Blue Moon [Anbennar]

[Crushric]

Blue Moon

Introduction: What?
​

They betrayed us. Our home, Dameria, was torn apart. Lorent and Wex won the great game of thrones and exterminated the ancient and noble house of Silmuna.

But they were sloppy. We are the Sons of Dameria. We are those that challenge the sun and raise the moon banner of Rogier Silmuna, last of his line, who fought beside the War Goddess to lead us to a new promised land.

We will have our vengeance, even if it takes centuries, even if we must reduce a continent to ashes. We will reclaim our birthright.

Only when a Silmuna once again sits upon the Dove Throne of Anbennar will everything finally be alright.

What?​

This is an AAR, or After Action Report, of the game Europa Universalis IV (EU4). It’s an old picture style Let’s Play of sorts. Mostly, Europa Universalis IV is a game about taking a fledgling state kicking and screaming through the era of exploration, colonization, the French Revolution, and early industrialization. Think of it as a much more in-depth and somewhat more historically grounded version of Civilization.

But this is running Anbennar, which is a mod that takes EU4 from 1444’s Earth and instead puts all of these mechanics into a Dungeons & Dragons fantasy world. Witness the rise of states and empires and technology like never before! Use dark magic to turn sentient people into magical batteries, rebuild the dwarven kingdom under the mountains, shoot an orc with a magitek rifle!

If you don't know anything about this game, no worries. This AAR will try to explain things in ways that are clear enough, even if you don't really know what EU4 is. Doubly so for Anbennar’s unique races, faiths, and world. I’ll keep it simple and fairly narrative for you to understand! [Stuff in brackets is my own OOC player thoughts and opinions.] Everything else will be broadly from an in-character soap opera narrative POV.

And if YOU on the Paradox forums are wondering why I'm explaining what EU4 is on the EU4 board, that's because this is technically a mirror. This AAR is posted somewhere else, where I don't expect people to know too much about EU4 or Anbennar, and serves as a vague introduction to both EU4 and Anbennar.

What?​

Instead of playing a mighty nation destined to rule the world by virtue of its favorable starting position, I’ll be playing a plucky band of murder-hobos in Eastern Cannor (called Escann, which is sort of like fantasy Europe). This is a region of the world filled with orcs and monsters, with plucky bands of heroes and adventurers there to clean up the mess of an orcish invasion that ended local civilization.

The theme of Escann is that these parties of D&D adventurers clear out small areas of orcs, settle down, and become actual countries. Older nations don’t take them seriously until it’s too late, and Escann becomes home to radical ideas and dark abuses of magic, or pretender kingdoms, or the rise of entirely new religions like a fantasy Protestant Reformation.

Escann is the great womb of nations, and the things she births are bound to destroy the old order and remake it in their image.

If orcs or heroic infighting doesn’t strangle you in the crib, that is.

So join me and let’s build a nation up from a group of murder-hobos, yeah?

[TW: Contains French—due to artistic liberties]

 

[Crushric]

Chapter 1: Go East, Young Man​

The world ended yesterday.

Today, a new world is born from the graves and charnel pits of a continent.

I watched a god die to kill the orcish messiah. And when she died, the heroes and adventurers who survived looked at each other at a loss. There, amidst our victory over the orcish scourge, standing over ruins and fallen brothers, all everyone could do was look to each other and wonder, “What now?”

Everyone except for me.

This isn’t the first time I’ve seen the world end.

My baby sister, Eilís, is still out there somewhere.

The world ended yesterday.

Today, a new world is born from the graves and charnel pits of a continent.

And I’ll keep adding to it until I find her.

I am Rogier Silmuna, the Exile. Last of my line of dukes, emperors, and mages. Captain of the Sons of Dameria, those still loyal to my bloodline, to our destroyed homeland.

Our enemies took everything from me. They betrayed us all. They killed my family. Stole my birthright. Hunted us down like animals.

The details don’t really matter.

They wouldn’t change a goddamn thing.

The borders, faiths, and cultures of Western and Eastern Cannor (Escann), on 11 Nerament, 1444. The day after Corinsfall. And there at its heart, Anbennar herself. Somewhere in this wasteland is my sister.
[This is Cannor, the “Europe” of this world. Mostly human, it is dominated by Lorent (roughly equivalent to“France”), Gawed (“The North” from Game of Thrones), and Anbennar (the “Holy Roman Empire”). You’ll notice Eastern Cannor, or Escann, is kind of a wasteland after a recent orcish apocalypse.]​

The world is broken.

A usurper sits upon the Dove Throne of Anbennar, still fresh with my father’s blood.

Everything was gone. I alone survived. There was nowhere left to go.

Until a traveling mage on the road offered to use his divination magic to help me. I was never much for the arcane arts, even if magic ran deep in my blood. When he found me and made the offer, I was desperate. I was wounded. Exhausted. And I gave him the last of my crowns, all the money I had left in the world.

And a single drop of my blood for his ritual.

“Go East, young man,” he told me, gazing into his bloodstained crystal ball. “Escann is your future.”

I laughed, a desperate, hoarse sound. “Give my money back, you old bastard. There’s nothing in Escann but orcs and war.”

The mage regarded me gravely. “I can find your blood in two directions. One, in Wesdam.”

My face twisted into a grimace. “Don’t you call them my blood, not after what they did to my father!”

“And the other,” he continued without concern, “is in Escann. The blood of a princess.”

“Eilís?” I asked, sitting up sharply. “She died, her and everyone else in Escann when the orcs invaded.”

“Go east, Rogier,” he said at length. “There you will find your blood and destiny.”

Escann, home to the ruined city of Castonath, the seat of the ancient Empire of Castanor.​

Once, Escann was the cradle of Castanor, Humanity’s Empire. That fell apart a few hundred years ago. Chivalric Escann replaced it, a land of honor and courtly love, where wars were settled with knightly duels, women were gorgeous, and… you get the point.

They weren’t ready for the orcs. The Greentide swept over Escann. All their honor, all their knights, all their chivalry—none of it mattered.

In the end, it was heroes who answered the call. Adventurers and heroes and soldiers.

I’m no hero.

The men who gathered to my banner when I marched east were bastards, were veterans, were men denied their futures like myself. We could never defeat Lorent, Wesdam, or Wex to reclaim the birthright.

We were the Sons of Dameria. They chased us to the ends of Anbennar to kill me, but abandoned us at the borders of the orcish wasteland that was Escann.

We joined Corin, not out of idealism or heroism, but because we were soldiers.

Because we had a mission.

Corin is dead. The Dookanson is dead. The age of heroes ended in a murder-suicide.
[Escann is among the most striking regions of Anbennar. It repurposes EU4 mechanics of migration and tribal land meant for North American Natives to instead represent orcish tribes and adventurer bands.]​

Escann is a wasteland. Between the orcish and goblins hordes we have gelded, there are the men and women, the humans and dwarves and elves and halflings and gnomes, who answered the call, who fought alongside Corin to put an end to the Greentide. There’s almost too many to count, even if we all were there together at the Battle of Castonath only yesterday.

Corintar, Raven’s Banner, Brave Brothers, Sword Covenant, New Wanderers, Gallant Friends, Order of the Iron Scepter, Pioneer’s Guild, Warriors of Ancard, the Cobalt Company, Order of the Ashen Rose, Marrhold, Company of the Thorn, House of Riches, the Count’s League, Anbenncóst Expedition, Stalwart Band, Small Fellows, Iron Hammers, the Sons of Dameria—to say nothing of the endless parties of smaller heroes dotting the land.

For now, we all share the blood of battle. We all remember being friends who marched with Corin, for whatever our reasons were.

But only a fool thinks that peace between us can ever last.

Before the bonds of heroes break down, we must strike into the festering heart of the greenskins. Burn and root them out to find what happened to my sister.

As their Captain, the Sons of Dameria became very good at their jobs: killing orcs, saving towns, and solving quests.
[Here is the signature mechanic of Adventuring Companies, as well as the traits of human nations with human armies. In EU4, this scale is only used in the nation of Prussia to represent militarization of the state. In Anbennar, it instead represents how good a party of adventurers are at solving quests and fighting monsters. It allows tiny but heroic adventuring companies the ability to punch way above their weight class!]​

These are my men. Those who follow me, who call me Captain and Lord. These Sons of Dameria are my closest friends and companions. I would trust them with my life, and they trust me with theirs. We have fought and trained together, drilling and adventuring until our fingers were bones.

They are my family. They are my sons. For all that it matters.

We represent the last hopes of the fallen Grand Duchy of Dameria.

Dookanson may be dead. But there’s work left to do.

No matter what happens on the quest to find my sister, I can’t let them down.

I owe that much for the loyalty they have shown me.

It’s a quaint place for our main camp.​

Tiltwick in olden times was fertile farmlands of the Kingdom of Adenica. After the orcs came and slaughtered its human inhabitants, we reclaimed it. The old farms served as an ideal place to build camp.

And when the Sons of Dameria return bloodied from the Battle of Castonath, it is where I let them celebrate and party. Drinks are on me as their captain. We won the first half of the battle for Escann, but many lost their hero. A goddess died to secure us victory.

But the men deserve a rest. You can only push people so far before even the strongest break.

The whole time, I stay sober. I train. I practice. There is so much work to be done.

Once the hangovers are nursed away, once they are rested, we go back to the warpath.

My second in command, Madaléin.
[Adventurers use theocracy mechanics of devotion and successor selection. She is my “heir,” but that just means she was more or less elected. No relationship otherwise]​

“Bonjour, mon capitaine,” Madaléin calls out, chewing a piece of straw as she sits upon the fence of an old farmstead. “I know that look in your eyes. You’ve been sitting alone all night thinking angry thoughts again. Don’t even try to lie to me.”

I run my hand over my morning stubble. As soon as I open my mouth, her look of somehow smug disgust stops me.

“I swear to Castellos himself, if you were about to say ‘sleep is for the weak,’ I’m going to shank you.” She puts a hand on the hilt of her swords, winking for effect.

I shrug. “Actually, I was just going to lie to you.”

Madaléin sighs. “I appreciate your honesty, Rogier.”

Rogier. Even after all this time, it’s jarring to hear anyone address me so casually. Madaléin is the seventh child of an incredibly minor noble family on the Lorentish border. Rather than be married off to the Baron of Piss-Backwater or whatever, she bought a sword and left home to lead a party of adventurers, which is how she came to join my company when I took the Sons of Dameria to Escann.

She’s minor nobility at the best, barely more than a peasant with a slightly bigger farm than average. I’m a Silmuna, one of the great Silver Families of Anbennar. Not that there’s any left but me.

In any other world, Madaléin would’ve been so far beneath me I wouldn’t have spared her a second thought.

In this one, she is my right hand, and one of the finest warriors I’ve ever had the honor to know.

“Thanks, Freckles. I try,” I say.

She jumps off the fence with a scowl, sighing so hard her entire body shakes. Then she takes another breath just to sigh her lungs empty again for good measure.

“You good?” I ask.

“Hold on, I think I have one more sigh in me.”

“Take your time,” I say mildly.

“Alright, mon fearless leader,” she says sufferingly. “As the only one here who isn’t hungover sideways, what’s your plan now?”

So long as there are orcs and goblins in Escann, we’ve got plenty of work.
[EU4 has “mission trees” that give you rewards depending on your country when certain conditions are met, to broadly guide you down a historical path. Some bonuses are temporary, some are permanent. And Anbenner has massive mission trees to complete]​

I go to my Adenican courser, one of the legendary horses this land was once known for. They run wild since Adenica died, and a good portion of daily quests we put out to the men are wrangling more of the beasts to ride.

“There’s still greenskins out there,” I said, feeding the courser from my hand.

“And your sister too,” Madaléin says, hands clasped behind her back.

I don’t reply.

“One of these days you’ll have to tell me about her, Rogier. You can only brood about it for so long.”

“You underestimate my willingness to commit to a bit,” I say as I put the reins on my horse.

“I didn’t know you were a theater kid,” she coos. “Next you’ll tell me you studied in the Bard College in Seinathíl! Y’know, I almost went there myself, before I discovered how much I like swinging sharp bits of metal around.”

I give her a look of naked horror. My horse nuzzles my hand in concern.

“What, what, something on my face?” she asks.

“No, I just pictured you singing and threw up a little in my mouth.”

Madaléin scowls. “Casse-toi, petit con!”

I laugh. “Get your sword. As soon as the men are ready, we ride south. There’s a nest of goblins that’s been annoying me for too long.”

Surrounding us on all sides are other adventurers, and the remnants of the Greentide, be they orc or goblin.
[In the early game “civilized” races, like humans and elves, and “monstrous” races, like orcs or harpies, can freely declare war on each other, but other non-humans tend to have very strong early game armies to balance this. Except goblins, who are trash only good in the late game.]​

Adenica was good land. Many of Corin’s followers made their camps in the region. Most relevant are the Small Fellows, halflings who always struck me as standoffish; and the New Wanderers, a bunch of cat-worshiping nutjobs from the lands of Kheterata far to the south. They don’t bother us as we march south.

This is still the home of plenty of monsters, like Goblins, who followed the orcs here.

Goblins are disgusting little creatures with unpronounceable names. A clan of the bastards have made camp in the ruins of Taranton, once the regional capital. Someone told me the clan’s name translates into “Grasshopper Muncher,” which is so stupid that they deserve to be slaughtered for that alone.

The half-pints are easy fodder, cowards every one. This campaign will be a palate cleanser after Castonath.

[Good generals can turn an average army into a walking force of pure murder, with stats that add bonuses to their dice rolls during different phases of combat. What matters is Rogier has 4/6 Fire and 4/6 Shock, which makes him very good, and 3/6 siege, which in the early game means he eats forts for breakfasts. Hummuna hummuna!]​

I’m Damerian through and through. I know how to maneuver archers into position and use cavalry as a matter of course. And seeing enough sieges of my homeland has taught me a thing or two about how to undermine and destroy a fortress.

I lead my men from the front, with Madaléin beside me.

In some ways, it’s the only thing I’m any good at anymore. The only use anyone has for me.

“Adventuring Party” is something of a misnomer. In the classical sense, it’s a team of wandering sellswords or paladins or whatever, fighting local monsters or any of the other supernatural or criminal problems that rear their ugly heads up. That’s an old-fashioned understanding.

While those still exist and serve in our ranks—usually it’s what the company does when we’re idle, dispersing to do their own thing—a modern Escanni Adventuring Company is an organized, highly mobile force. We make our camps, we clean the place out of monsters and horrors, and we move on.

It’s more akin to a small, all-volunteer, highly professional army than a party of plucky rogues and mages. These men and women are veterans, more skilled and experienced than the peasant levies with noble knights that make up the armies of Gawed, Anbennar, or Lorent.

We march to the ruined city of Taranton without opposition, and lay siege to the rickety walls the goblins—

—aaaaand it’s over.​

I let the men sack what’s left of the city. The streets and houses are the same as Castonath. Desolated and decayed and looted, inhabited by squatting little men. Of course, by the time we got here, the goblins fled the city, leaving only a token force behind to make us think they were still here and waste time trying to break the gates.

Clever, I’ll admit, but pathetic. I expected a fight.

We free human slaves the goblins had kept as workers. A good many enlist with the Company, having nowhere else to go, or else offer to pay us “taxes” if we help them settle the nearby abandoned farmland. Never thought I’d meet a man who’d volunteer to pay taxes, but the Greentide made men go crazy, I guess.

An old man who claims he used to be an Adenner knight tells me the goblins fled southeast, towards the Clan of Rotcleaver.

Orcs, at least.

The Dookanson may have been the orcish messiah, but his powerbase were the clans and tribes who followed him. After Corin killed him, the clans didn’t just go away; they simply retreated to their nesting or spawning grounds to figure out their next move, no different than we victors of Castonath.

If anyone knows what happened to my sister, it would be the Dookansan’s warbosses. Eilís was a hard girl to miss, clad in her blue dresses, with a matching scarf. It was her expensive style.

Seems we’ll be marching southeast come morning.
[Adventuring mechanics only allows you to take “tribal land,” which is the barely-ruled areas without solid coloring. You can only destroy an orc/goblin tribe for good if they’re down to one last province. Any tribal land you take will become yours when you “settle down” and stop being a bunch of murder-hobos]​

Madaléin sits her ass down on the table and map I was studying.

I look up in surprise. I hadn’t noticed her entering. I’d taken up residence in what was once Adenica’s royal war room, now little more than debris, cobwebs, and old furniture from a bygone age.

“Freckles, move.”

She eyes me dubiously, holding two mugs. Or maybe she’s just too sloshed to focus rightly on me. She offers a cup to me. “Nah, screw that. We found old wine cellars in this here old castle the goblins couldn’t break into. Some girl picked the lock and now we’re really celebrating victory.”

I push the mug away. “Get off my map.”

She huffs. “Corin’s perky tits, mon capitaine, no need to be so bitter.”

“Excuse me?”

Madaléin taps at her lips. “Didn’t you hear? A bunch of adventure-priests decided Corin is officially a for-real god in the Heavenly afterlife now. The new Goddess of War, Bravery, and Heroism. So, obviously, I need to be the first person to properly blaspheme that little squire from Bennon.”

Corin has replaced Agrados, the God of War who was cast into the Inferno for his crimes?
[I’m sure this won’t spiral into a religious schism in a hundred year, plunging the world into brutal religious wars killing hundreds of thousands]

Sure, I’ll incorporate that uncritically into my worldview.
[Spoiler: it does]
[The Regent Court, or the “Cannorian Pantheon,” is the dominant religion in Cannor, and the ones the Sons of Dameria follow. It uses basegame Hindu personal deities. Your favorite God grants you special bonuses, doubly so if your leader traits match what the god likes. Corin is a strong god, and Escann Adventurers can freely switch to her via this event once the murderhobo priests start to simp for her really hard]​

“So,” Madaléin says happily, “take the drink, or by Corin’s red-haired crotch, I will smite you.”

I cringe a little, shaking my head. “Get out of here, Freckles. I’m working.”

“Mon capitaine, you don’t smoke, you don’t drink, you don’t dance, and I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen you with a girl either. What’s that all about, eh?

“I prefer to stay busy,” I say stiffly.

“You are going to burn out, is what you are,” she says, poking my breastplate with a finger. “Take the godsdamn wine and relax. What the hell am I supposed to do if you work yourself to death, huh? Huh?”

“What did you do before you hitched your wagon to mine?”

Madaléin shrugs, swaying a little. “Threaten to become a bard and do everything in my power to embarrass my father, like any girl worth her salt. But then I decided to see the world and live, Rogier. You could learn a thing or two from me.”

I regard her for the longest time, this slightly drunk girl who is almost half my age trying to tell me I could learn from her. This girl who is here by choice. Who, at any point, could go back home with her loot and gold. Who can still think about fun and relaxation without any guilt.

She reaches out to flick my nose. “No brooding. This is a—hey, watch it!”

Grabbing her offending hand, I scowl. “I said move, Madaléin.” And I let her go. “And don’t drink yourself stupid. Tomorrow we march down Lake Silvermere to the Rotcleaver Clan.”

Rubbing her fingers, she looks up at me. When she shifts in place, I can hear the leather scabbard of her sword creak. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear people cheering and singing the night away.

“And what if you don’t find her there?” she asks quietly.

I say nothing.

“Will you talk about her if I do leave? Not now, I guess.” She grimaces. “But—you can’t just bottle this up forever, mon capitaine.”

I nod.

She slides to her feet and gives me one last, long look before she leaves me to my lonesome.

When I’m sure she’s gone, I scream and stab the map of Escann until there’s nothing left.

Moving along Lake Silvermere, through the Merewood.​

Madaléin doesn’t say much. She helps me organize the Sons of Dameria, meet with my lieutenants and party leaders, and gets them out the gates of Tarantan by the morning. No matter her feelings, she follows orders.

She’s valuable that way, and the men trust her like they do me.

In the deepest parts of Escann’s forests, sometimes you can very rarely catch fairy-lights. The last dying influence of the Fey left in the mortal world. At least that’s what one company mage says around a campfire.

Thousands of years ago, most of Cannor was a forest dominated by the magical fey. Reality was weak. Until Castan “Beastbane,” a human, made it his mission in life to slash and burn the forests. To drive the fey and bestial races from Cannor, until only the impenetrable weald of the Deepwoods remained.

Madaléin finally speaks up, sharpening her sword. “But why would Beastbane have to do that? I thought magic was a good thing. It’s what the Magisterium back in Abennar is all about.”

The mage stares at me. My eyes remain fixed on the campfire.

“Because,” he says somberly, refusing a cup of ale, “no matter what you call them—be they the gods we worship, the devils we abhor, or kings and emperors we serve—things of power feast on fire and blood.”

By morning, we arrive in Rotcleaver territory, and the orcs rally to meet us.

This isn’t a battle. This is a slaughter.​

Madaléin commands the infantry at the front, while I lead the cavalry to take advantage of the greenskins. They’re not a race known for taking up the saddle.

The infantry pins the greenskins down. Archers rain arrows to destroy the center of the horde. And my horsemen break them from the sides and chase them down.

It’s not worth a song. Not worth a story. This is butcher’s work. There’s nothing more to say.

We run down every one of the bastards. If they run, we lance them. If they try to fight, we surround and eviscerate them. If they try to surrender, they’re smart orcs, and we kill them all the same.

Animals deserve no mercy, no pity.

Until we break through to the warcamp in Esckerpost. Like Taranton, it’s another human city the monsters have made home in. We surround it on all sides. There can’t be many warriors left after we broke their defense.

“Orders?” Madaléin asks me, armor covered in blood.

“Find the warchief,” I say. “I want him alive.”

She looks over her shoulder. “What about the rest of them?”

I shake my head. “This isn’t a war, Madaléin. This is pest control. This is an extermination.”

Slowly, she nods. We form the men up and advance.

The orcish chief is a poor commander and a deplorable specimen of his race.​

My arms are numb when it’s over. When the fire pits are dug and filled with orcish and goblin bodies. If they’re too big to drag to the fire, we leave as a feast for the crows. Giving back to nature, or something like that. However they die, the stench is almost like human flesh.

The all too familiar scent of blood and iron and shit and fire.

Whatever of the beast we can’t slaughter escape, running with women and children and whatever men were too cowardly to defend their stolen homes. Give the kids a decade or two, and they’ll be back, baying for vengeance and my blood.

Duke Lothane síl Wex and Lorent’s own Kylian Siloriel taught me that much when they killed my father and failed to finish me off, too. But, there’s limit to what a man can bring himself to do. Or worse yet, order others to do.

In the end, I let those who try to run do so. Maybe it’ll bite me in the ass. Maybe the smart thing to do is be heartless. Maybe I’ll just have to sate my need for blood on braves and warriors.

We take the treasures of the orcish warcamp. The greenskins almost certainly stole it from humans originally.

We’re only taking what’s ours.

Like the warchief himself, brought to me in irons. Beaten and bloodied, I have to speak to him. through an interpreter who learned orcish while they were a slave.

It’s hardly a conversation. Betweens growls and spitting, the orc can barely communicate in his own language. My questions go nowhere. Sometimes he just laughs. But when I insist on looking for a woman in rich blue silk from two decades ago, fair of skin and hair, he almost looks puzzled.

The interpreter looks up at me. “He says two words, milord,” the man says. “I think one is Bladebreaker. It’s one of the orcish tribes further east.”

“And the other?” I ask.

He grimaces. Hesitates. Look at the orc now grinning wildly at him. The man swallows before saying, “Whore.”

The orc sees my face and starts to laugh and laugh and laugh until I drive my sword through his heart.

[Anbennar allows you to commit prolonged and continuous heated Gamer moments against other species. You may purge or expel other races. Both will forcibly convert the culture and religion of their provinces to your culture/faith and remove minorities. Strictly speaking, the best choice is racial integration and harmony. And as a one-province band of murder-hobos, this is almost purely self-destructive. But we’re angry, and this is a tale of loss and vengeance right now!]​

I order the men to loot, burn, and kill everything. Rotcleaver wasn’t a dead end, at least. But I’ll be sure to leave it one.

I have a lead. And no more need to keep any of the orcs or goblins here alive. Many of the Sons of Dameria followed me here to defeat the orcs and make a new home for themselves. But as time goes by, almost just as many are survivors of the Greentide eager for vengeance under a competent commander.

Both are only too eager to carry out my orders.

I found Eskerpost a warcamp. I left it another mass grave. So much of Escann is no different. The monuments of our heroic forebears reduced to ashes and bones.

Adding another one at least makes me a hero.

And so my mission continues. Deeper into Escann.

Go East, Young Man.

My breath shudders in my lungs.

“Mon Capitaine?” Madaléin asks, the corner of her lip twisting as looks back over Escann’s newest charnel pit.

“East, Madaléin,” I say. “We go east when the spring thaw arrives.”

She cocks an eyebrow warily. “Eastern Escann is still very much orc country.”

I grunt. “Then we’re simply finishing what Corin started. Come, we make for the White Walls of Castanor, and east across Castellyr.”

Because somewhere out there, my baby sister Eilís the Blue is still out there. My only true family left. And the orc bastard had recognized her, even decades after we thought her lost to the Greentide.

I don’t care how many monsters I need to put to the sword to do it.

“Go east, Rogier. There you will find your blood and destiny.”​

 

[HistoryDude]

Playing as a mercenary captain out for revenge? This'll be interesting.

 

[Crushric]

Playing as a mercenary captain out for revenge? This'll be interesting.

It's a bit more complicated. Rogier Silmuna lost everything, but his hope that someone he loves is still alive. Not exactly a mercenary, as the Sons of Dameria flavor is about exiled lords and soldiers and adventurers coming together to a new homeland free from the people who burned their home.

Later on, once you form a country and get your real mission tree, it does become more about revenge. Conspiracy, lies, unearthing your dead ancestors with spy networks, and brutal violence in order to put a Moon back upon the Dove Throne of Anbennar.

Until that, it's a first person soap opera about a man who lose everything, and refuses to die.

 

[Crushric]

Chapter 2: Bad Company​

I tighten my cloak, doing whatever I can to keep the spring rain out of my clothes. It doesn’t help, and only the fact that my men are watching keeps me from shivering. Madaléin holds her arms out cruciform, spinning around.

“Escanni rain smells so different than Wesdamerian rain,” she says, smiling up at the sky. “Why is that, do you think, Rogier?”

I look behind me at the mostly miserable men and women marching down the ancient roads. The cobblestones are long overgrown and disused, but it’s better than open country. The wagon train stretches for miles, all the way back to Cantercourse where we started this morning. Before the heavens opened up. The hope was to ford the Aldainé River near Upcreek by week’s end.

“Because there’s no ocean breeze,” I say. “It’s all farmlands. Or was, at least.”

“It’s nice,” she says. “Couldn’t have picked a better day to start on the road!”

One of my lieutenants bitterly side-eyes Madaléin, but says nothing.

Madaléin hops back on her soaked mare. It snorts indignantly. “So, you promised me a story.”

“Did I?” I ask.

“Mais bien sûr!” she says happily. “I was promised an exciting and dramatic backstory for your mad quest.”

“Would rather not,” I say. “I’m not good at stories. Facts and logistics are more to my taste.”

“Didn’t ask, don’t care. I wanna hear it. And if there’s not dragons, buxom tavern wenches, and gratuitous violence in it, I’m going to start singing travel tunes.”

The lieutenant gives me a pleading look.

I sigh. “Alright, Freckles. How much do you know about the Silver Families?”

Our approximate route into Inner Castanor. Over the river and through the woods.
[Adventurer nations may “migrate” like this, moving their main source of power. A good tactic is to move towards richer provinces, which will become part of your country when you stop being murder-hobos]​

Madaléin gives me a tired look. “I’m not some hick, Rogier. Everyone knows about them. Big, powerful families that married elven heroes after they helped humanity defeat Black Castanor and the Sorcerer-King. Right after the elves first arrived in Cannor.”

And then quickly adds, “Also, penchant for magical power!”

I grunt. “The Silmuna line comes from a union of the elf Munas Moonsinger and the Queen of Dameria, Auci Damerid. Our symbol is—”

She raises a finger with a sarcastic finger, up to point at one of the company’s banners. “Too far back. Get to the interesting part.”

“Right,” I say, sighing. “I’m just not sure where to begin. You should know enough of it. You’re Wesdamerian after all.”

“I am,” she says, almost warily now. Then, defensively: “My family wasn’t part of the Lilac Wars, not like that. Dad was loyal to Lorent and the Rose Party. Some of my brothers fought for your father. It was messy. And here I am with you, Rogier. The war left a lot of fields barren. Plenty of work for a girl on the road with a party of adventurers, cleaning out bandits, deserters, and monsters.”

The war between Moon and Rose left scars across Cannor. There’s still the rare assassin who comes after me from this.
[Fantasy pan-European War of the Roses that ended just before the game starts]​

I tug the reins of my horse, urging him to move a little faster. “Then you know everything you need to know, Freckles. I’m not going to walk you through a war that only ended three years ago and butchered my entire family.”

“Except for her, right?” she asks, keeping pace with me. “Who was she?”

My hands tighten. “Eilís the Blue. My little sister.”

Madaléin gives me a moment to collect my thoughts.

“She was obsessed with blue,” I say. “She’d throw a fit if she had to wear any other color. And she loved her silken scarf. We were little more than kids the last time I saw her. I remember our father coming home, covered in blood. Grandfather was dead, dad had been betrayed, and he came home looking frantically for us to make sure we were safe. He found us out in the garden. Eilís was reading a book about butterflies. She—” I almost laugh, remembering every detail of that stupid day. “She was defacing it. Finding any drawings that said the bugs were supposed to be blue, and scribble-coloring their wings in.

“She held the book up to me, smiling proudly, saying she had ‘corrected’ the book and now everything was right with the world. And…”

I look to the side. My eyes eventually go to our banners of the Damerian moon. “Then father found us and wrapped us in his arms. I remember my sister screaming. Not because he was injured or wounded from battle. But because he got red on her blue drawings.”

“What happened then?” Madaléin asks softly.

“Dad was alive, but he brought the war home,” I say, shaking my head. “Eilís was sent to Castellyr, where we’re going, to be the queen’s lady-in-waiting, and hopefully marry the prince. Secure their help against the Rose Party.”

“And then the Dookanson happened,” she says, staring down into her lap.

I nod. “And when the blood had pooled, the fires turning to ash, I was alive, and everyone was dead. And I came here to find my baby sister. Maybe build a new home for the people of Dameria.”

Little to do when we stop to rest, but to train and drill. I learn some tricks from Freckles.​

Madaléin rubs her cheek, as if idly trying to wipe away her freckles. “And what will you do when you find her?”

I reach my hand back. Madaléin eyes me, instinctively reaching for her sword. She looks around, and with some amusement I watch that tenseness of soldiers ready for battle spreading forth.

My hand comes back from a saddlebag holding a leatherbound book. “I’m going to let my baby sister finish correcting her book on butterflies,” I say, and my smile is all teeth.

Silvervord, where Lake Silvermere flows into the Silverainé river, was once a thriving center of trade.
[The White Walls are a unique terrain feature surrounding Inner Castanor. Having my capital here basically makes me invincible due to the fort defense bonus. The Guild Hall helps speed up your ability to reform into a real country. Expensive, but always build it first.]​

Madaléin looks up at the massive walls of white stone, stretching from the lake in the south and vanishing north into the horizon. They’re not what they once were. Once, these massive walls were pristine and covered an entire region, the heartland of ancient Castanor.

“Beyond these walls lies what remains of Castellyr,” I say.

Elbowing me, Madaléin laughs. “You say it like we’ve never been beyond the walls. The Battle of Castonath wasn’t that long ago.”

I look over the assembling warcamp. Centuries of war and neglect have turned the once imposing walls into little more than stone pillars, overgrown with vines, blasted open, destroyed by rain and weather and time itself. Silvervord’s section is more intact than some, and we can build up against them to fortify our warcamp, which has been growing even as we’ve been on the move.

“I know,” I say. “You learned so many new swears since then.”

Madaléin winks. “You can bet Corin’s used bathwater on that.”

I stare.

“Alright, not my best blasphemy,” she admits sheepishly. “Give me some time. I’ll get back to you with a really nasty one!”

“Just help settle the camp,” I tell her. “I’m going to set up foraging parties.”

We’ve cleared enough that we’ve made a name for ourselves outside of those who fought beside Corin.​

Follow the Silverainé River down and you meet up with the Alen, which flows through the Kingdom of Gawed, before ending in the Dameshead Sea. Right into the heart of Anbennar.

It takes some time. But from all the riches and loot we’ve acquired fighting orcs, goblins, and other miscellaneous bugbears, we’ve acquired enough worth trading. While we won’t be here for long, sending traders downriver provides more tasks for the Company and returns us a tidy profit.

We came to Escann as liberators. We stay as homesteaders.
[One of the unique “government reform” mechanics adventure nations in Escann get as you move towards becoming a real nation]​

Across the lands we’ve purged of orcs, you can find men settling down to farm, but still waving the Damerian moon. They’re not deserters, of course. Everyone with me is a volunteer.

But more and more are turning swords to plowshares. Like the slaves we rescued from Taranton, they pledge their loyalty to the Sons of Dameria as if we’re a nation. Often enough, our adventurers are the closest the land has to any semblance of law and order.

It almost feels like we’re slowly building a new home, as we march by and purge evil.

It also gives us deeper supply networks. Damerian farmers settling in Escann may now ship out grain at fair market value.

Doesn’t mean the Company doesn’t have to forage. And when we’re back in camp, resting, I refuse to sit still. I train and drill and practice.

Who. The fuck. Was that?​

I stand up, brushing my men off. At first I look around for Madaléin, wondering if she’s put on a wig or something.

But no, she’s not here. The men I was training with look as confused as me.

I’m reminded of Corin, of all things. Who died and ascended. I rub my eyes, though. It’s not like I’m the most pious or devout man. I offer token gifts to Corin because it’s what so many in Escann expect.

“Ser?” one of the lieutenants I was training with, Trystan, asks. I’ve had trouble getting through his guard lately. “I don’t think I hit you that hard.”

I reach for my practice sword with a growl. “Back to it, soldier. Let’s finish this duel.”

And somehow, with only a few quick moves of foot and sword, I knock the man on his ass and win the duel.

Alright, red-headed ghost lady who may have actually been Corin. I’ll keep that in mind.
[Here we see the Regent’s Court Emulant system. If your leader is like your patron deity, you get bonuses! Extra military points are absolutely delicious. Thanks, Corin!]​

You’d think a meeting with an aspect of the divine would be more profound, assuming it wasn‘t just a really weird head wound. But I feel fine after a long day of training and drilling. Really, the worst thing is that I actually explained it to someone.

And now we’ve got rumors that Corin herself favors me spreading among the ranks.

It’s more embarrassing than anything. I’m not nearly arrogant enough to proclaim myself the
“Chosen of the War Goddess, y’know, the one who was right here a couple years ago”. But I suppose I’ll take the giddy morale in my men and officers for what it’s worth.

My biggest priority is leading the men out to scout the area ahead before Madaléin gets word of this and finds a way to make up another verbal crime against Corin. I manage to go a few weeks of this before anything happens.

The Sword Covenant, a company of adventurers from Aldresia.​

I lead a party downriver, up through Carlanhal. It’s a country of old mines outside the White Walls, without much in the way of orcs or other troubles. And almost bereft of supplies to forage.

Right as we think that’s it and are about to return to Silvervord, we hear orcish warhorns. Screams of distant battle. An explosion that has to be magefire.

I gather the horsemen around me and make for the noise.

We crest a ridge and find an orcish warband engaged in battle with armed and dismounted adventurers. I make the call and the horses slow into a gallop, lances out, making as if we’re actually going to charge directly into them.

The thunder of the hooves is enough to turn all attention to us. Caught between us and the soldiers, the orcs break and run, and we ride them down. They were a sizable warband, and now another horde of theirs is ground into the mud.

Pest control. Same shit, different day.​

When we round back on the soldiers we’d helped, I find them well-armored, a mix of heavy infantry, archers, and a couple of obvious mages. Most of them are wearing the black-and-white colors of the Sword Covenant.

“You’ll forgive me for reckoning you boys could use a hand,” I call out, bringing my courser to a stop. “We’re the Sons of Dameria. You look to be Sword Covenant?”

One of the men, grinning widely and wearing chainmail, steps forwards. He looks me up and down and whistles. “I thought we might find you here, Lord Silmuna.”

I side-eye the man. “Either you know me for good reason or ill.”

He laughs. “For good, I assure you. My name is Ser Laurens síl Place. We’ve met before during the Battle of Castonath.”

I blink. “The Ser Laurens?”

“The very same battlemage who was part of Corin’s original party,” he says with a bow.

“Then, Ser Laurens, it’s good to meet you again. You’ll forgive me a poor memory of Castonath. They were bloody times,” I say, but feel the hair on the back of my neck stand as he laughs it away. “You said you were looking for me?”

Laurens shrugs. “I’ve been making my rounds in these parts with the Sword Covenant until a little birdie traveling down the Silverainé said you saw Corin not long ago.”

I grimace, doing my best to keep it from becoming a full-body cringe. “It’s complicated.”

Hands on hips, he says, “Well, Lord Rogier Silmuna, that’s good enough for me. Tell me, would you like to destroy some evil?”

He’s a little weird, but everyone who volunteered to come to Escann is in some ways a complete nutjob.​

“I don’t like ’im, mon capitaine,” Madaléin says, chewing on a piece of sausage. She takes a drink of beer before offering me the mug, which I push away. She barely notices, just glaring daggers at Ser Laurens as he carouses with the troops. Some of them he’d brought, wearing the colors of his order, but most of them ours.

“Freckles, be nice,” I say.

She looks offended. “I am nice. I’m so sweet I give people sugar poisoning.” Madaléin points her sausage in Laurens’ direction before taking a sharp bite of it.

“He’sh jusht freaky,” she says, chewing and speaking at the same time. “Just some battlemage, member of Corin’s circle, shows up, is all buddy-buddy with the men, and wants to help us.”

“I’m not seeing the issue here.”

“He’s just—c’mon!” She gestured vaguely.

I give her a mild look.

“Too much magic?” she suggests.

“We have plenty of mages with us and you have no problem with them.”

She taps her cheekbone in thought. “He smells funny?”

“It’s Aldresian colognes,” I say. “Try again.”

“Would you believe me if I said it was woman’s intuition?” she asks, eyes narrow, like she’s grinding her teeth against some particularly uncomfortable fabric.

“Tell me one thing that’s womanly about you.”

“Shit. Got me there.” She finishes her dinner. When she looks up, she scrambles suddenly to her feet.

Ser Laurens approaches our campfire, all smiles. “I saw you gesturing in my direction. Which happens to be to your east. And I heard you were looking to go east.”

“How?” Madaléin asks quickly.

The man cocks an eyebrow. “I just asked, like, pretty much anyone here?”

To reach Bladebreaker, we’ll need to fight through Severed Ear and Bloodgorger.​

“Well, if you’re looking to get to the Bladebreaker Clan,” Ser Laurens says, “I know just the route. And I know exactly how many men the orcish tribes have.”

Madaléin makes a face. “Did you just ask ‘like, pretty much every orc’ to learn that?”

Ser Laurens frowns. “Is she always like this?”

“Sometimes,” I say.

“That time of the month?” he asks with a snide little look.

Madaléin spits her water out, eyes wide. “Con de Corin, t’es tellement con!”

I hiss in through my teeth. “I’m with her this time, Ser Laurens. Let’s not stoop to this level. Don’t talk about Madaléin like that.”

Ser Laurens just stares at me, like he doesn’t know what he did wrong.

“Look,” I say, “you wanted to talk about Bladebreaker.”

He watches as Madaléin seethes in place. “Right. Well. Destroying evil. I know the routes to go and their numbers. And if you’re going that way, I’d like to help. All I ask is for a few of your Damerians to join my unit. We’re low on manpower.”

The orcs outnumber almost two to one, but I like those odds.​

I allowed Laurens a token force of volunteers, and they act as our advanced scouting party mostly. Light cavalry who can dismount as needed.

Ser Laurens makes for a decidedly good vanguard.

“Seriously, Freckles,” I say as we march into Severed Ear territory, where Laurens claim they won’t be expecting anyone. “You’re acting rather…”

She frowns. “What are you, my dad?”

I shudder. “I really hope not. Raising you would drive me to drink.”

The look in her eyes is horrible. “I mean, if it’ll take the stick out of your ass and help you drink, I can call you da—”

I shoot my hand up. “See, right there. This is the level of appropriate adventure humor.” I raise my hand higher. “This is you right now. And you only get like this when you’re—”

Cutting myself off, I sigh.

“Take a step back?” she hesitantly suggests.

I nod. “Agreed. For both of us.”

She tugs at her horse’s reins, sucking in her lips. “It’s weird, us fighting. Laurens is a bit of a creep, though, oui?”

Glancing to the side, I say, “He shares a name with my Wesdamerian cousin.”

“The traitorous side of your family?”

I nod. “So that’s an automatic point against him.”

Madaléin snorts. “You have weird standards.”

Before I can continue, one of Laurens’ riders crests a hill and approaches us with news. The orcish warband is camped nearby, and they know exactly how to strike them.

I share a look with Madaléin, and we organize our soldiers into formation before marching to ambush the orcs.

The orcs fight like Agrados himself. If not for Ser Laurens’ advice and his timely arrival on scene, I’m not sure we would have won.
[Orcish racial benefits and their religious ability to summon good generals makes them a bitch to fight. I am two military techs ahead of them, my four vs their two, and I outnumbered them, and it was still an even battle!]​

Ser Laurens greets us as we mop the battlefield up. His outriders had been instrumental in breaking the orcs’ will to fight. “Not a bad show, then. Your boys have been very useful.”

Madaléin glances at me as if for approval. With hesitance I nod. “Right then,” she says, clearing her throat. “Ser Laurens, a good show out there. Now I want you to take your scouting force out and keep the orcs away. We’re going to spread out and try to stop them from regrouping.”

I say nothing.

Ser Laurens frowns, until he shrugs it away. It’s all smiles again. “That I can do. We’ll break the orcish bastards before the month’s over.”

He turns to leave, then pauses. “One last thing. The orcs are distracted because we’re not the only company in the area. You should try to work with them, milord.”

“Who?” I ask.

“Captain Lothane Bluetusk, of the Corintar. My scouts noticed his men in the hills. See? I am pretty useful.” He winks at Madaléin. “He’s a bit of a tightass, I think. Corin liked him more than I cared for. Couldn’t be arsed to stick around when he took over after Corin. Still, might be useful to meet with him.”

He gives an almost comical salute and gets back on his horse. “Be seein’ you. Kill a couple orcs just for me, why don’t you?”

Madaléin glares as he and his detachment ride off. “You see he’s a creep, right?”

I make a so-so gesture. “Let’s just meet this Lothane fellow in the flesh. Ensure there’s no problems on the campaign.”

Our forces spread out with Ser Laurens’ help. I take a detachment to ride towards where the Corintari are.​

I’d heard stories of Lothane. I even saw him once, from a distance years ago. He fought side-by-side with Corin in her final fight against the Dookanson. I thought he looked big, a little dumb and oafish, like an oversized Gawedi.

The Corintar are a knightly order, or at least that’s their appearance. Heavily armed and armored men and matching cavalry. Made up of some of Corin’s Circle, her adventuring party, they took on her name as a sort of honorific. They even use her personal symbol as their banner.

Corintari soldiers greet Madaléin and myself as friends and comrades. We fought alongside Corin with them, after all.

He isn’t human. He isn’t human.

But I can’t help but stare as we sit down in Lothane’s war tent. He’s big, alright. A tall, well-built specimen of a man, with skin a greenish hue. Those piercing, entirely too-human eyes. In a monstrous sort of way, he’s almost handsome. But I can’t stop myself from glancing again and again at his tusks, smaller than a real orc.

He’s tied a little scrap of silk around his left tusk. The Sword Covenant prefers black and white, the Corintar love their bright reds, and the Sons of Dameria proudly wear Damerian blue. The same color as that little scrap of fabric. It’s like a calm blue dot in the sea of Corintari fire.

“Something on my face, Captain Silmuna?” he asks dryly, his voice deep and smooth.

“I…” I say, and fail. Feel a deep sense of unease in Lothane’s presence.

“You’re an orc!” Madaléin blurts. “Or, half-orc? Not human!”

Lothane’s eyes widen. His hand slaps against his face, feeling the cheekbones and the occasional scars before his fingers run along his tusk. “My gods, you’re right,” he says, voice full of horror. “All this time and nobody told me…”

He stands up so suddenly his chair falls over. “We must tell the men at once that the Grandmaster of their order had a human mother and orc father!”

“W-what?” Madaléin whispers, looking at me of all people.

Lothane snorts, picking his chair back up to sit. “I’m fucking with you. You think I’ve never seen a mirror in my life?” He holds a hand up. “Don’t—don’t answer that.”

“I mean,” I say, trying to get some control over the situation, “I was just going to make an off-color joke.”

“Mhm,” he grunts. “Heard ’em all, Captain. Hurt the first few times. Then I gouged out the eye and cut a couple fingers off the orc who kept makin’ ’em, and I’ve been pretty self-confident since then.”

Lothane smiles, an expression that altogether too human on a face that’s half-orcish, tusks and all. “So how can we help the Sons of Dameria?”

“We’re marching east,” I say, putting a hand on Madaléin so she stops looking so weirded out. It’s as much for her sake as it is mine. “Heading through Severed Ear to take down the Bladebreakers.”

“Funny. We’re going northwest,” he says. “Taking out more of the Dookanson’s remnants in the Castonath area. Same tribes, it seems. We should work together.”

I blink in surprise. “My thoughts exactly. I expected negotiations or something.”

Lothane nods. “Please. I’m not about bullshit you. You fought alongside Corin. That’s good enough for me, Captain. We’re ready to move out and support you if you support us.”

As we fight alongside the Corintar, Ser Laurens continues his incredible streak of luck and precision. Suspiciously good.​

Lothane proves a fine commander. Even Madaléin seems to come around to him. Between my soldiers, his knights, and Ser Lauren’s scouting, we break through any orcish warband before they’re even ready to fight, and it’s not long until we’re back in the ruins of Castonath.

Lower Castonath, at least. The orcs have started to make inroads here, which has upset some of the locals still living here.

It doesn’t take long to utterly shatter the orcish forces in Inner Castonor. Soon, the way is clear for us to march east and head into hills where Bladebreaker makes its home.

I remember the orcs putting up a harsher fight when the Dookanson led them.​

“Tell me you drink, at least, eh?” Madaléin asks Lothane. Both Damerian and Corintari soldiers are intermingling after our mutual victory. We complement each other.

“I’ve never had a taste for it,” he says politely.

Madaléin groans hard. “Corin’s girl-dick, I’m surrounded by the lamest men in the world.”

Lothane squints. “You… by her what?”

I wave my hand. “It’s a thing she’s doing for some reason, trying to blaspheme the newest goddess and…” I go silent, remember how this half-orc was literally next to Corin as she died, and then named his entire knightly order after the woman.

If anyone believes Corin is a god god, it would be him, her most faithful servant on Halann.

Instead, Lothane snorts. “That’s fucking hilarious. I—I’ve never thought to swear by her. How many you got? I want to steal them all.”

She thinks on it for a moment. “I’m building a sort of compendium of new and innovative ways to ensure I go to hell when I die. So far, I’ve only got a handful, buuuuut more to follow.”

“Rather disgusting, don’t you all think?” Ser Laurens says, pouring himself a bowl of stew. Some of the Castonath locals provided us with the meat, and it tastes weird and a little sinewy. The man’s smile is somehow upside-down, if that makes any sense. “After everything she did, we should honor her memory, and not make jokes, Lothane.”

Lothane’s expression sours and he sits up a little straighter. “Go fuck yourself, Laurens,” he says, somehow formally. “Corin would be delighted to know we’re swearing by her these days. Silmuna, Madaléin, you should have heard the jokes she used to tell in the party’s downtime.”

The Sword Brother sneers and takes his stew off to eat with his unit.

“I like your frank vulgarity, Lothane,” Madaléin says, tucking away loose strands of her hair. “And that you also don’t like that man. Hey, Rogier, can we keep Lothane? Maybe trade him for Laurens.”

Lothane eyes the girl. “I’m not the only one Laruens gives the heebie-jeebies to?” He grunts. “He was with the Corintar briefly. Was very good. But then I started asking how he did his work, and he decided to offer his services elsewhere.”

I lean forwards. “We have some of our men working with his unit,” I say. “We can probably just ask them. They might work with him, but they’re Damerians through and through.”

“Investigation and intrigue?” he asks, smiling. “Sign me up.”

What. The Fuck. What the fuck the fuck the fuck?!​

We let the soldier go. And then it’s just Lothane, Madaléin, and myself in the tent. Our soldiers continue to celebrate their victory together.

“He breaks their minds,” Lothane says. And unlike when we first met, this time his horror seems genuine. “I’m no friend to Dookan’s followers, but… Gods above!”

“I heard him too,” Madaléin adds. She looks at me. “What the hell do we do, mon capitaine?”

Hunching forwards, one hand over my chin, I stare into nothing and think. Thinking of all the knowledge the orcs have. How hard it was to interrogate just one orc to learn of Eilís. If I let Laurens go wild with my blessing, what could we learn?

How easy would it be to devour the orc of every orc we met until we finally learned what happened to my sister? No more bullshitting. No more adventurers. Just the solid, brutal facts.

“I know that look, mon capitaine,” Madaléin says warily. “You’re thinking of your sister.”

“Sister?” Lothane asks, thrown for a loop.

“I came to Escann to find my baby sister,” I say quietly. “It doesn’t matter here. I’m just…”

Lothane stands up sharply. “You’d actually allow this if it helped you find your kith and kin?”

My hand tightens over my mouth. Words don’t come quickly, swallowed up in a sea of thought and possibility. But there’s a harsh look in Lothane’s eyes, and a nervous quirk in Freckles’ grimace. I look down at my own hand, the little scars and callouses from a lifetime of fighting.

Fighting for my family. For my little sister. For a future for my people.

I told myself I’d do anything to find her, permit any savagery. But now, as both of them look at me, I wonder how much I meant, and how much was just bluster I told myself just to stay sane and focused.

I drag my hand down my face and tighten my lips. “Bring Ser Laurens to me, Madaléin. We’ll deal with this in the flesh.”

“I’ll help,” Lothane says, voice terse. “This is a matter for all Escann.”

Once, I told myself I’d do anything to find my baby sister. No effort too much, no cost too prohibitive, no evil too great. I watched Corin die after watching my family die, and thought that I’d have to rebuild this new world from the graves and charnel pits.

I look now at Laurens, and see a man who isn’t all talk. Isn’t just bitter and angry. A man who follows through on his grim promises.

I look at Lothane surrounded by his Corintar, baring his teeth and tusks in a snarl. I look at Madaléin, resting on her sword, still glancing at me for approval. And I wonder how far I’d really go to reunite my family. To be able to pretend, if just for a moment, that everything might be okay.

“How the fuck can you speak of Corin like that?” Lothane snarls. “You walked with her. You helped train her. But you didn’t really know her. You weren’t next to her, powerless to help her as she died. Who do you think you fucking are, Laurens?”

Laurens grins. “I’m the only one who’s willing to really stop evil. By any means necessary. I know what I do is horrible, but you would rather my methods or let the orcs kill and murder and rape all they want, huh, huh?”

Again, I find myself thinking of my baby sister. And looking between Lothane and Madaléin. I close my fingers into fists as they start to scream and yell. Until I have to take control between everything explodes.

I stand, reaching for my sword. “Ser Laurens síl Place,” I say. “You are a witch. How can we build a better tomorrow if the tools to build it make us tomorrow’s monsters?” It feels like I’m just saying it, though. The correct words even though I’m not sure I really mean.

The man laughs like he can see straight through me. “Oh that’s rich, Silmuna. You—”

Armored men burst into the tent, wearing Sword Covenant colors. His loyalists whom we dragged him away from earlier. They aim weapons at us, threatening spellcraft as they grab Laurens.

“Oh look, my escape is here,” Laurens says as it turns into a standoff. “I was wrong about you, Silmuna. You don’t have any big dreams or worthwhile ambitions. You’re just another petty bastard. Fine by me. You want to be nothing, so be it. I’ll keep fighting evil in the only ways that count.”

He casts a spell, a blinding flash of light. By the time our senses are about us, Laurens and his Sword Brothers are riding out of Castonath.

Madaléin and Lothane try to give chase, but it’s too late.

Destroy. Evil.​

Corintari and Damerian leaders meet up in the aftermath.

“He’s gone back to the Sword Covenant,” one of Lauren’s former soldiers says, staring at his feet.

Madaléin shakes her head. “We’re not just letting him go, right?”

Lothane regards me, arms folded, silent.

“No,” I say, as if it pains me. “If we don’t stop him, his methods will continue. They’re spread. Until people think it’s okay.”

And finally, the half-orc nods. His eyes are narrow. “Captain Silmuna, if you’re riding after Laurens, then come what may, the Corintar will ride with you. If you’re willing to fight evil, you are my brother.”

“I’ll gather the men,” Madaléin offers, and I nod, and my mouth feels dry.

Corin hasn’t even been dead a decade, and already those her followers are coming to blows.

“We ride west for Carlanhal in the morning,” I decide.

Away from Eilís.

 

[Timewarriors]

So what Rogier Silmuna lifespan? Since he has some elf blood in him or does gameplay just ignore that.

 

[Crushric]

So what Rogier Silmuna lifespan? Since he has some elf blood in him or does gameplay just ignore that.

On only the most technically "1 drop!" rule, Rogier Silmuna might be called a "half-elf."

In any real practical sense, he's fully human, with the appropriate life expectancy. His canon in-story death is about 1473, in his early 60s.

The "Half-elven" nobility of Anbennar is mostly a prestige thing. True half-elves only last for a single generation, before they are indistinguishable from humans due to interbreeding. Even first-generation half-elves you sort of need to know what you're looking for to tell they're not human. So while it's true Rogier and many other high nobility in Cannor have elven blood, it's so small and insignifigant of a percentage as to be a functional misnomer.

Think Siri from the Witcher, who has "the blood of elves," but is otherwise a human girl with some extra magical potential. That's basically what the Silmunas and other such families are.

 

[HistoryDude]

Well, it appears as if our protagonist has standards.

Also, did everyone know Corin? How big was this war?

 

[Crushric]

Well, it appears as if our protagonist has standards.

Also, did everyone know Corin? How big was this war?

Everyone in Escann sort of knew/followed Corin. She was their leader and champion in the fight against the Dookanson. The war against the Greentide was pretty big, but decentralized. The battle of Rottenstep was about 90,000 strong, with thirty-thousand "Marchers" against "twice their number in orcs." Many people, like Rogier, answered Corin's call to push back the Greentide.

Every nation in Escann has the modifier "Fought Alongside Corin" with each other, granting I think like +100 relations with each other which slowly decays. The adventurer companies all fought with her against the orcs. But only the members of "Corin's Circle," like Lothane and Laurens and other characters who can show via event, actually knew her personally.

Rogier and others didn't know her as a person much, merely as "Corin, the Avatar of War"

 

[Crushric]

Chapter 3: Witchbreaker​

Before me stand the assembled Marchers of Dameria and the Corintar. These are the party leaders and military commanders of our two companies. You can see who belongs to whom at a glance. The Sons of Dameria, no surprise, prefer to decorate themselves with some form of Damerian blue and silver moons. The Corintar are the opposite, decorated with steel swords and blinding red.

The only one who doesn’t fit is Lothane himself. I can’t stop looking at him. He runs an armored hand over his face, looking down at the maps and troop numbers. Until his fingers run to his left tusk, brushing the little stripe of blue cloth.

“No objections, oui?” Madaléin says, speaking for me to the Marchers. “No last minute questions, tender hearts, or the like?”

She’s not asking if they understand, not really. We’d explained the reason this is happening.

We’re making sure when push comes to shove, they will answer to me and Lothane. None of them would think Laurens had the right idea.

In the brief quiet, I tighten the grip on my sword.

These men and women who’ve dedicated themselves to ending the Greentide, now asked to kill their brothers.​

“I understand, ma’am,” a Damerian finally says. “Bastards are witches.”

A Corintari adds a “None here neither, nah.”

Lothane nods. “Captain Silmuna, your men know the land better. We marching together in force, or are we fanning out?”

He does this here in public, in a meeting with the Marchers. Putting the tactics on me. I can’t tell if he’s allowing me to fix my mistake of helping Laurens, or if it’s some politeness, or what.

I point at the table, at our map of Western Escann. “Defeat in detail is the only way we’re going to be able to pull this off.”

The half-orc nods, satisfied. “Good. I would’ve argued if you said anything else.”

Madaléin makes a face, but says nothing.

We are far outnumbered, but we’re concentrated. Lauren’s allies are spread far and wide.​

“We go through Silvervord and try to take Laurens out first,” Lothane says, moving a little wooden figure on the map for everyone to see. “With any luck, his allies won’t arrive. Maybe they don’t know what he’s done. And if they do honor their treaties, we can convince them to kindly fuck off.”

The Corintari make noises of agreement.

“You help pin the Sword Covenant down,” I say. “My archers and cavalry can better support our hammer and anvil. Play to our strengths. And like you said, we know the land.”

Madaléin adjusts her hair, tying it into a neat bun. “Well, let’s not sit with our dicks in hand, boys. Pack up camp. Let’s clap the bastards before they know what hit ’em.”

Acengard is empty.​

Conservative headcounts place our combined forces at some twenty-six thousand men and women. Mostly humans, with token dwarves and a couple elves for good measure depending on the party. It’s a massive army by any modern standard. A kingdom like Lorent can maybe muster twice that, and it dominates the entire Lencenor region.

As I watch our columns marching, my expertly drilled professionals, and Corintar’s gallant warriors, the shifting seas of blue and red, it occurs to me just how many people left the safety of post-war Cannor and beyond to fight the Greentide and make a new home for themselves.

The Sword Covenant came from the Orda Aldresia, who were knights sworn to defend Anbennar from monsters and the undead. The Brave Brothers came from Verne, a martial people south of Dameria. The Cobalt Company are Gawedi, who left their pure-human kingdom to fight for freedom. And the House of Riches are Crownsmen, of the powerful merchant lords who dominate Anbennarian trade.

They’re all free peoples we’re going to have to kill to defeat a very human evil in its crib.

Arriving in Acengard, we find the Sword Covenant’s camp hastily evacuated. Tracks point north, towards the Reach. They must have fled to regroup with their allies.

If there’s any doubt, our scouts encounter a force marching that way from the House of Riches, and we engage to keep them apart.

It’s utterly one-sided.
[This is called a “stackwipe,” where you utterly destroy an entire enemy army and they can’t even retreat. There goes one entire enemy army.]​

They hadn’t expected us to move this fast, to be in these numbers. What started as a battle between scouts turned into the Sons of Dameria raiding their camps. The House of Riches wasn’t ready for a battle, and their army utterly scatters to the hills in every direction.

We capture their Captain, Valen síl Crothán. In exchange for his life, he agrees to surrender his nation and back out of the war. And provides us letters that Laurens wrote him. We now know where his forces are mustering to push us back.

Captain Crothán looks bitter, humiliated. But after I tell him why we’re attacking our fellow adventurers, he just looks lost instead. We let him leave to collect his men and go home without incident.

Lothane nods approvingly when we let the man go. “There’s an old book I once read,” he says. “Said the best victories are those you get without fighting.”

“You saw the look on Crothán’s face,” I say, arms folded. My gaze is to the north, towards the Reach and distant Gerudia. “Laurens probably just said we’d gone evil and asked for help. There’s no reason to be butchers to these misguided fools if we can help it.”

Another nod. One of his fingers idly strokes his tusk in a thoughtful expression. “After stories of the warpath you carved to Castonath, I expected you to be more bloodthirsty. I’m happy I was wrong.”

I stare at him. At the blue cloth on his tusk. “Lothane, can I ask you a question?”

The half-orc grins. “The answer is yes, I do like my dinners like I like my women.”

Madaléin clasps us both on the shoulders. “Alright, enough lollygagging, you two. We’ve got a witch to burn. Let’s get a move on.”

By our scouts’ count, their entire army is mustered together, numbering nearly forty-thousand men.​

“A direct attack is suicide,” I say, unnecessarily.

Lothane snorts. “You reckon, Silmuna?”

“So our move now?” Madaléin asks.

Lothane considers. “Pull back. Pick off their foraging parties and try to starve Laurens out.”

Madaléin’s brown furrows. “What happens if Laruens gets his mind-devouring on our raiding parties? If he manages to learn exactly where we are like he does the orcs.”

My fingers flex. “Lothane, I think you have the right idea. But instead of turning this into some abstract siege, we should go for the weakest links. Back off, make to raid the Brave Brothers warcamp nearby, their base of operations. Try to bait them out and then attack.”

“Defeat in detail,” he says, grinning. “Simple. Relies on them being stupid or cocky. I like it.”

Idiots.​

We pull our forces back, following our steps until we double back around, pretending we’re going for the lands the other adventurers hold onto. Laurens’ forces spread out. While a fair number hold position, the Gawedi Cobalt Company moves out, trying to chase us down for whatever reason.

“Well,” Madaléin says with a whistle. “Corin rape me with a rock. This is actually working.”

Lothane gives her a weird look. “Would… you like to rephrase that?”

Madaléin shakes her head. “Je ne regrette rien!” she chirps.

The man looks to me as if for help.

I shrug. “You’re the one who encouraged her, Lothane.”

He grimaces.

She punches his shoulder. “He’s right, Lothane. You’re a terrible influence on me.”

“Y’know what?” he asks. “You’ve got a point. This one is on me.”

I walk past him, putting a hand on his very tall shoulder. “We can question and doubt all of our life choices after we break the Gawedi.”

We take them from behind. The Corintar’s heavy infantry pin the Cobalt Company, while my archers and cavalry break them from the sides.

It turns quickly in a slog in the mud and spring thaw.

I refuse to let up. For as long as they stand and fight, no quarters given, no moment of peace, no break in the slaughter. Archers rain death upon the Gawedi, and I order fake charge after fake charge until they finally break, and we run them down. We chase them a mile before allowing them to flee in peace.

I have my men loot their camp for supplies.

Some might call how I fight ruthless. I prefer to think of myself as an “efficient operator.”​

Madaléin is just sitting on a rock after the battle is over.

I sit down beside her. We’re like that in silence for what feels like ever.

“It feels… strange,” she eventually says. “I signed up to fight orcs and goblins. There’s something… I don’t know, off, I guess, about fighting other people.”

I lightly elbow her. “Not getting cold feet on me now, are you?”

Madaléin scowls. “Don’t be an ass, Rogier. I cut my teeth fighting bandits and outlaws as the Lilac Wars were winding down. Just—thought that was behind me. I could focus on fighting monsters.”

I look down the hill, watching Lothane gather his men up. Slowly, I put my hand on her shoulder.

“Is this the part where you say something inspiring to get the blood flowing?” she asks wryly.

I suck on my lips. “Don’t be stupid, Freckles. You know that thing you’re feeling? Those doubts. Those worries. Hold onto that.”

“Why?”

“Because only monsters don’t doubt themselves. Monsters can look in the mirror and only see something they’re proud of, no matter how much blood they’re covered in.”

“What do you see in the mirror, Rogier?”

I let out a long sigh. “Someone you trust, who’d rather burn the world than lose that.”

Madaléin laughs. “Wow, that is—that is terrible.”

I stiffen. “Well, I thought it was sentimental.”

She stands, bumping me with her hip. “You’re such a lousy sap, Rogier. How does a saint like me put up with you?”

“Because you are an incredibly poor judge of character.”

“I was right about Laurens!” she says, holding up a finger.

“And I was stupid to doubt you,” I tell her. “Now c’mon. Let’s put the nail in his coffin like you wanted.”

Madaléin grins, but there’s something hurting in that look.

With half of their armies gone and destroyed, we take the fight to Laurens himself.​

Years ago, the Dookanson was stopped in the marshes of Rottenstep. The Marcher Lords and adventurers fought the Greentide to a standstill. It was one of the largest battles in recent history. It was where Corin died the first time, only to return from the dead as the Avatar of War.

Thirty thousand against an orcish force twice their number.

By my count, as we approach Forksgrove, boots crunching the thawing spring snow, there are some fifty thousand soldiers ready for battle.

Lothane steps up to me, clad in heavy Corintari full plate. “I’ve got my center ready. You and Madaléin have your flanks and we’ll put Laurens in irons by nightfall.”

I reach out to grab his hand. “You support me, Lothane, and I’ve got you.”

He nods once, eyes hard. “Blood for blood, Silmuna, and burn the witches.”

“You ready, Freckles?” I ask, sizing up the battle lines of the Sword Covenant and Brave Brothers. They’re all that’s left of Lauren’s coalition.

She holds her sword, expression grim. “Yeah. Down there’s needful things we gotta do. I think I was born ready.”

“I knew you’d be.”

Madaléin gives me a scouring expression, reaching over to punch my shoulder. “Then why the fuck would you ask as if I wasn’t ready, asshole?”

I laugh.

And raise my sword. The horns blow, our forces march forwards, our cavalries move in to support them, and the first volley of arrows are loosed.

The heavy Corintari crash into Lauren’s lines, holding their formations as the Damerians support their flanks. Lothane is right in the center of things, between sword, spear, arrow, and magic missile.

My outriders break through the side, to meet their cavalry head on. With Madaléin riding beside me, I grit my teeth as we make contact with the Gawedi horses. Smaller than our Adenican coursers, they pull back first, and with trained precision our forces bank sharply and crash into Lauren’s men.

The lines begin to break on all sides, losing cohesion and turning more into a barely organized melee. The scent of blood and magefire. The clash of steel and screaming men.

I pull my cavalry back and make the long circle around Laurens, ignoring his forces to make for his camp. We throw torches and oil into the wall-less camp and turn it into a conflagration.

And then it’s straight back into the rear of Laurens’ forces. We take the horses down into a slow gallop, until the thundering of hooves is enough to shake the earth and turn men’s knees to mash. We make a pass at their archers, before breaking back to pick at stragglers.

It’s a bad idea to crash a horse into a man. That’s how you kill yourself and your horse.

But already the chaos we’re causing in the rear and flanks is breaking the Sword Covenant’s resolve. More and more units are breaking at the sides, even if the center holds.

The spark of steel and magefire catches my eyes. And there in the melee, I see the massive half-orc, and I see the witch-knight of the Sword Covenant locked in battle.

I whistle, gesturing for Madaléin and my bodyguard to follow me.

Got you now, you bastard!​

Looking at Laurens fight hurts the eyes. I feel my stomach lurch. His mix of illusion, transmutation, and swordplay—the more I look, the less I seem to see. And Lothane is right in his face. He fights strong and hard. Laurens is fast, with pulses of magical shields in his hands and illusory feints.

I focus hard on the little blue scrap of silk on Lothane’s tusk, and nothing else, and charge in.

The men around Laurens run to avoid us.

“Holy shit, I hate battlemages!” Madaléin shouts. “I can’t even look at—mon capitaine, I have an idea!”

“I’ll cover you, Freckles!” I say, not even needing to ask.

She winks at me as she stands up in her saddle, angling her horse to the side. I feel something in my stomach sink as she grabs her sword, howls like a banshee—

And straight jumps off her mare.

There’s no fancy footwork or illusion Laurens can do. Madaléin is a human missile with steel in her hands.

She tackles him hard enough to break teeth and bone. They tumble together, until Lothane grabs her hand and pulls her up. Laurens tries to find his hands and get up, only to find Lothane and Freckles’ swords at his throat.

Laurens is ours.

And his men break without him.

We give chase enough to make sure they’re too broken to ever return.​

“Did you fuckin’ see me!” Madaléin shouts, covered in blood, and grinning like a maniac. “I still got it!”

I bring my horse to a slow stop. The Corintari are already clasping Laurens, hissing and screaming and red-faced, into irons. Trying to keep his limbs and fingers apart to prevent his sorcery.

Everything smells of sweat and blood and far too many horses.

“Madaléin,” I say tiredly, “my knees hurt just remembering that little maneuver.”

She spins around and takes a bow, like some weird imitation of a curtsy, laughing the entire time.

Lothane eyes me. “Need help off your horse, then, old man?”

Madaléin cackles.

Everlasting victory over evil. Not greenskins or House síl Wex this time.​

I do the horrible honors myself. We tie Ser Laurens up and make him confess aloud to everyone in his own words what he’s done. He’s crazy enough to still be proud of what he’s done. He tries to convince people he did the right thing.

It’s all the confession we need. We ensure the news spreads far and wide of what he’s done. Why we did what we had to. And that Corin’s justice be done even to her own friends and followers.

I conduct the sentence myself. A man ought to carry out such things.

For the crime of being a Witch-Knight in Nichmer’s tradition, a traitor to Corin’s Legacy, and lying to Escann resulting in thousands of deaths, Ser Laurens síl Place is put to death.

With human evil stifled, and the northern adventures destroyed, it’s time to turn our attention back to ending the Greentide.​

Our armies return to Silvervord. We’ve picked the land dry and it’s time to move on.

I eat one last dinner with Lothane, before he’s back off to his part of Escann to continue the good fight. Madaléin is off carousing with the troops, but the half-orc and I find ourselves together due to a shared disinterest in getting piss-drunk.

“I feel like something’s missing,” Lothane says, leaning back in his chair, watching the men enjoy their victory. “We killed one of my friends. We did the right thing. But I still feel like there’s a piece I missed, Silmuna.”

“I’ve got a piece to speak,” I say, poking at a piece of cursed ham.

“Hm?” he grunts.

I point at my face. He squints, until he slowly mimes the gesture, and seems to understand.

“It’s why they call me ‘Bluetusk,’” he says, shrugging.

“Why do you wear it, though?”

He looks away. “Complicated. Long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

Lothane idly fingers at the blue piece of cloth, his eyes distant. His expression morphs into a kind of scowl, not something he wants to tell, but shifts towards a reluctant acceptance.“S’pose you’ve earned a story, all the blood we’ve spilled together.”

I tilt my head, feeling my pulse… do something. I’m not sure if it slows or hastens or if I’m just more aware of my own heart.

“It was my mother’s,” he says slowly, almost carefully. As if trying to pluck the right words off his own tongue. “Human.”

“Did she and your father…”

Lothane almost scowls at me. “You try to find me one half-orc in Escann whose mother gave consent, Silmuna. Just one. I’ll wait.”

I blink rapidly.

“Whoever dad was, he was some Bladebreaker fuck. I like to think Corin and I killed him, but I’ll never know,” he says, drumming at his cheek. With a certain agitation. Like he wants to answer my question, but hates every moment of it. “Mom didn’t make it, either.”

There’s a sudden pit in my stomach. A feeling like I’m lurching forwards, even as I sit in place and listen to him.

“I took a piece of her scarf. The orcs raised me as some kind of weird bastard, which I suppose I am. It got bad, for me and my halfbreed kin. I challenged the chieftain to battle.”

“And you killed him, took his place?”

Lothane snorts. “Fuck no, Silmuna. He beat the shit out of me, then killed the half-orcs who sided with me as an object lesson. I was just some broken thing with too many human features, wearing a piece of my human mother, and more hassle than I was worth.

“Once they were done with me and my fellow bastards, they were going to kill me too. Got bored, maybe.” He picks at his tusk. “Corin saved me. Was attacking the orcish camp. Found me. Laurens wanted to kill me, but Corin stayed his hand, and I swore myself to her cause. One thing leads to another. Apparently she dies and comes back from the dead, and thinks it’s hysterical to show herself to me first, so that I’m the last one to learn she died in the first place.” He grins at nothing, at the reveries. “Then she up and dies again to save my life and kill the Dookanson, and…”

The man shrugs, sighing. “Shit happens. I’ve learned there’s things in life you can control. Some you can’t. And sometimes shit’s so random and by-chance that it’s not worth thinking about. You find yourself in extraordinary circumstances, and all you can do is keep your sword handy and take that next step forward.”

“What was her name?” I ask, throat oddly dry.

“Corin?” he asks, face scrunching. Then he frowns.

“Your mother. I—did you know her?”

Lothane looks at me for a very long moment. Like he hadn’t heard me correctly. Or like there’s some suspect motive for the question. “Eilís,” he says very, very slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “This cloth was from her scarf. All I remember is that she loved me until she died, even if I was… what I am.”

“Eilís,” I croak, stumbling to my feet. My hands shaking. My vision swimming. I nearly cough. I nearly puke. “Did she wear blue? Only blue?”

Lothane stares, and in that look I can see the words yes, and bubbling confusion how I know that.

My knees buckle. My face hits the dirt, breath coming in in ragged, shivering pulses.

Lothane inhales sharply, rushing to my side. “Captain Silmuna!”

I just lay there, picking at the scattered threads of my mind, trying to assemble some kind of reasonable garment from them.

The half-orc scoops me up, putting his ear to my chest. “Silmuna, are you alright?”

I reach up, grabbing his face. Taking the little piece of blue scarf from his tusk. Lothane doesn’t resist.

I hold it in my hand, and I know it’s silk. Old, faded, worn, and washed of blood and dirt over decades of use, but it’s a scarf. It’s silk.

It’s Damerian blue.

The wizard’s words from years ago come back in a flash. Go east, Rogier. There you will find your blood and destiny.

“Lothane,” I say, tightening my fist around the cloth. “Your mother was Eilís Silmuna. She was my sister. You’re my fucking nephew!”

 

[Danfox1213]

well shit talk about a plot trust

 

[Crushric]

well shit talk about a plot trust

Which to me is kind of funny. You're not the first to say this.

The fact that Lothane is Rogier's nephew, despite being a half-orc, is just one of those things everyone knows. THe game does not try to hide it. Mechanics are open about it. The only people who don't know are the people in-universe, more or less. There's almost no events or interactions between Rogier and Lothane coded into the game, only lore that happens in future nation mission trees after Rogier's death.

So, to me, this was about trying to make a thing everyone knows into a fun bit of drama in-universe for these poor characters. Leaning more into dramatic irony than a real classic plot twist.

 

[Thousandflowers]

Honestly when I saw a new Anbennar I thought 'no way can this be as good as the other one' but i'm blown away and totally hooked by the fantastic story; well done!

 

[Crushric]

Honestly when I saw a new Anbennar I thought 'no way can this be as good as the other one' but i'm blown away and totally hooked by the fantastic story; well done!

Some nations in Anbennar, I feel, make for better AARs, not because of unique mechanics or gameplay, but because of the character and situation potential. I can only really work with characters. Dartaxagerdim was doomed little fundementalist state surrounded on all sides by danger and disaster and some killer mission text flavor, so it worked. Meanwhile, the stories of Sons of Dameria and its formable are very character-heavy. To the point that the formable's mission tree text changes based on whether or not your first created-by-event ruler is alive or not.

I'm really just exploring and dramatizing stuff that's canon to Anbennar, with Roger and Lothane, and even Laurens.

I'm happy you're enjoying it! I hope not to disappoint you with the coming chapters

Stick around—pretty sure this one's posting schedule is Wednesday/Saturday, because why not? Last one was Sunday/Thursday.

 

[Crimson Lionheart]

Ooooh! An Anbennar AAR! This looks exciting and is also a thrill to read as well. Will be following excitedly

 

[Crushric]

Ooooh! An Anbennar AAR! This looks exciting and is also a thrill to read as well. Will be following excitedly

Well, this is my second one. First one was Dartaxagerdim. This one follows the legendary House Silmuna.

Happy to see more Anbennar fans out there, as I am trying to sort of show the mod and its stories off. Glad to have you join us!

 

[HistoryDude]

Dealing with Laurens first was an interesting decision, but not one that will regret, I think.

Oh, the irony! The answer was right in front of Silmuna! Shame that his sister is dead, though. This will motivate his revenge quest even more, of course.

 

[Crushric]

Dealing with Laurens first was an interesting decision, but not one that will regret, I think.

Oh, the irony! The answer was right in front of Silmuna! Shame that his sister is dead, though. This will motivate his revenge quest even more, of course.

Laruens was the clear and present danger. There's a major problem in Escann with black magic and other such forms of witchcraft. Sort of a running, recurring theme in this region.

Problem for his quest now is, it's sort of over. He found his sister, in way. His "blood and destiny." What's there left to do on his own personal revenge quest? Just keep killing and taking and destroying for its own sake?

This isn't something to fuel him with rage. This is something that destroys him.

 

[Timewarriors]

hey he still has the blade breaker to vent

 

[brovahkiin]

love to see this.
Got into the mod recently and have been playing a ton of it.
This is one of my favorite nations too can't wait to see how far you go. Certainly has some of the best personal drama and heart string pulling of all of them.
Ovdal Lodhum comes close if doesn't exceed it though.
When I played the sons I had the funny not quite a glitch but totally not intendent moment in the end of their tree of when you get the reward from the war of consolidation I had already gotten elected so I had an event about usurping myself. It was very funny
marking it as a spoiler though for people that don't want to know how the tree and story might hypothetically conclude