Thread: Realms of Terrafynn - The Red Wars (Skeith Takahata II & MessedUpRP)

Skeith Takahata II said Far to the east, beyond the Great Central Continent of Romeria, lies the Desert Nation of Glytipt. A small but formidable empire that none dared to challenge. At least, not until recently. Far to the south, a man, calling himself The Red King, raised an army and set out to conquer the Realms from the Continent of Rolendahl. The Red Army had conquered their own home with ease, and were beginning to sale to other lands. The first of which, was Glytipt. The southern reaches of the Empire were holding the line, but they would never last against these numbers. They needed help. The war had arrived on their shores at an awful time as well. The Pharaoh Marasett had recently passed on, joining the Gods beyond. His body was only just entombed, his daughter, Asara , only just ascending to throne, before war arrived. She was young. Too young to be an orphan and too young to be a queen. Yet here she was, war had come and her lands needed a leader. She stood, covered in elegant body paint, protecting her from being touched against her wishes and needing to prove it. The ink would smudge and the criminal caught baring the ink on their flesh would be slain. Her body only barely clothed. Garb assembled of fine stones and gold beads concealed her breasts, and dangled between her legs. Bangles hung from her wrists and ankles. Her bare feet padded quietly as she stepped up to her throne. A tall, black furred covered man with a jackal's head leaned in to speak to her. A feather covered woman with an owl's head standing on her other side. The two shared a whispered conversation before the doors opened. One of her generals entered the room, prompting her to stand slowly. I trust you have good news for me. She said seriously. Despite her frail and small form, when she was upset, she became quite imposing. Your majesty, our line is holding, but our numbers are dwindling. We need help. He said, looking to the jackal headed man beside her as he snarled. You would ask that your queen send more to the lines? We have no soldiers. What would you have her do? Send farmers, potters, fishermen? It's fine, Malaketh. She said, gently. We will send word across the sea to Spartanians asking for assistance. In the mean time, perhaps the prisoners. In return for a lighter sentence or perhaps freedom, I'm sure they can be persuaded to take up arms. Who would lead such a rabble? Asked the Owl-headed woman. Organize a tournament. Non-lethal arms. The ranking victors will be assigned positions of authority within the new division. The winner will serve as my fifth general. The room in agreement, she rose from her throne. Now, I wish to rest. Organize the tournament, and send for me when festivities are underway. She dismissed those in the room, returning to her chambers. In time, Malaketh was walking through the prison with the feather covered Owl-headed woman Taris. Those of you who have been found guilty of crimes beneath Marasett have been given a unique opportunity. Your new queen, Asara, has seen fit to offer you your freedom in exchange for your military service. Those who are interested in such an opportunity will be allowed to sign for a tournament to decide ranking officers within the division. The queen thanks each of you who join, for their sacrifice and willingness to serve. The tournament will be in one week's time. Prepare yourselves accordingly. Click to expand... I had kind of meant the queen specifically picked MC from hearing about her reputation to compete in the tournament . Nialla looked up from her shackles... She had significantly more than most. Her spirits had remained unborken and the guards knew it. Probably fromnt bseven times she had attempted escape abndnthentwenty three days ad guards she had left. She scored at the people. Yes exwcroynwhat every prisoner wants! A chance to serve their dirty queen sitting on some lousy throne! Long live the queen, may the goes so it on her corpse when the conquerors stomp through here and destroy her little 'tournament.' She fell silent again. Who would want to be free getting shot st again by anyone for anything. She was safer in this cell. The young whitish-blonde needle master would sit here and contemplate her own tattoos, she had no need for silly tournaments or queens. She had been the greatest berserker and druid of her nation. But she had been betrayed by someone she called a friend. The tribe laser himself had knocked her out and sold her in the Iron Auction. She was being taken across the sea when she was captured by these people and now she was stuck god knows where.