Jump to content


  • Content Count

  • Joined

  • Last visited

About Nessuno

  • Rank

Profile Information

  • Location
    Gliding across the veil...
  • Interests
    Classical Antiquity, Medieval Fantasy, Early Politics and Military Structure, and HEMA among other early Martial Arts.
  • Occupation
    Aviation A&P Apprentice

Contact Methods

  • Discord

Recent Profile Visitors

281 profile views
  1. "It feels like it's been forever, Wilder. I figured you'd found someone to replace me." A man of average height and build stood comfortably before the governor's desk with his arms crossed all-too casually. A scuffed brown briefcase hung from his right hand, complimenting the fitted black suit he wore. His features were handsome, but not remarkable enough to pick out of a crowd. He liked it that way. "Hurt feelings aside," he joked, "Two days is a long time. If your thief stole it to sell, they've already found a fence and cashed out, or passed it on to whoever hired them. If they wanted it for personal use... chances are, damage has already been done. A lot of it." His eyes roved out past the governor and through the windows behind him into the endless cityscape beyond, already thinking, planning. "I can find your rat, John. You know that much. Tell me what you know, tell me who might know more. You remember the drill." As he finished speaking he finally sat in the chair opposite to Wilder, cracking open the briefcase he'd entered with. From it he pulled out a yellow notepad and a red pen. For all the benefits of technology, Bateman thought, it had too many vulnerabilities to trust. He crossed his legs and sat the pad in his lap, ready to receive whatever information the governor had. @danzilla3
  2. Nessuno

    Casus Belli

    Arsenos' eyes narrowed. With one step forward he came to the self-styled 'Tsar's shoulder, where he bent at the waist to bring his words closer to the man's ear. "There are many who would relish the opportunity you now enjoy, Plovdiv. To sit in audience with the Novirian Dominus and her most trusted. Our time does not belong to you, and you would be wise not to waste more of it with pointless niceties." The Legate's words were cold and biting, but not overtly hostile; and completely in-line with what a foreigner might expect of his people. He straightened his back and returned to his place, one step back from the envoy's chair. "What would we gain from an alliance with you that we would not have through your deposition? Your rule is virginal, unfit for war- let alone conquest and domination. Why should you be spared from the flames of our campaign?" Once more he crossed his arms over his chest, staring icy daggers into the back of Plovdiv's head.
  3. Consider it underway, then. I'll sink my teeth into the city and the surrounding areas, and get back to you with something workable!
  4. ...Remember that idea I pitched to you? This could be a decent spot to plant it. Treasure hunters, haunted ruins. :^)
  5. I've got a couple characters from a cyberpunk campaign I am in that might work here.
  6. Nessuno

    Casus Belli

    Arsenos' mouth threatened to turn up into grin. A 'Novirian Welcome' it is, then. Once more he nodded to his lieutenants who had halted by the exit, silently instructing them to abide by the plan suggested by his old acquaintance. Together with Keraunos' men they stood back, waiting for the heads of their respective packs to make the first move. ----- "The West receives you, Lord.. but if your horse looks at me again like it did, you might have to find another way home.. Nevertheless, we Welcome you." Keraunos' blunt and completely serious threat forced the Legate to suppress a snicker. He stood to the left of the Novirian lion and back just a foot or so, allowing the intimidating specimen near complete control of the more... cordial, responsibilities. He let his companion's words stew for a few precious seconds before fulfilling his part of the greeting- sounding a soft whistle reminiscent of the songbirds near his home. All at once his strategoi and Keraunos' legionnaires strode out from the tent behind him, taking positions at the sides and rear of Plovdiv's envoy. With his arms folded behind his back he turned a half-step to the right, facing towards Keraunos and wordlessly ordering the envoys to dismount and follow. From there he would take the lead from his friend- guiding the group back to the private cordon within the tent where their Dominus resided. Upon their arrival he stood to the side of the entrance, seeing them all through before removing his helmet and entering himself. Keraunos' chosen men remained outside, lined up to either side of the hanging flaps, while Arsenos' strategoi entered after him. The room was open-faced; with a long table set out with chairs on one side to provide a clear view of the fake battle below. Adrya sat in the center, facing away from the entrance- her back guarded by four unnervingly anonymous Praetorians that seemed to watch Arsenos closely as he moved. With Keraunos he herded the emissaries to the opposite side of the table, directing them to sit at the only chairs positioned opposite the Dominus. The two behemoths stood behind the visitor's seats, leaving just enough room for them to breathe comfortably, while the four lesser Myrmidons spread out and took their backs in turn- symbolically blocking the open space behind them. A respectful nod was the only greeting he offered Adrya as he took his spot.
  7. Nessuno

    Casus Belli

    "Legatus-" A hurried legionnaire popped out from the open tent, taking care to observe a salute before addressing Arsenos further. "Your presence is required. House Plovdiv has arrived, and Dominus has asked that you escort their emissaries to her, together with Keraunos." She spoke quickly, then swiftly ducked back inside. It seemed that his time of peace had come to an end. Arsenos nodded to his brothers on either side, bidding them to follow as he swiftly turned to enter the tent on the tail of the legionnaire. As one they filed through, passing between tables overflowing with wine and food without so much as a wayward glance. The interior was softly lit by sunlight that filtered through the topcloths, lending the place a rather pleasant atmosphere- and were it not for the herd of nobles and soft-bellied financiers taking advantage of the amenities, Arsenos might have been tempted to stay. The five Myrmidons found a path cleared for them out of the crowd wherever they faced. Even those sitting at the edges of the gathering turned their eyes up to lay sight upon the fleetingly present vanguard commander, having had few opportunities to see he and his up close thus far. Their armor was a far cry from anything worn by the Novirians present, utterly foreign in style and construction; But more than that- it was scuffed and scratched and so thoroughly worn that one could be forgiven for thinking that they had walked straight off the field of battle. Posture, demeanor and armor alike screamed one thing to those looking on: You may wage wars- But we fight them. They stopped behind the drooped flaps that lead out to the waiting envoy. From the opposite side of the tent strode a beast of a man- the loyalist Keraunos- no doubt coming to help them corral the diplomats. Arsenos could think of few better men with which to convince Plovdiv of the might and willpower commanded by House Arcos. He motioned for his brothers to exit the tent first and take up the rear of their escort, before nodding his greetings to Keraunos and pushing through the tentflaps and into the sun by his side. This will be a long day, he thought. At least he would get to spend it winning ground for his cohort with something other than blood.
  8. TWILIGHT Light, scattered and hazy, breaks through the fore-morning darkness. Three of the six who remain now stir, writhing in that gentle twilight as it opens their eyes to a paradoxical sight. To the west, at the edge of the old city's bounds, stands a great spire of rock upon which the grand Heliopolitan sun temple, once proudly gleaming stood. As the city met its fate so had that temple, the great facade reduced to cold ash, but now- set upon that soft violet sky- a new wispy pillar of smoke rises from the spot. Those waking rouse the rest, and together they trudge back through their barren home. Along the way they quietly pray, hoping that some innocent soul was spared by the flames of war at the temple mount. They arrive to broken stairs, split and crumbled by magic fire from landing to peak and utterly impassable. They are weak and cannot suffer the arduous rubble-strewn climb, but they are stubborn still. Two ascend past the first cliff while the rest fail to overcome it. By the third, only one man remains; the first to return home and the last to lose hope. His hands are bloody and his body trembles with every breath, but he refuses defeat. As he pulls himself over the final ledge, a sight profound meets his eyes. The temple is destroyed, save for a black fire-stained statue stood in the center. An idol made in the shape of their deity, stood tall with arms outstretched to grasp the sun above. He sees the thin smoke that now rises from its hands. Something in them catches the morning light, brightly glimmering. His eyes are clouded by dust and ash and he cannot see clearly, so nearer he draws until he is almost beneath it. He stands as tall as he can muster before his god, turning his eyes up to peer through cracked fingers- but his pride is undue, and the sun strikes him to his knees with a blinding flash, drowning his hubris in light. As he kneels there reeling, he cries out to the statue. Six of us live, denied death by their side, refused our peace in Elysium! A sorrowful tremble shakes his body. Why must you leave us behind in the ashes? A voice within him responds. Death they did not deserve, yet death they were dealt- by the hands of foreigners and at the discretion of jealous Lords. His vision slowly returns. You survive them so that they might be remembered. He stands, his strength returning. And if not by you... then by the deeds you shall commit in their name. He casts his eyes up, to the hands of the idol. There held between them, clasped tightly like a coveted shard of sunlight, is a blade more beautiful than any he has ever seen. Take it, Myrmidon. A new pact beckons. Let your word seal it- swear your oath, by blood and by honor. His sorrow is tempered, but not forgotten. Never shall it be. He reaches high and grasps the weapon, loosing it from the idol and holding it out before him. The words he speaks are his alone to know. When he returns from the temple mount, he is no longer the shade of a man that ascended. He stands taller, his mind and body restored and strengthened. The sight of him alone breathes life into his brethren, who kneel and pledge their lives once more. He bids them to their feet as his equals. Their night was long and arduous, taking from them everything they knew and loved. Now they rise, free from the ashes, forged stronger than any to have come before. Ursa Madeum will not be rid of the Antmen so easily. They will not allow it. A new dawn beckons.
  9. NIGHTFALL He opens his eyes to a silent and oppressive night. Through the crippling aches and the painful thumping of his sundered heart, he rises to his feet. Cold air bites into his face and legs as he trudges through the scattered dead, past countless craters scorched deep into the earth by Taen's cruel magicians. Cowards all, they had dared not to besiege the city by sword and spear; denying his people a dignified end. His soul cries out, but no tears come. There is work to be done, and he will not fail his people for a second time. Trembling hands rip the family cloak from his shoulders, his flesh unworthy to bear the name or symbol. With it he gathers his people, swaddling them each in all he has left to be carried gently into the fire-born graves surrounding their home. They will be buried. They will pass on. ... Others arrive, with time. One by one they come to their ruined home, five in all, battered and broken and weary. The war ended months ago, but to them defeat was only yesterday--the sole survivors of the grand Heliopolitan phalanx, the first to break on the knee of Taen's invasion. Now they journeyed home to find a defeat more bitter and crushing than any they could have imagined. Each suffers as he did. They fall, they cry. They wish for death so that they may join their sons and wives. He offers no words, working tirelessly around them as their grief is had. There is nothing to be said; for the pain is shared among them all. When their tears dry and their voices fade, they feel his hand upon their shoulder. They recognize him, his body filthy and emaciated as it is, but they say nothing. His gesture is not an offer of conversation or pity. They understand, rising to join the somber procession. It takes days uncounted. They starve, and they ache, and they bleed; but they do not stop until each fallen Heliopolitan is laid to rest. When at last their duty is fulfilled, they collapse atop the graves.
  10. [outdated- new and final version in progress] DUSK Six weeks in binds. Six weeks waiting to die. Six weeks wanting to die. He could have drawn his blade the second they stormed the court at Noviria. Struck them down, as many as he could have- as many as it took before he himself drowned in the violence. Now he must live with the shame of surrender, of capture... and of mercy. Never again will he falter. Never again will he allow the words of another to stay his blade. Never again will he fail to pay the price that his blood demands. He should have died to the east with his brothers. ... His foot catches in the mud and he curses, stumbling. He will not fall- not now, not so close to Heliopolis. He has walked for days, feebly tracing the high roads through Tellius' Rest, ignoring the agony that his body preaches to come that much closer to his home. For two weeks before the capture of Noviria, there had come no word from the city. No envoys, no messengers... no refugees. He had pleaded for the ruling nobles to send horsemen, to discover why Heliopolis was silent--but he was met with scoffing dismissal. "The warfront approaches," they would lecture, "We can spare no men for a city that has no army with which to aid us." He'd spat at their feet. Heliopolis had no army because they died in service to you, alone and outnumbered and far from their home. He knows not what awaits him over the mountains, now. The road has been empty since he set out despite the end of the war, with no horses or men to be seen. The pain is gone now, replaced by restlessness; and he worries that his body may give out before he crests the final ridge between he and his home. It does not. But he will wish that it had. ... Numbness is all that he feels, now. Gone is the restlessness, gone is the anger, gone is the pain. He does not believe his eyes, can not believe them; but now as he wades through the cold ash of what was once his home, the truth pierces him like a cruel spear to the heart. His gleaming home, built of the strongest stone into the most beautiful hills, reduced to blackened foundations and smoking fields of rubble. The dead are not among the barren stones of the city. He makes his way to what was once the Gate of the Morning; a tall and polished bronze-sealed arch, leading the way from the city out into the golden sea of grain surrounding it. Now the arch is covered in soot, the fires having burned hot enough to tarnish and melt the bronze upon it. It is not a stone's toss away where he finds his people. Men. Women. Children. Thousands of them. All of them. A field of bones left to rot. He sees a weapon in every hand large enough to hold one. Those who could not resist must have burned with the city. Of course they fought. They always fought. Why hadn't he? At last he falls. His body cracks on the ground and he loses himself to grief, letting his cries be heard by all the dead crowding the valley of his home. Arsenos Myrmidon. Blood of those pledged to die in its defense. Alive and sobbing in its ashes. Had he the strength, he would have picked a blade from the ground and ended his shame.
  11. You've fallen in with a wonderfully engaging group of writers so I'm sure you're in grand company. If you find yourself with any questions however, feel free to reach out

    1. Nessuno


      Thank you! I am quite interested in exploring other parts of the site, so I may very well come up with an excuse to bother you before too long. Everyone I've met so far has been wonderful, so I don't expect to have many problems getting along!

    2. supernal


      Music to my ears. Good music at that!Ā 

  12. Nessuno

    Casus Belli

    Five statues in gleaming foreign armor stood shoulder to shoulder in the glaring sun beside the hilltop tent. To the uninitiated observer they would seem out of place--motionless above a sea of anxious bodies waiting to prove themselves on the training field below--but to those in the tent behind them and in the grass below, they were of much greater significance. In the center of the line, Arsenos Myrmidon cast his joyless gaze out upon the idle rank formations preparing to practice war. They were disciplined, admirably so for such fresh recruits; but their excitement betrayed them. Out of every six that he laid eyes on, two were ever so slightly out of bearing. Had they been part of his own cohort he would have made an effort to correct their behavior himself, but that was not his place here. Brought to observe, to report and mingle, and perhaps negotiate; the skirmish brewing on the trampled plains was meant as mere entertainment for he and the other ranking figures present on the hill. As the thought crossed his mind again, he scowled. Pulled from the front with little warning, just as he was preparing another push west--and for what? Feasting and games? Congratulating new legionnaires? This was no place for he or his companions. They belonged at the front, leading the warriors who'd won so much for them in so little time. Before his objections could truly fester, he pushed them away from the front of his mind. His presence was requested, and it was his duty to answer regardless of his own priorities. A few days away from his men would hardly stagnate their spirits--even less so with his Spear, Gelanor, left behind to keep them sharp and ready. He'd have liked to have left more of his companions there at the front but they insisted upon following him, reluctant to relegate their duties to the Novirian Praetorians. Once more he swept his eyes over the crowded field, beginning to refocus his mind on the scene to come... only to have his attention stolen by the sound of a whipping tent flap from somewhere behind him, followed by a muted procession of greetings and honorifics. "The Dominus has arrived, Arsenos." Aether's calmly commanding voice pierced his concentration further, demanding a reply. Arsenos drew in a sharp breath and banished his annoyance. "So she has. Are you suggesting that I enter that den of debauchery to greet her?" the Anax answered flatly, unwavering. His white cloak fluttered briefly behind him, brushing across the grass and lifting up slightly into the air. "It would be the proper thing to do. She has put much faith into you; it would not be difficult to show some humility in return." the blade-spirit reasoned, gently chiding its master. Arsenos frowned. "If I am to be needed, I will be sent for. Until then I will remain where I stand, observing as I was asked to." His companions had grown used to his 'conversations' with Aether. Beside him they stood, equally resolute as the bustle in the tent behind them began to calm. Soon the "games" would begin, and he could be of at least minor use so far from the front... even if it was in the service of critiquing recruits that were surely bound for a theater of war separate from that which he commanded. Arsenos knew that it would be only a matter of time until he was called upon to socialize in some form. For now, he decided to squeeze as much freedom from the occasion as possible--surrendering his solitude when asked, and no earlier.
  13. Legatus Arsenos Myrmidon, Anax of Ashes, Oathblade of Light Arsenos Myrmidon PERSONAL Name: Arsenos Myrmidon Race: Human Male Age: 30 Birthplace: Heliopolis, Ursa Madeum Occupation: Heliopolitan Anax, Legatus Tribii under House Arcos PHYSICAL Height: 6ā€™6ā€ Weight: 245 lbs Hair: Shoulder-length and blonde, pulled back and loosely braided. Skin: Light Bronze Eyes: Gray Build: Lean and well-muscled, extremely athletic. Voice: Notably accented and of low tone, often tautened by anger or impatience. MENTAL Temperament: Choleric MBTI: ENTJ Hailing from the once-gleaming city of Heliopolis, Anax Arsenos Myrmidon is a bitter and vengeful man of six feet and thirty years. During Taen's invasion of Thrace he was assigned to counsel House Arcos personally in Noviria, sparing him the fate of his family and countrymen- a fact that brings him nothing but shame and anger. Arsenos is a cunning and ruthlessly effective general, giving credence to the reputation of his blood. His cohort acts as a vanguard, fighting to reclaim the glory of his people from the front- some of whom yet fight by his side in full Heliopolitan regalia. The Anax himself dons a striking set of heirloom armor that he pulled from the ashes of his family's estate in Heliopolis, one which dates back to the earliest years of House Myrmidon's eminence. Ornate and resplendent, the ancient metal was released from an age-gained patina in the conflagration of Heliopolis, and is now polished to an almost blinding reflectivity in direct sunlight- lending him the appearance of a wrathful demi-god reborn and set upon the field of battle. With great restraint he wields Aether, Oathblade of Light, found at last among the smoldering embers of the Heliopolitan Temple of the Sun.
  14. !UNDER CONSTRUCTION! House Myrmidon, The Antmen Swathed in Sunlight Sigil A great ant on a white field holding back four enemy formations, encapsulated by the golden rays of the sun. Creed Formica Solis Invictus "Ants of the Unconquered Sun" in the common tongue, this creed was written ages ago to commemorate the sovereignty of Heliopolis- defended valiantly by House Myrmidon. Today, in spite of the destruction of their home, a new informal creed has begun to sprout among the surviving Heliopolitans as they fight on under the banner of House Arcos: "Uncrushable" Brief As it is often said, the hardest of times forge the strongest of men- and House Myrmidon, born of blood, is no exception. "We set eyes upon your legions as they crossed the low peaks. They remain just beyond there now, in the foothills; their cloaks blanketing the ground and their blood nourishing the grass." - Lycurgus Myrmidon, High Ephor of Heliopolis, responding to an envoy of House Arcos sent ahead to threaten the city and demand surrender. The Antmen of Heliopolis grew their legend during the sixteen-week campaign that House Arcos led into the foothills of Tellius' Rest, repulsing countless legionary fronts while taking few losses themselves- and forcing House Arcos to consider how much they were truly willing to sacrifice in order to take a single city. In the end, an alliance was formed: House Myrmidon would lead their phalanx to war under the Novirian banner, and in turn their home would be left free from the rule of House Arcos. Across the isle of Thraece they marched at the spearhead of Noviria's endless legions, leaving routed armies and broken defenses in their wake. By the end of the conflict, House Myrmidon was risen to a position of full Thraecean Nobility by House Arcos for their service- and as such they remained until the fall of House Arcos, a beacon of battle prowess and heroic constitution; the venerable and unbreakable vanguard of Noviria's forces. However, nothing lasts forever. House Myrmidon was the first to taste the blades of Taen's invasion on Thraecean soil, and upon their defeat they were slaughtered like dogs- too stubborn to lay down their weapons. When the few survivors traveled home behind the invading front, they found gleaming Heliopolis razed to its foundations- for it too had refused to surrender. Now a wrathful shadow of its former glory, House Myrmidon is held as an example of honor, of might... and of hubris. House Myrmidon's inheritor has pledged loyalty to Dominus Adrya Arcos- seeking bloody revenge against the ruling nobles of Ursa Madeum for their complicity in the scouring of his people. A vanguard force of ~3000 elite hoplites follows the Myrmidon Sigil wherever it goes, lead by five Strategoi loyal to Arsenos Myrmidon alone. STATUS: Leading the Novirian front on Thraece in the absence of Dominus Adrya Arcos. Living Myrmidons Following the destruction of Heliopolis and the decimation of his family, Arsenos Myrmidon attempted to raise an army to resist the occupation of Thraece from the city-states in the region surrounding his home. Though most ephors refused his pleading, five Strategoi who had previously served by his side in the Heliopolitan Vanguard refused to stand down- joining his effort with all of the hoplites under them. While Arsenos is still recognized as their formal leader, their camaraderie is unmistakable and he treats them as his equals in all spaces- even granting them his family name to rejuvenate the strength of his House and carry on its legacy. By Blood: - Arsenos Myrmidon || Legatus Tribii || Anax of Ruined Heliopolis By Oath: - Gelanor Laskaris || Spear of the Anax - Agenor Sideris || Shield of the Anax - Laertes Karras || Envoy of the Anax - Ilus Panagos || Myrmidon Sign-Bearer - Menelaus Diakos || Myrmidon Grammateus Affiliations Allies: House Arcos, The Free Cities of Tellius' Rest Enemies: Veluriyam Empire, Corinthian Nobility Neutral parties: New Thraecean Noblility
  15. Fantastic, thank you! I've just woken up, so it'll be only a short while longer before I have that character pitch for you. I very much look forward to getting to know you all!
  • Create New...