words. 'I'm sure you can manage the sorcery in that, can't you?'

Ammanas giggled. 'Beware of shadows bearing gifts.'

Cotillion faced the girl again. He lifted his arms out to the sides. The shadows that held his features in darkness now flowed out around his body.
Ammanas spoke, and to the girl his words seemed to come from a great distance. 'She's ideal. The Empress could never track her down, could never even so much as guess.' He raised his voice. 'It's not so bad a thing, lass, to be the pawn of a god.'

'Prod and pull,' the fishergirl said quickly.

Cotillion hesitated at her strange comment, then he shrugged. The shadows whirled out to engulf the girl. With their cold touch her mind fell away, down into darkness. Her last fleeting sensation was of the soft wax of the candle in her right hand, and how it seemed to well up between the fingers of her clenched fist.


Male Human Mostly Commoner 51

Dot


Come you master of war
You that build all the weapons
You that build the death plans
You that build all the bombs
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks

You that never done nothing
But build to destroy
You play with our world
Like it’s your little toy
You put a sword in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the sorcerer spell's fly

Like Scabandari Bloodeye
You lie and deceive
A world war can be won
You want me to believe
But I see through your eyes
And I see through your brain
Like I see through the water
That runs down my drain

You fasten the spells
For the others to loose
Then you set back and watch
When the death count gets higher
You hide in your castle
As young people’s blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the mud

You’ve thrown the worst fear
That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children
Into the world
For threatening my baby
Unborn and unnamed
You are not worth the blood
That runs in your veins

How much do I know
To talk out of turn
You might say that I’m young
You might say I’m unlearned
But there’s one thing I know
Though I’m younger than you
Even an Imass would never
Forgive what you do

Let me ask you one question
Is your gold that good
Will it buy you forgiveness
Do you think that it could
I think you will find
When your death takes its toll
All the gold you made
Will never buy back your soul

And I hope that you die
And your death will come soon
I will follow your casket
In the pale afternoon
And I’ll watch while you’re lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I’ll stand on your grave
Till I’m sure that you’re dead

Kallor's curse.
-Fisher kel Tath


[Tactical Map] [Seven Cities]

@Shea

It was the eighth day of recruiting and Staff Sergeant Aragan sat blearyeyed behind his desk as yet another one was prodded forward by the corporal. They'd had some luck here in Kan. Fishing's best in the backwaters, Kan's Fist had said. All they get around here is stories. Stories don't make you bleed. Stories don't make you go hungry, don't give you sore feet. When you're young and smelling of pigshit and convinced there ain't a weapon in all the damn world that's going to hurt you, all stories do is make you want to be part of them.

The old woman was right. As usual. These people had been under the boot so long they actually liked it. Well, Aragan thought, the education begins here.

It had been a bad day, with the local captain roaring off with three companies and leaving not one solid rumour in their wake about what was going on. And if that wasn't bad enough, The emperor's Adjunct arrived from the capital not ten minutes later, using one of those eerie magical Warrens to get here. Though he'd never seen her, just her name on the hot, dry wind was enough to give him the shakes. Mage killer, the scorpion in the Imperial pocket.

Aragan scowled down at the writing tablet and waited until the corporal cleared his throat. Then he looked up.

The recruit standing before him took the staff sergeant aback. He opened his mouth, on his tongue a lashing tirade designed to send the young ones scampering. A second later he shut it again, the words unspoken. Kan's Fist had made her instructions abundantly clear: if they had two arms, two legs and a head, take them. The Genabackis campaign was a mess. Fresh bodies were needed.

He grinned at the girl. She matched the Fist's description perfectly.

Still. 'All right, lass, you understand you're in line to join the Malazan Marines, right?'


Female Holy Lancer 1 [HP 10/10 | AC:17 | T:14 | FF:13 | CMB:+3 | CMD:16 | Fort:+1 | Ref:+5 | Will:+4 | Init:+8 | Per:+6 | Stealth: +1 | Sense Motive:+2 | Intimidate:+4 | Acrobatics: +5]

Shea must have been an interesting sight, firstly because a woman wearing holy robes wished to join the military, and secondly because the holy woman was covered in scrawling black tattoos and carried a crude spear on her back that looked to be little more than a shaved down branch lashed with an iron tip.

But despite the unusualness of it all her eyes were strong, if slightly averted, when she stood, straight backed, in front of the Staff Sergeant and replied with a simple "Yes Sir."


[Tactical Map] [Seven Cities]

The recruiter's expression tightened. Damn, she can't be more than fourteen or fifteen. If this was my daughter…
What's got her eyes looking so bloody old? What’s up with all those tattoos? The last time he'd seen anything like them had been outside Mott Forest, on Genabackis—he'd been marching through farmland hit by five years' drought and a war twice as long. Those old eyes were brought by hunger, or death. He scowled. 'What's your name, girl?'


Female Holy Lancer 1 [HP 10/10 | AC:17 | T:14 | FF:13 | CMB:+3 | CMD:16 | Fort:+1 | Ref:+5 | Will:+4 | Init:+8 | Per:+6 | Stealth: +1 | Sense Motive:+2 | Intimidate:+4 | Acrobatics: +5]

The eyes of the woman turn to face the Staff Sergeant, the muscles in her jaw tightening. For a brief moment she just stares.

Calm down, no need to start a fight now… he meant no offense. It’s just their way…

Again she redirects her eyes before simply replying ”Shea… Sir”


[Tactical Map] [Seven Cities]

@Shea

Aragan nodded, a sudden headache pounding against the inside of his skull. 'You'll get your assignment in a week's time, unless you got a preference.'

The Sergeant jotted the name down on his tablet. 'Dismissed, soldier. The corporal will tell you where to go.'

Aragan continued writing for a moment, then stopped. He tossed down the stylus and massaged his temples. Well, at least the headache's fading.


[Tactical Map] [Seven Cities]

@Sloade

As he walked through the streets of Unta, Sloade felt numb inside. The familiar sights, the teeming, interminable crowds, the voices and clash of languages all struck him as something strange, something altered, not before his eyes but in that unknowable place between his eyes and his thoughts. The change was his alone, and it made him feel shorn, outcast. Yet the place was the same: the scenes before him were as they always had been and even in watching it pass by all around him, nothing had changed. It was the gift of knowledge that kept the world at a distance, knowledge that he wasn’t able to do nothing on his own.

Gift… and curse.

Sloade walked among them without being noticed.

The power of ignorance was gone, and all he possessed by way his own skills. Not a craftsman, not a hawker, not a merchant, but soon, a soldier. A weapon of the Empire, and the Empire had those in the tens of thousands.


Male Human Fighter 1 (HP 13/13 AC:15 T:11 F:14 Saves F:+6 R:+1 W:+1 CMB:+4 CMD:15 Init:+1 Perc: +2)

Sloade walked everywhere and nowhere. Most people avoided the boy-grown with soot-smears on his face and singed clothes. Mothers pulled their children tighter as he passed with a vacant look in his eyes. He had no idea where to join the army but he thought it would be easier than this.

He finally saw some soldiers and decided that they must know. He approached them and hesitantly said, Excuse me good sirs. Where can I join up?

"Did you hear him call us sirs?" One of the soldiers scoffed, "He must think we are knights or something!" The soldier let out an annoying guffaw. "We ain't no knights and we ain't no officers neither!" another soldier jeered, "But we are better than raw recruits which you seem to want to be!" One soldier seemed a little more sympathetic, perhaps she had seen battle, perhaps Sloade had reminded her of some stray dog she had once rescued from the streets. "If you really want to join up, then continue down this street, make two rights and a left and you should find someone to process you."

Sloade turned and started following the directions that the kindly soldier provided him. When he was out of earshot, one of the soldiers remarked to the others, "If he thinks they will let him keep that sword and steel, he is in for a rude surprise. He'll be given the standard equipment like we all were." "I don't know" the kindly soldier mused, "You are probably right, but there is something...odd about him. If anyone might hold onto his possessions it might be him."

She watched as the youth disappeared into the crowd.


[Tactical Map] [Seven Cities]

@Ti'ck

She stared down at the blood leaking from the gaps in her armor blankly, shock overtaking her senses. She slowly raised her head, the grinning face of her would be killer leering over her. ”Pff. Thought you were supposed to be some elite warrior? Weren't that tough.” He cackles. Resolve steeling her pain, she moved faster than the unprepared killer could react, her rapier appearing in her blood soaked hand in the span of a single blink. Her next strike hit true, piercing the man’s heart as he towered over her kneeling form. His grin slowly fades as he too late realized his folly in staying to close to the deadly Moranth. ”…Bad….standing.” She stutters out, trying to find the words in the common tongue. She takes a grim satisfaction as the larger opponent falls backwards dead, the look of surprise etched onto his face for the rest of eternity. To die to one such as this, I have not done my clan proud. Forgive me father. She tried to stand, feeling the cold embrace of death beginning to envelop her, desire for this grove to not be her final resting spot pushing her limbs to move. She was able to get to a standing position before her body gave out, unconsciousness overtaking her.

Consciousness and reality came back slowly to her. All she recalls of those first few days after her seemingly inevitable death are fleeting images of moving foliage, of a wooden house, and of a wrinkled old human. Death is strange.

Weeks pass before she finally opened her eyes back to reality. This is not how the stories described the afterlife.

”Awake are ya? Wasn't sure I had gotten to you in time.” She hears from off to her right. Turning her head slowly, muscles straining from lack of use, she quirks her brow at the strange human sitting at the table. ”I…. alive?” She states disbelieving.
”Aye lass, you’re alive, took quite a bit of myself to do it too. Now stop deforming that lovely face of yours and see if you can get out of that bed.”

Her eyes widen in surprise as she translated what he said. She sways slightly in the bed, unable to feel the comforting embrace of her armor. ”My… what…” She slowly reaches up and touches her face, fingers finding the warm touch of flesh. Tears begin to form in her eyes as the extent of her reality becomes apparent, the life she had known gone.

”Oh don’t do that.” The old man replies with concern. ”It had to be removed to treat your injuries. No reason you should be hiding that body of yours anyways. Just isn't right.”

Ti’ck takes a couple of steadying breaths. ”How. I. Alive?” She asks, pushing herself to a sitting position on the bed.

”Call it the grace of the gods dear. Luck had me find you in the grove and by the grace of Denul I was able to get you through the worst of it.” He replies simply. ”Though I’m afraid that you’ll have to carry a part of my power for quite some time before you’ll be fully healed.”

”…I. Thank you.” She replied. ”You. Honorable. Me. Indebted. Not go home.”

The old man laughs. ”Nonsense lady. It was my honor to save one of the gold. You've protected this area plenty in the past. Do you have a name though?”

Ti’ck lets out a quick click. The old man’s laugh deepens. ”You Moranth and all the clicking. I’ll call you Ti’ck I guess. Close enough, and at least I can pronounce that.”

”Ti’ck.” She repeats, mouthing out the sounds. ”Acceptable. How I Name you?”

”My name is unimportant lass. The burden I place on you however, that my dear, that is far more important, and unfortunately, far from easy for you.” He replied.

”Indebted. Will do burden.” Ti’ck responds resolutely.

”Most excellent. There is a recruiter I need you to meet. oh, and your armor. It's over there.” he replies with a grin, motioning to an open door leading to another bedroom.


[Tactical Map] [Seven Cities]

Seven Cities was an ancient civilization, steeped in the power of antiquity, where Ascendants once walked on every trader track, every footpath, every lost road between forgotten places. It was said the sands hoarded power within their susurrating currents, that every stone had soaked up sorcery like blood, and that beneath every city lay the ruins of countless other cities, older cities, cities that went back to the First Empire itself. It was said each city rose on the backs of ghosts, the substance of spirits thick like layers of crushed bone; that each city forever wept beneath the streets, forever laughed, shouted, hawked wares and bartered and prayed and drew first breaths that brought life and the last breaths that announced death. Beneath the streets there were dreams, wisdom, foolishness, fears, rage, grief, lust and love and bitter hatred.

------

1124st Year of Burn's Sleep
66rd Year of the Malazan Empire
66rd Year of Emperor Kellanved's Rule

“Knowledge is returning,” Icarium said, eyes still on the sea. “Raraku’s gift. We were witness to the rise of the waters, here on this west shore. Further west, then, there will be a river, and many cities --”

Mappo’s gaze narrowed. “Only one, now, to speak of,” he said.

“Only one?”

“The others died thousands of years ago, Icarium.”

“N’karaphal? Trebur? Inath’an Merusin? Gone?”

“Inath’an Merusin is now called Mersin. It is the last of the great cities lining the river.”

“But there were so many, Mappo. I recall all their names. Vinith, Hedori Kwil, Tramara….”

“All practicing intensive irrigation, drawing the river’s waters out onto the plains. All clearing forests to build their ships. Those cities are dead now, my friend. And the river, its waters once so clear and sweet, is now heavy with silts and much diminished. The plains have lost their topsoil, becoming the Lato Odhan to the east of the Mersin River, and Ugarat Odhan to the west.”

Icarium slowly raised his hands, set them against his temples, and closed his eyes. “That long, Mappo?” he asked in a frail whisper.

“Perhaps the sea has triggered such memories. For it was indeed a sea back then, freshwater for the most part, although there was seepage through the limestone escarpment from Longshan Bay -- that vast barrier was rotting through, as will it do again, I imagine, assuming this sea reaches as far north as it once did.”

“The First Empire?”

“It was falling even then. There was no recovery.” Mappo hesitated, seeing how his words had wounded his friend. “But the people returned to this land, Icarium. Seven Cities -- yes, the name derives from old remembrances. New cities have grown from the ancient rubble. We are only forty leagues from one right now. Lato Revae. It is on the coast --”

Icariun, the chaser of time, talking with his travelling companion,
Mappo Runt after arriving at Seven Cities continent.


[Tactical Map] [Seven Cities]

"The so-called Malazan ‘empire’ began as a thalassocracy. That is, rule by sea power. In the undignified scholarly scramble to identify and distil the empire’s early stages this truly defining characteristic is usually overlooked. Yet the Malazan expansion was undeniably one of sea power and this was the key to its early successes."

―Imperial Campaigns (The Korel Occupations), Volume II, Fist, Imrygyn Tallobant
.

----

"The Malazan Army shall know but one set of rules," Empereror Kellanved had proclaimed, during the first 'cleansing' and 'restructuring' of the military early in his reign. 'One set of rules, and one ruler...' His and Dassem Ultor's imposition of merit as the sole means of advancement had triggered a struggle for control within the hierarchies of the Army and Navy commands...

----

It had been already some months, since joining the army, and aside from getting a standard gear assignment, and traveling for months, from Quon Tali to Seven cities, the hard imposed march, training, the sea trip, there was no information to their destination, until they arrived.

Seven Cities, the birth place of the long dead human First Empire, had been conquered by the Malazan Empire under Emperor Kellanved. And now it revolted, trying to win free from the hated Mezla Empire.

The new contingent of recruits had arrived at Ubaryd, one of the Seven Holy cities. Before coming under the reign of the Malazan Empire, it was an independent city-state ruled by a Holy Falah'd. The last Holy Falah'd of Ubaryd was slain by Dassem Ultor during the city conquest.

There, the cadre of recruits received their first real instruction, information and knowledge.

----

”Ain’t this the biggest lot of losers that ye ever saw?” the Captain said to his Lieutenant, after inspecting the newcomers.
From out of the mommy tits kids to convicted cutthroats, seeing in the military service the only way to keep his life, the crowd had gathered at the captain order for inspection, only there was no organization at all, no one seemed to know what to do, or just did not cared at all.

The captain studied the contingent once more, the voices raised in unrelated talking making it hard to hear anything that he could say. After a meaningful glance to his lieutenant, the captain stepped back, onto the raised dais, as the lieutenant stepped forward and in the next breath an ululating scream from him brought sudden silence.

”I’m captain Kindly,” says the man in the dais ”This one is Lieutenant Aramstos Pores” he says pointing to the other one, ”We are here to turn you lot into something with a semblance of something related to the military, but telling you the truth, I don’t see the point. Ye lot will be dead within a week, if ye are fortunate. But those were my orders, so ye’ll are stuck with me.”

The man walks a bit more after addressing the crowd again ”The Malazan army is not the biggest one out there.” he says gesturing with his arm, as if to indicate the entire world ”But until now, one was able to stand against us.”

”I don’t care what ye were in your petty little town. Ye may think ye are the big dick, but here ye are nothing more than piglings, waiting for the butcher.”

”So, before we begin, let me give ye a fair warning: forget what you were before joining, nothing there will help ye here. If you achieve anything, it will be by yer own hands.”

”If ye survive this first week, ye’ll be joining the 3rd Army to quell the rebellion. Now get the hell out of here and wait at yer tent. The corporal will give yer next orders.” says the captain.

Please, describe your character appearance.


Moranth Swashbuckler 1 [HP 12/12 | AC:17 | T:14 | FF:13 | CMB + 2 | CMD:14 | Fort:+1 | Ref:+5 | Will:+0 | Init:+3 | Per:+0 | Stealth +5 | Intimidate:+7 | Acrobatics: +8]

Ti'ck looks slowly down the line of recruits, all garnered in their standard gear, looking alike yet different. They are not unlike us....

She had mostly gotten used to the stares of the other recruits, she knew that her dull golden armor stood out prominently against the standard chain shirt that the rest of the recruits wore, and the Moranth were exceedingly rare in this part of the world to begin with.

She may not be Moranth army anymore, but her armor was just as much a part of her as the skin beneath it, and she was glad that the Malazan army had seemed to accept it. The armor fit her like a second skin, perfectly crafted to her body shape, the interlocking chitin pieces overlapping perfectly to barely hinder her movement within it. The armor was mostly pristine outside of a small brown tarnish from that fateful day. Her helm fully covered her head, small slits showing her green eyes. The helm had been the largest point of contention, apparently the Malazan army needed to see facial expression. Eventually they had budged though, recognizing that they had in fact never seen a Moranth without a helm.

she watched as the rest of the recruits started to head somewhere. Her common had gotten better over the last month but she still had so much to learn, and the heavy accents of the officers made it hard to decipher exactly what was being said. She followed behind the other recruits as they marched back to the tents, finally understanding the content of the Captain's order.


Male Human Fighter 1 (HP 13/13 AC:15 T:11 F:14 Saves F:+6 R:+1 W:+1 CMB:+4 CMD:15 Init:+1 Perc: +2)

Sloade, a hulk of a youth, sandy haired and with sad, quiet, blue eyes listens to Captain Kindly’s speech, or was it more of a rant? Sloade did not make eye contact with the captain-no one made eye contact with the capain. One poor recruit learned that the hard way. “My horse does not make eye contact with me. Are you better than my horse?” the Captain screamed. He had the youth drag a huge, heavy log around the perimeter of the camp for an hour to prove to the recruit that he was no better than a horse. Sloade smirked when he thought how misnamed the captain was as he was anything but kindly. Sloade then remembered himself and quit smirking. I am sure the kind Captain Kindly’s horse doesn’t smirk either. he thought to himself. The captain must not have seen the smirk since he continued on with his rant. He was glad when they were dismissed to their tents and away from the captain and his rants. What have I gotten myself into? he thought for the hundredth time since joining.


Female Holy Lancer 1 [HP 10/10 | AC:17 | T:14 | FF:13 | CMB:+3 | CMD:16 | Fort:+1 | Ref:+5 | Will:+4 | Init:+8 | Per:+6 | Stealth: +1 | Sense Motive:+2 | Intimidate:+4 | Acrobatics: +5]

Shea stood in line, one of many of the new and varied recruits. Her youth, smooth skin and long, braided blond hair would make one believe that she fit in with the baby-faced idyllics that joined out of some misbegotten desire to live out childhood legends. But several things betray that image of naivete: the many tattoos covering her exposed skin, the straight and guarded way that she stands at attention, the hard look in her eyes, all these things hint at a kinship far closer with the seedier amongst them.

These ones have a strange way of addressing their recruits. I’ve never seen a leader be so disrespectful of those wishing to dedicate themselves to their cause. This… will be trying… I can tell that already.

Upon being dismissed she took the time to glance amongst the other recruits, careful to avoid meeting eyes with any of them. The obviously wide range of skill, life experience, social standing, even social mannerism being new to her in a military setting.

It’s as if most of them have barely held a weapon, much less used one.

She began her walk back to her tent, the rattle of her chain armor irritating her. It had taken time for her to get used to the weight, being much heavier than the cloth and leather that she had worn previously. The short training on the way here had been boring, even stifling, and the drill instructors seem none too pleased with her unusual fighting style.

Still, she was here to learn, to see what the supposedly great Malazan army had to offer. So far, she was unimpressed. But the Captain had been right, many cities had fallen to this army, so they must be doing something right.

I trust in you T’riss. I just hope that I’m prepared for where you are leading me.


[Tactical Map] [Seven Cities]

Ubaryd, the holy city.
The hot, bright, unforgiving sun, burned in the sky. The city crawled with soldiers and military personal. The salty air that came from Dojal Handing Sea, only made it the more unbearable, the fetid smell of piss and latrine was strong in the district, and the hot humid air only seemed to aggravate the situation.

When the summing came, it was almost a relief to leave the hot, packed tent. The sense of smell was something always present, but since arriving, it had become almost something normal.

Walking through the military camp, for the first time the recruits had the opportunity to see some real training. From sword fighting to bow handling, fighting with a spear to mounting lessons.

The corporal led the recruits to a large open area where the drill sergeant, a grizzled man named Braven Tooth, was sitting with a writing tablet. Once everyone had gathered, he started calling names, and each at turn talked with man. With some, he just talked, with others he yelled. Despite of the obvious faces that showed that most of the recruits did not liked what the old man had said, the soldiers around were smiling, and it was not at the recruit’s misfortune, but at Tooth’s outbursts.

Since I don’t want to keep any of you waiting, I’ll run all the tree parts at the same time, in spoilers.


[Tactical Map] [Seven Cities]

Shea:

”Shea, it’s your turn.” the voices call, urging you forward to meet the drill sergeant.
The grizzled man, look at you up and down, your clothes beneath the armor, the tattoos in your arms and face, your posture and mannerism.
”Ain’t you a pretty thing, eh lass?” he says writing down something. ”Tell me lass, what can you do? And what you think you do best?”

Ti’ck:

”Ti’ck? the man asks, ”What in Togg’s tits that’s supposed to mean?” and eyes follows as you step forward to meet the drill sergeant.
”Ti’ck?” he asks as you step near him.

Sloade:

”Sloade.” the old man calls without looking.
As you walk through the recruits, and stop near the man, he keep writing, leaving you planted there waiting for a couple of minutes.


Moranth Swashbuckler 1 [HP 12/12 | AC:17 | T:14 | FF:13 | CMB + 2 | CMD:14 | Fort:+1 | Ref:+5 | Will:+0 | Init:+3 | Per:+0 | Stealth +5 | Intimidate:+7 | Acrobatics: +8]

"Name is." Ti'ck begins, followed by an incomprehensible strings of clicks, and skittering sounds. "Human called me Ti'ck. Told me come here."


Female Holy Lancer 1 [HP 10/10 | AC:17 | T:14 | FF:13 | CMB:+3 | CMD:16 | Fort:+1 | Ref:+5 | Will:+4 | Init:+8 | Per:+6 | Stealth: +1 | Sense Motive:+2 | Intimidate:+4 | Acrobatics: +5]

Tooth!:
Shea avoids meeting the instructor’s eyes, looking away as his own roam her form. She responds in a clear, strong voice ”Sir, I have experience with weapon repair, as well as equipment maintenance and organization. I’m quick on my feet, can ride a horse, and am trained in a variety of spears and polearms, Sir. I am also one who walks the path of Denul, Sir, though I have only recently started to tread said path.”

Shea is quiet for a moment, seemingly confused, before continuing ”Sir, I am unsure which, if any, I am the best at. Given the more experienced soldiers here, I am inclined to say none, Sir.”


Male Human Fighter 1 (HP 13/13 AC:15 T:11 F:14 Saves F:+6 R:+1 W:+1 CMB:+4 CMD:15 Init:+1 Perc: +2)

Sloade will stand at attention. Is this some sort of test? Is he waiting for me to say something, but if I do, will he punish me for my presumptiveness? Why is everything with these people a test? After a few moments of uncomfortable, at least for Sloade, silence, Sloade will say in a loud, clear voice, SIR! Recruit Sloade reporting as ordered! SIR! Sloade will now wait to see if the man would be pleased or angry. Sloade began to think that the man would be angry whether he said something or remained silent. Such is the life of a recruit!


[Tactical Map] [Seven Cities]

Ti’ck:

”And what in Hood’s burning purgatory you are?” the drill sergeant exclaims ” No, not now.” he says when you start to answer ”Not tomorrow either, not even next week. For now, tell me what I should be using you for.”

Shea:

To your words an eyebrow is raised ”So, we have here someone that can’t look anyone in the eyes, but is bold enough to say that she is not good at anything?” the drill sergeant says with a smile ”Soldier Braven Truth” the man says ”You’ll be assigned to malazan Marines. Report to Lieutenant Whiskeyjack. Dismissed soldier.”

Sloade:

”Ouch” the old man says ”No need to yell son.” he continues in kindler tone raising his eyes to look at you. For some moments, that’s all he does, until he says again ”Can you use a crossbow? In a fight, how would you deal with your enemy?”


Moranth Swashbuckler 1 [HP 12/12 | AC:17 | T:14 | FF:13 | CMB + 2 | CMD:14 | Fort:+1 | Ref:+5 | Will:+0 | Init:+3 | Per:+0 | Stealth +5 | Intimidate:+7 | Acrobatics: +8]

"Good Scout, find traps, and not easy to see. I also create alchemi.al weapons. good in war." Ti'ck responds to the sergent with a questioning tilt, unsure if she totally understood the question.


Male Human Fighter 1 (HP 13/13 AC:15 T:11 F:14 Saves F:+6 R:+1 W:+1 CMB:+4 CMD:15 Init:+1 Perc: +2)

Sloade considers the man's questions. Is he asking if I'm not brave enough for the front lines? And if so, is that a bad thing? Regaining his courage, Sloade says (in a voice not as loud as before) Sir! I am not familiar with that weapon Sir! On the farm we used longbows and shortbows against predators, Sir! He then pauses to consider his next answer carefully, Sir! I would want to get up close and use my hands to make sure he will be an enemy no more! Sir! Sloade then makes the most ferocious face he can.

Let me see your warface!


Female Holy Lancer 1 [HP 10/10 | AC:17 | T:14 | FF:13 | CMB:+3 | CMD:16 | Fort:+1 | Ref:+5 | Will:+4 | Init:+8 | Per:+6 | Stealth: +1 | Sense Motive:+2 | Intimidate:+4 | Acrobatics: +5]

Shea nods and replies “Sir yes Sir! Thank you Sir!” before walking away. She then leaves to find this Lieutenant Whiskeyjack, keeping the straight-backed posture of being in front of the drill Sergeant, her thoughts running a bit.

Hmm, so humility is appreciated? Is that why they were being so insulting before? Strange customs these soldiers have. Or was that just the personality of Sir Tooth? It’s amazing how different these people are than… well… every soldier I’ve ever met before.


[Tactical Map] [Seven Cities]

Sloade:
”Wrestle them to death, lad? Better learn some swordplay, shield and crossbow. Barehanded and you’ll be dead long before you can reach your enemy, lad.” he write some more and continues ”You are big enough to be heavy infantry, however… wrestle them to death? Marines it is then. Lieutenant Whiskeyjack will hammer some sense in your head.” he writes some more then ”Dismissed soldier Green Howl, report to your lieutenant.”


[Tactical Map] [Seven Cities]

Ti’ck:
”Do you ever remove this armor?” the old man asks curiously ”Like, ever?” but he don’t wait any answer as he instruct you ”You’ll be a fit for the marines. Standard gear is crossbow, shield, sword – short or long- whatever is more comfortable. Suggest you remove the armor, nothing behind it can be that bad you want to hide, and it attracts attention and attention in battlefield gets you killed.” he writes some more ”Soldier Ti’ck, report to lieutenant Whiskeyjack. Dismissed.”


[Tactical Map] [Seven Cities]

Braven Truth:

Walking around the camp, you were able now to notice subtle differences. While training was held almost in par with Seguleh training, malazan military was more flexible, allowing each use their own way of fighting. Sure, there were basic things that everyone shared, posture and attacks, but you could see that even tho it was the same, each had impersonated his own way of fighting, making it something fluid and deadly. There was no ‘common’ way to fight those soldiers. There was no common term to which an enemy would be able use.

Reaching the marines camp was not that hard, a couple of questions, some pointed directions, and a bell later you were standing before the lieutenant.
His face was scarred, and something that might have been a burn marred his jaw and left cheek. For all that, he looked young for an officer. The officer, bearded and solidly built. A visored helm with a chain camail disguised much of his features, but you sensed in him an immeasureable strength of will.


Female Holy Lancer 1 [HP 10/10 | AC:17 | T:14 | FF:13 | CMB:+3 | CMD:16 | Fort:+1 | Ref:+5 | Will:+4 | Init:+8 | Per:+6 | Stealth: +1 | Sense Motive:+2 | Intimidate:+4 | Acrobatics: +5]

Shea glances at Lieutenant Whiskeyjack from off in the distance for a few minutes before coming over, watching the officer’s mannerisms, as well as the other recruits that move to speak with him.

He’s young, but that doesn’t mean much… He’s clearly seen battle… Still, his demeanor and bearing seem to indicate strength… and hopefully competence… Well, enough staring, time to see what my future holds.

She walks over to Whiskeyjack, looking down as she stands before him, and introduces herself. ”Sir, I’m Shea, reporting for duty in the Marines from Drill Sergeant Tooth. I believe he called me ‘Braven Truth’, Sir, if that makes a difference.”


Moranth Swashbuckler 1 [HP 12/12 | AC:17 | T:14 | FF:13 | CMB + 2 | CMD:14 | Fort:+1 | Ref:+5 | Will:+0 | Init:+3 | Per:+0 | Stealth +5 | Intimidate:+7 | Acrobatics: +8]

Ti'ck chuckles ot herself as she meanders around the camp trying to find this Whiskeyjack. Take off my armor? These people are so strange. And what is a marine?

she finally is able to find the lieutenant by asking a passing set of soldiers where to find "Whiskeyjack?"

Walking over to the lieutenant she stands tall and at attention. "Ti'ck here. Told come here by other man, Tooth."


Male Human Fighter 1 (HP 13/13 AC:15 T:11 F:14 Saves F:+6 R:+1 W:+1 CMB:+4 CMD:15 Init:+1 Perc: +2)

Sir! Yes Sir! Sloade says and then walks quickly away. Hammer some sense? Have I just been insulted? No matter. It sure beats driving the wagons or working in the mess. I came here to learn how to fight and it sounds like this Whiskeyjack will be just the one to teach me. As Sloade finally finds Whiskeyjack he sees that there are two other people standing in front of him. Well at least one person- gods only know what is underneath all that armor standing next to a woman, but dern if that armor doesn't look nice! Sloade walks over and stands next to the armored one. Ye gods! I was right! That is nicely crafted armor. I wonder if they will let him or her keep it?

Sir! Recruit Sloade Reporting as ordered Sir! Then he remembered that Tooth called him something else. Err...Tooth refered to me as Green Howl. Sir!

It is then that he notices the tattoos on the woman and the hard way she looks at Lieutenant Whiskeyjack. I don't remember these two as fellow recruits, but then I was just trying to keep my head down.


While Shea observed the lieutenant, other recruits arrived, talked with the man, then left. Overall, he did not seemed to be anything else than a veteran soldier, even if he was not that old.
He walked the camp, talking with other officers, instructing and correcting, but none seemed displeased by his presence, on contrary, moods improved whenever he was near.

Deciding it was already time to meet the officer, she stepped up, only them noticing the armor-covered freak, walking towards the camp, asking for directions, and the hulk of youth, walking shyly towards the lieutenant. She remembered seeing them at the gathering, but there was no way she would know they had been pointed towards the man.

It was the tree of you, walking towards the lieutenant, which dragged his attention from the camps. In his eyes, recognition, in more ways than any of you would be able to understand.

To each of you after saying your names, he asks clearly amused.
”What have you done to earn such names?”


Male Human Fighter 1 (HP 13/13 AC:15 T:11 F:14 Saves F:+6 R:+1 W:+1 CMB:+4 CMD:15 Init:+1 Perc: +2)

How the hell do I know?! Sir! I don't know, Sir! He seems friendly enough, but they all seem friendly until they start yelling at you! Compared to Tick and Braven Truth, I kinda like Green Howl. Sloade decides to add, Sir! Perhaps it is because our enemies will howl with fear before me! Sir! Sloade then makes his warface. Arrrrr!


”The name is fitting.” he says after laughing at Green Howl warface.

”Best learn it, and learn it fast.” he finally adds after he manage to stop laughing ”Within military facilities, it is expected you salute your superior. There’s no need for ‘Sir’ before anything you want to say, and unless you are talking to someone really high up, don’t need to be that formal.” he says to Green Howl, then he turns to Ti’ck has he continues ”Got no idea what a Golden Moranth is doing here, but if here you are, you should do as we do, and that means protocols, such I just described to soldier Green Howl must be observed. Understand it soldier Ti’ck?”

The finally he turns to Braven Truth and reluctantly add ”Bargash tattoos and one unmasked. I’m sure there’s an exciting tale behind it all. Be careful lass, your ways are not ours.”


Male Human Fighter 1 (HP 13/13 AC:15 T:11 F:14 Saves F:+6 R:+1 W:+1 CMB:+4 CMD:15 Init:+1 Perc: +2)

Si..Uh...Yes! I'll learn it! Sloade replies. He was about to sir him but remembered that he needs to be less formal. Golden Moranth? Never heard of it, but I like their armor; and I sure am not going to ask that lady about her tattoos! Sloade repeats his new name several times in his head.


"Not before." the lieutenant says.


Female Holy Lancer 1 [HP 10/10 | AC:17 | T:14 | FF:13 | CMB:+3 | CMD:16 | Fort:+1 | Ref:+5 | Will:+4 | Init:+8 | Per:+6 | Stealth: +1 | Sense Motive:+2 | Intimidate:+4 | Acrobatics: +5]

When told to be less formal, Shea salutes Whiskeyjack and loosens her form a bit, her feet sliding slightly wider apart, her arms loosening.

She listens to the stuttering of the large man standing in line with her, not glancing over but wondering what it means to be put together in the same unit as him.

He's so uncomfortable. Does he know something I don't? What did the recruiter see in him? Or did I get placed in the unit of lowest competency?... Maybe I'm being too harsh...

And then there is the Moranth. Shea can't help but steel a glance at that one, the odd and... its odd, shell-like armor.

Indeed, a collage of many, many people in this Army... This is the first time I've seen one of them before... But I've seen pieces of that armor before... or at least one like it... Best not to tell it that...

When Whiskeyjack turns to face her, Shea continues to look down. But when he mentions being unmasked, she can't hide the surprise when she glances up at him, examining his face before averting her eyes again.

How... how did he know that?...

Trying to stay calm, she replies "Of course, Lieutenant"


Moranth Swashbuckler 1 [HP 12/12 | AC:17 | T:14 | FF:13 | CMB + 2 | CMD:14 | Fort:+1 | Ref:+5 | Will:+0 | Init:+3 | Per:+0 | Stealth +5 | Intimidate:+7 | Acrobatics: +8]

Ti'ck watches Shea closely as she interacts with the lieutenant. She goes to mimic the Bargash's movement, her salute coming off akward. Why would the officers want my arm so far from my weapon when they are near? Maybe there officers are not combat trained? No that can't be right, Whiskeyjack looks battlescarred.

"Understood." She responds to the lieutenant. I don't know why I'm here either, but I owe that man my life.

She lowers her arm, the movement no less akward then beginning the salute.

Aww no more sirs. Here I was planning on getting Ti'ck really confused as she "improves" her language skills be listening to Shea and Sloade.


Male Human Fighter 1 (HP 13/13 AC:15 T:11 F:14 Saves F:+6 R:+1 W:+1 CMB:+4 CMD:15 Init:+1 Perc: +2)

I think he still wants to Sir him after we say things but not before AND after...

I am sure he will correct us with latrine duty if we're wrong. :)


”Slow learners?” he says mostly to himself.

‘Officially, you’re in 4th Squad, one of three squads under my command. The 5th and 6th squads are supposedly on their way over from the tent city west of Ubaryd. We’re all in the 9th Company, which consists of three squads of heavy infantry, three of marines, and eighteen squads of medium infantry. Our commander is a man named Captain Kindly—and yes, you’ve already met him some hours ago. Nine companies in all, making up the 3rd Legion—us. The 3rd is under the command of Fist Gamet, who is a veteran of war.’ He paused, grimacing at the slightly glazed faces before him. ‘But never mind all that. You’re in the 4th Squad. You sergeant is called Dujek and he’ll be the one responsible for your training. You’ve got some more coming, but even with that, you’re undermanned as a squad, but so are all the others and before you ask, I ain’t privy to the reasons for that. Now, any questions yet?’


Male Human Fighter 1 (HP 13/13 AC:15 T:11 F:14 Saves F:+6 R:+1 W:+1 CMB:+4 CMD:15 Init:+1 Perc: +2)

Sloade tries to keep tack of all the numbers as they flow from Whiskeyjack's mouth, and by the end he couldn't remember if he was the 9th squad in the 3rd legion or the 4th company of the 2nd squad. The only thing he seemed to remember was the name Dujek who will train him to be a soldier and that was the only thing that matter to Sloade.


Moranth Swashbuckler 1 [HP 12/12 | AC:17 | T:14 | FF:13 | CMB + 2 | CMD:14 | Fort:+1 | Ref:+5 | Will:+0 | Init:+3 | Per:+0 | Stealth +5 | Intimidate:+7 | Acrobatics: +8]

Ti'ck sighs in her helm as Whiskeyjack spouts out military jargon about rankings and squads, and companies. I'm in over my head here. just what is he talking about?

She finally perks up as he mentions Dujek and their continued training. "Go to Dujek now?" She asks quizzically.


Female Holy Lancer 1 [HP 10/10 | AC:17 | T:14 | FF:13 | CMB:+3 | CMD:16 | Fort:+1 | Ref:+5 | Will:+4 | Init:+8 | Per:+6 | Stealth: +1 | Sense Motive:+2 | Intimidate:+4 | Acrobatics: +5]

Shea listens intently, trying to commit all of the ranks and regimens to memory.

At least the ranking system was easier. Highest rank was in command. Collect into groups as ordered. End of story. But all of this...

When Whiskeyjack asks for questions Shea speaks up, asking "At this point, do we have rank and if so, what are they, Sir? Also, who is the leader of the 4th squad, Sir?"


To Ti’ck, the lieutenant adds ”It is still requested of you the proper observance of ranks, and thus you should address a superior officer with respect, and that includes using sir, after anything you say directed to a higher ranking officer. I may be lenient with this, but others aren’t. Better learn fast Soldier Ti’ck.” Whiskerjack patiently explains to the armored freak.

Then after Braven Truth question, he says ”You are recruits, not yet recognized as soldiers, no matter what you were before joining. Malazan military works much like what you expect from your society.” he says ”One advance by his own merits, but unlike you, we don’t challenge our leaders, we obey them. The 4th squad leader is Dujek. He may already have choose a corporal or may still do so, who knows.” and then to the blank look on your face, the lieutenant sighs and with a matter of fact voice continues.

”The Malaz army is divided in Legions. At this point, there are ten existing legions, waging from one to ten, as to be expected. We belong to the third legion.”

”The supreme commander of the army, is of course Emperor Kellanved. But the Military leader, the commander-in-chief of all armies is Dassem Ultor, the First Sword of the Empire.”

”The Commander of a ground campaign, such as this one to quell the rebellion on seven cities, in which the Second and Third legion are currently engaged, is called High Fist, which in this case, is Dassem Ultor as well.”

”Each Legion’s commander is Called Fist, in our case, is Fist Gamet. Each Fist has a series of Commanders, usually commanding a group of companies. Each commander can, if it is necessary, have a Sub-Commander.”

”Ahead of each company, there’s a captain, in our case is our beloved Captain Kindly. He in turn oversees a series of Lieutenants, and each lieutenant is responsible for a number of squads.”

”Each squad, has a sergeant, and each sergeant has a corporal to help him.”

”Is there any more questions?” he asks patiently, and you get the impression he approves of asking questions.

1 to 50 of 225 << first < prev | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | next > last >>
Community / Forums / Online Campaigns / Play-by-Post / Gardens of the Moon All Messageboards

Want to post a reply? Sign in.