The New Dynasty Age

[Yiski]

The events are placed within the Burning Skies/No Limit world. Time wise, these events are years into the future beyond Limit. This ties directly with the Flotsam Dynasty Campaign event starting next week.

Decades have passed since the failed invasion of Anvala by the Baronies. Since then, no other faction wanted to waste their already limited resources in committing wars or even small scale conflicts. However, do not let the peace among the factions fool you. The world has becoming anything but peaceful. Those who brave the skies and risk their lives would say the skies have become more dangerous. But they laugh it off to say the dangers are only an inconvenience to great rewards.

In the past few years, the economic and political landscape have shifted. All factions have started using their respective forces to guard and patrol their own territories and trade routes. The new vacuum of power created by the withdrawing powers opened the way to a new age: The age of the mercenary guilds (or clans to the average layman).

The factions began seeing mercenaries as easy and cheap means to keep their interests protected. The sudden influx of coin caused many mercenary guilds to stretch their influence into areas unknown.

Of course, not all were willing to join the factions. Just as many saw this as the perfect opportunity to become pirates and raiders for their own interests.

Now, instead of seeing the flags of the major factions take to the skies, it’s littered by the flags of those (both new and old) wanting to make a name for themselves in this new age of profiteering.

[Yiski]

Prior to the current events and inevitable conflicts, Zill’s ‘retirement’ in the Yeshan canyons has treated him well. Having the Yeshans ‘officially’ backing his privateering against other factions did wonders for him. Without the Yeshans interference, Zill, with the help of Yiski, managed to create a modest privateering guild based out of Chang-ning, specifically out of the Crimson Skies Saloon.

For a few years, Yiski would provide information to Zill about Baron and Guild merchants who would travel through the canyons. In return, Zill would donate some funds and a few ill-gotten goods to the saloon, despite Roland’s objections.

Yiski and Zill were content with their privateering business until a certain day. Zill had decided to let a few of his newest recruits take to the skies in his stead while he dropped by the Crimson Skies for a visit. Alongside him, as always, was Jun’ko.

[Yiski]
“Zill! Didn’t expect to see you so soon, or ever for that matter.”

[Zill]
“Well, I decided to let some of the recruits take control for a day.”

[Yiski]
“You sure that was wise?”

[Zill]
“If they’re alive when I come back, then yes.”

The two catch up on their recent endeavors. A little girl runs up to Yiski and he picks her up, much to Zill and Jun’ko’s surprise. Jun’ko then becomes ecstatic to learn the girl was Ny-Lee and Roland’s. Immediately Jun’ko declared her and Zill her official aunt and uncle, much to Zill’s sigh, but nonetheless smiling under his mask. While lifting her new niece, Jun’ko eyed over to Zill with a mischievous smile. Zill knew to cut her thoughts off.

[Zill]
“We’re not getting one.”

Jun’ko simply pouted and Yiski laughed.

The conversation continued, until the subject of their little privateering guild came up.

[Yiski]
“I guess we’ve had enough small talk. You’re probably here because of the rumor flyin’ around.”

[Zill]
“Well, while privateering is nice, I thought we should expand.”

[Yiski]
“Well, you know how hard it is to move raided goods long distances.”

[Zill]
“Which is why we’re not going to be privateers anymore.”

[Yiski]
“So, then we’re going to become a mercenary guild now. Figures, we’ve been talking about this over the radio a lot.”

During their discussion, many Hellfires where had, and niece played with, much to Jun’ko’s constant delight (Zill still could not understand how much energy she still had, not that he ever complained about it), the men’s plans to go mercenary hit a slight snag: logistics. Mercenary guilds required to have multiple ‘offices’ all across the world. While their current guild was sizable, there was no way it could stretch its manpower to the required levels.

Luckily, inspiration hit both Yiski and Zill like a lochnagar Hellhound.

The two quickly realized they still were in contact with Plasmarobo who headed Wild Winds Trading and BdrLineAzn who owned the Burning Skies Saloon. In addition, all of them were still in very good standing amongst themselves.

After a few radio transmissions, Plasma and BdrLine were sold on the idea of becoming a mercenary guild. Just one detail was left...

[Plasma]
“So, what are we going to call ourselves?”

[BdrLine]
“I’ve been wondering that too. Any ideas?”

[Yiski]
“Nothing. Zill?”

[Zill]
“Nope.”

[Jun’ko]
“Yeah, I might have something. It’s from an old book from I read. I think the story was called Robin Hood....”

After giving a rough recount of the story, the others were sold.

[Yiski]
“Well, I think we can all agree on ‘Zill’s Merry Men’”

[Plasma]
“Why not Plasma’s Merry Men?”

[Yiski]
“Because you aren’t nearly attractive as Zill is.”

Getting an okay from BdrLine and a low grumble from Plasma which Yiski took as an acceptance, the transmission ended and Yiski turned to Zill.

[Yiski]
“Well, aside from sendin’ some folks out from here to set up shop with them, we still have another problem.”

[Zill]
“What’s that?”

[Yiski]
“Well, I’m sure you’re goin’ to need a pilot you can trust. Lauren has other obligations and I’m sure you don’t trust your recruits that much.”

[Zill]
“Funny you should ask that. I have just the pilot.”

Zill whistles loudly enough to silence the saloon. From outside, a hooded figure walks in and approaches the two. Upon removing the hood....

[Yiski]
“Bloody skies... this is who you pick? Anyways, you look good for being dead.”

[Shinkurex]
“Yeah, I get that alot.”

[Yiski]

People from all four corners of the world have been fascinated with the mysterious phenomenon being dubbed as “dragon eggs” found by the archaeologists all over the world.

Rumor has it one group has been able to hatch one of these mysterious eggs and even fly with the dragon.

Of course, despite the influx of sightings lately, this could not possibly be true...

Somewhere in the frozen Northeast of Cerca Trova, there were a number of ships anchored down around a small section of land. The ships were not from any faction, but from a guild and unlike most (if not all) guilds, this one was more interested in knowledge than combat. Their flags reminiscent of old and mythical creatures which terrorized the skies in ancient lore.

Below their ships on the cliffs being crashed upon by the ever shifting seas, a man sat in an open tent watching his men and women digging, excavating, searching for relics of the old world, and sometimes bordering on the edge of reality and fiction.

The man was covered from head to toe in protective and warm clothing. It did not matter what time of the year is was, Cerca Trova came in only flavor: Very cold, very icy, and very unpredictable blizzards which could freeze Hellfire.

The man in the tent was the leader of this guild, the Celestial Dragons. Their leader, Fade Dragontear. An ironic name given the fact his occupation dealt with resurrecting an already faded civilization.

As he sat and watched his guildmates tirelessly working, Niels Juel, Fade’s second-in-command, approaches.

[Niels]
“The wind is shifting.”

[Fade]
“...”

[Niels]
“Shame really, the view here is beautiful.”

Niels beard had gathered frost and snow from the harsh climate, he sighed as he spoke to his silent leader. At times it felt like he was talking to himself, but he always knew Fade was not one for small talk.

A few moments of silence pass before Fade rose from his seat.

[Fade]
“Niels, its time to prepare the fleet to mobilize. We’re changing tactics.”

[Niels]
“I am not sure I understand sir.”

[Fade]
“The times have changed. We once had support to do these expeditions, but now we struggle to maintain our tiny fleet.”

Niels stood quietly, knowing Fade was not yet finished.

[Fade]
“We found what we came for; now it’s time to show the world the true strength of the Celestial Dragons”

[Niels]
“Are you suggesting we join in the current land grab against the other guilds?”

Niels stood quietly and could only hear the wind blow by. If Niels did not know better, he could have sworn Fade was smiling as the two gazed deeply into the blueish green orb.

[Yiski]

There were few things which are considered to be absolute truths. One of those truths is any baked goods bearing the Les Boulangers Sympas name and mark were the best and almost worth their weight in gold.

However, when these goods were first introduced into the markets years ago, many people were highly skeptical when it was advertised in a language many considered to be lost, but most importantly, what was advertised when translated:

“OUR BREAD IS THE BEST IN THE WORLD!”
“YOU WILL FIND NONE WHICH IS BETTER!”
“WE GUARANTEE OUR BREAD IS ALWAYS HOT WHEN SOLD REGARDLESS WHERE YOU LIVE!”

At first, nobody believed the advertisement to be true... until a few curious souls bought some Les Boulangers Sympas goods.

Soon enough, there was a craze for anything baked by Les Boulangers Sympas. At one point, it almost caused a few riots worldwide when shops and markets had to turn people away because they had run out. During this period, people began to wonder:
 

Where is Les Boulangers Sympas located?
Why are they able to keep their goods so fresh over long distances?
How are they able to do it?

Somewhere southwest of Navinstaak, lies a cavern hidden within the slick ice and howling snow. Any suicidal to travel on foot to Navinstaak, had a possibility of seeing a small flicker of a faint light. It is within this cavern where Les Boulangers Sympas, and their delicious goods, are located.

Once their location was relatively known, people began to speculate how their baked goods are what they are.

Most theories (and the truth) settle on Les Boulangers Sympas using technology from the old world.

Fortunately, Les Boulangers Sympas are not just simple bakers. From their profits, they have managed to amass their own fleet for the purposes of defending their shipments. Les Boulangers Sympas’ fleet is also used to defend their base from any competitor who would want to claim their technology.

With the changes coming, soon we will have a war. A war... for bread.

[Yiski]

Despite all the overt movements all the new clans and guilds were taking in preparing for the inevitable all-out war, there were a few small groups which operated behind the shadows.

Some of these groups are typically considered cults with their own set of weird and strange rumors. Parts of the general populace believe them to be myths created to scare their children into obedience. Others thinks they were once a part of the old world civilization. Some think they recite strange texts and commit rituals like sacrificing goats or some other nonsense.

But for as many people which exist, there are a number of cults devoted to their own little world.

Take for instance how quickly tales of epic battles get spread.

They are not just told through the eyes of the survivors or the mere passerby. There is an odd group of people who dedicate their lives in following major guilds’ fleets, not for the purposes of committing their own attack or an intelligence guild, but rather an order of warrior monks, sworn to observation.

Why this group exists is hardly known to the outside world, mostly because of how small and secluded they operate. Only those who are a part of this cult of sorts can recognize each other, even if they have never met.

What little we do know is they pray to a black monolith which exists on all their ships, a direct communication line to their deity, Twitch.

When you get two or more members gathered for the same battle, they have the habit of joining each other for additional commentary rather than trying to kill one another. Like I said, they were an odd group.

One such member of this cult goes by PapaParadox. After his association with Yiski and Zill, Paradox grew bored of managing the Dandy Lion Trading Company. Sure, there were times where he would authorize ships to go purge a region of pirates for safe passage, but he always felt left out on not being able to witness the action himself.

Luckily for Paradox, he was approached by Qwerty with the chance to do just that. Of course, Paradox accepted.

As for today, Paradox managed to successfully follow a Merry Men fleet heading into an engagement against a handful of pirates. Licking his lips in anticipation, Paradox starts up his recorder. Paradox was not alone for this engagement. Alongside his small ship were two other ‘casters’: Qwerty and Brick Hardcastle.

[Paradox]
“You would think the pirates would’ve stop trying to thread the needle here after the fourth failed attempt. What they should have done was at least tried to pincer Blame Doug and Then It Was Rebuilt, but the Kyllo would manage to spot them and relay firing positions.”

[Qwerty]
“The pirates could have succeeded.”

[Brick]
“Yeah, maybe if they weren’t flying piece of shit junkers into....”

[Qwerty]
“Like I said ‘could’. OH WAIT! THERE’S A JUNKER GOING UNDER DOUG AND... IT KEEPS GOING, COMPLETELY OVERSHOOTING THEM AND...

[Paradox]
“... gets torn to shreds by the gatling-mortar. Shame.”

The rest of the commentary was fairly boring to Paradox. The Merry Men had destroyed their attackers without so much a scratch on their armor. Paradox let loose a melancholy sigh, but soon cheered himself up.

[Paradox]
“Maybe the Overwatch and the Celestial Dragons will be more interesting to watch.”

[Qwerty]
“That may be good, but I hear Cake and the Aeronautical Knights are fighting later this week.”

[Brick]
“Whatever, I need to head back and sacrifice a goat or two.”

[Keon]

Ooh. The casters. Dun dun DDUUUUUNN!

[Swallox]

...You have no idea how hard it is to glue a casting column to a camera squid without sacrificing manoeuvrability.

[Yiski]

There was a modest group of men enjoying a lunch together in Vyshtorg, in one of the finest and exclusive cafés in the world. In order to get a table at this café, one would most likely have to murder a known reservist and assume his or her identity.

These men were friends and founders of a guild. While the guild members are known to be always sharply dressed, they are famous by requiring their fellow guildmates to bear a critical accessory: A black top hat. Their guild’s name was reflective of not only their required attire, but also how they carried themselves; like Gentlemen.

While their initial conversation was pleasant and cordial, all men felt a bitter taste when the topic of the current Mercantile’s policy of military withdraws came up. Wazulu, unable to enjoy his tea, placed his drink down.

[Wazulu]
“It’s simply madness- the Guild believes lax military enforcement of the trade routes will somehow benefit trade.”

[Mattisamo]
“Agreed, this will simply encourage further piracy. It was already difficult to shift the bulk of our goods without being harassed, but with this withdrawal the Guild can’t even protect their own trade routes. How are we to make a profit now?”

[Chango]
“Well, have you thought on my proposal?”

[Wazulu]
 “Hiring mere brigands to guard our goods- We might as well be handing the stock to the pirates themselves. The fleets we have amassed ourselves are sufficient, and are of higher quality than any mercenary band the Guild can drag before us.”

[Chrinus]
“Clearly you have a different definition of ‘sufficient’ as I do. As it stands, barely sixty percent of our goods ever reach their destination. Hiring the additional and cheap help would drastically increase that percentage.”
 
[Feast]
“If you want to throw cannon fodder at them and spare our own maintenance repairs, be my-”

The five men continue to argue over the changing landscape of the world. While tame at first, the conversation turned into a discussion, then argument, then almost into a full blown yelling contest until their leader set his tea down in his saucer. At that small, barely audible chink, the table, and the room, fell silent.

[Roy]
“I believe I have heard enough of this lively discussion. I am inclined to agree with Chango for the need of additional help. Likewise, I believe the use of such help is beneath our quality of service.”

Roy lifted his tea once more and took a small sip before lowering the cup from his lips. Still silent, the room waited on for his next words.

[Roy]
“So, I propose the following compromise. We will hire additional help from those within the Guild’s withdrawing fleet. In doing so they’ll have no qualms in joining the guild in the future, and our guild grows as a result. We can ensure the men we recruit are of standards fitting to become Gentlemen.”

The other five sat silently, considering Roy’s proposed plan. They then looked to one another and, without a single look of disapproval, they looked back to Roy.

[Roy]
“Very well, Gentlemen. Let us proceed.”
 
In the coming days, the group sorted through the Guild’s forces and began to draw a fleet together, picking from the various squadrons and units that had withdrawn.

By the end of the week a fighting force had been assembled, and they were honoured with the title:

‘Gentleguard’

Although they were untested, the harsh combat of the weeks to follow would graft them into soldiers of the skies, and their battles would affect the presence of the Gentlemen themselves in the months to come.
 

[Yiski]

(Written by Piemanlives. Edited by yours truly.)

In the high mountains of the Yesha Empire, where the frozen winds bear, where the snows run deep and the skies are emeralds. At the highest peak there lies a small village, the village of Maw Peak. Here monks practice the lost art of Crii c’et, the monks toil in the holy bakeries, creating the most brilliant of baked goods.

The monks of Maw Peak toiled in the art of Crii c’et, creating baked goods, the fire of baking burned beneath the ovens ever softly as the baked goods rose from their pans, ready to be consumed. There were few monks who knew of the coming storm, they need champions to protect the art, they would be those to spread it and its happiness to those below the mountains. The Great Monk, Cullen called upon the high monks, they would soon meet their champion.

[Cullen]
“And so I call upon thee, the Master of The Oven, James T. Kirk, come to the council chamber.”

The chamber door opened as the monk known as Kirk entered.

[Kirk]
“You have called upon me?”

[Cullen]
“A storm is rising, the lands below are ripe for the taking, forces everywhere vie for them, in the coming days the art may be lost forever, the art of Crii c’et must be protected. We have chosen you to marshal our forces, it is the lowlands where we shall make our stand, gather your forces, you leave at dawn.”

[Kirk]
“Very well, may the baking fires remain ever lit.”

The chamber doors shut behind him; he knew the first he would call upon. Within the monastery lay many forms of Crii c’et, he entered the sanctum of pie, there

The Man of Pie toiled to create his chosen good, many apprentices lined the tables as they learned the many intricate steps to creating the ancient pasties of the old world. Kirk approached him.

[Kirk]
“A storm is rising, and now comes the time when the monastery must defend itself, will you join me?”

Pieman
“Blessed be thy art Oven Master. I will join you.”

[Kirk]
“Come there is much to discuss.”

The Pieman directed the brightest of his disciples to carry out his teachings in his absence. The two traveled to the inner sanctum of their sacred blast forges where they would plan all.

[Kirk]
“We must gather our forces, we need many to hold against the tide, but who can we call upon?”

[Pieman]
“What about Master Zenark, He who led many during the War of Spires.”

[Kirk]
“Yes! We must call upon to return the monastery, we will need his skill.”

[Pieman]
“We may call upon Andika, the defender of the art, she will rush to our aid, the one known as B’Elanna, she who never leaves her hull. If this comes to war we will need more, those who will be willing to set flames to our enemy, soldiers baked to perfection, an army that will rise to the occasion.”

And so they were called upon, they would wait days for their arrival but they would come.

In time, many would flock to their cause, all willing to defend their art. So the die was cast and an army was gathered, the five walked through the halls of the monastery however there was one more.

[Pieman]
“There is one more we may call upon, the one they call Gambrill he-

[Kirk]
“Yes, yes I’m sure he is spectacular as well, I must however address the assembled pastries.”

And so he strode to the podium, the gathered monks silenced and looked upon him.

[Kirk]
“There is a storm coming, the lands below us prepare to war amongst each other, warlords, generals, admirals, emperors, kings, they all shall fight, and we, we will be caught in between, our art lost to the frozen winds but nay, nay I say for we cannot let this pass! We must protect our art with our lives, we must strike, we must stand our ground, we ride for the lowlands, we must break out the butter, for it is time for us to make toast!”

The voices of many rose into the air; it would be time for them to leave. Days would pass, soon their vessels took to the skies, men would be lost, vessel sundered, the land scared, a few mercenaries had joined them as well, however they were concerned. Kirk and his most trusted captain, Zenark, stood upon the deck of their flagship looking over their growing fleet as they flew east.

[Zenark]
“A pity Spud Nick would not join, his expertise would have been greatly appreciated.”

[Kirk]
“A master of Mobulas, a pity but we must make do, come to the council chamber.”

Together they entered the war room, various monks studied maps and charts, others looked over supplies and requisitions, they would need as much as they could carry. They closed the door behind them, the other council members studied the large map in the center of the chamber, however as quickly as they entered the once again opened behind them and a young monk appeared.

[Pastry]
“Master of the Oven, it has come to the attention of some that our weapons are not balanced to the meta, that we-“

[Kirk]
“Meta?”

He looked to his council members, Andika, Zenark, Gambrill, Pieman, and B’Elanna shook their heads at the mention of it.

[Kirk]
“Does it burn like the blessed fires of the bakery?”

[Pastry]
“It does not Oven Master but-“

[Kirk]
“Then we will have none of it!”

The Pastry turned to leave.

[Kirk]
“Humble Pastry, may you have the happiest of birthdays.”

The Pastry turned and bowed, humbled by his words. Soon they would fight, fight in the name Cake, the hallmark of Crii c’et.

Everything was set, but there was still a matter of their rivals.

[Kirk]
“And what of our rivals, Les Boulangers Sympas? I hear they too have a furnace which would be a nice addition.”
   
Pieman faced Kirk, and smiled.

[Pieman]
"Let us give them hell in a handbasket and show them the door."