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 The Gargesiite of AmPeRsLaNdIa | Amperslandish Ivumerate - Амперслендский Ивумерат - أمبرسلانديش إيفوميرات - 安珀斯兰迪什象牙 It seemed obvious. It seemed obvious to take the nearest islands in the Svenengarden islandchain in the Rekindling (name for the sea Farnsie the subcontinent is in), though many of the passengers of these ships were not really "pirates," but moreso "archaeologists" trying to learn more about the All-Ancestor. Lots of money could be made from Piracy and raiding - but this time, it wouldn't be the case. It'd be an Ideasist "search of knowledge," an expansion of the mind - or whatever the brainiacs wanted to term it. Suspect noises were heard, but most thought they were calls from strange sea-creatures, but not the Mermaid Republic. The suspect sounds could be The Cube or even the Flame Princess herself - Allison applauding her loyal ancestral-servants and worshippers. Lately, many a stir was audible within Amperslandia and nearest holdings in Farnsie. The Farnsite Strobe ("Northern Lights") and Grimace ("Midnight Sun") were normal occurances at this point, but these sounds were greatly amusing - though some would turn crazed at the simple listen of them the chaotic Amperslandish wouldn't though. As this trip was in the name of exploration, only a few dedicated lancers and flailers were present amongst the crew and cast of shipmen - maybe a lancing renaissance could happen in Svenengarden with the amount of settlers, explorers, pirates and whatnot arriving and adding their own flaire to the place. Whatever native, islander peoples would be there - the Amperslandish would have to make it firm to teach them Jousting and Lancing, though in recent trips off-continent, Amperslandish hadn't found people only rubble and wreckage of elder peoples and "civilization" bygone. When making Tempov ("land-ho," roughly) the travelers noted the sheer amount of crashed ships and other debris - it was baffling! Maybe the Pendiluians WERE a seafaring people afterall! Drawers, painters and sketchers made pictures in-detail showing-off the appearances of the area, poets tore themselves to pieces in Wonder and Awe of the environment and suspense of what happened, Musicians (mostly vocalists were on this trip) sung though not in Art Music or Flatstyle, but returning to Pendiluian Folk or genreless music. They wouldn't pick-at it; they wouldn't salvage and plunder. It'd stay there in its position - presumably for more spells, that'd truly honor the Farnsite Ancestors. There were people. Wait, there were people? Strange, unkept (possibly more unkept than the Reclaimers) tribesmen shot their bows and slingshots at the exploring party, and the exploring party largely was taken-aback though simultaneously did indeed expect violence and fighting. The youngest boys and girls were hasty in defending, with their crossbows and stonesthrowing. The oldest, in crude terms (or "oldest amongst the bunch," not literally grayhaired seniors) just tried not to die as they were being pelted and "sprayed" with arrows. Aseron Sunstriker, a runaway soldier who was to be fighting in the current conflicts, had found his way back to Amperslandia and snuck himself on the ship before anyone could tell or notice - kinda hard-to-tell, when on ships of loud and rambunctious people, but Aseron was very clever and something of a goofball - this was in the realm of what some'd call "plausible denial/feasibility." Well, Aseron sprung into action and threw his spear at a few of the attackers - skewering them. Then, he withdrew his Aragnetic'ai ("shiv") and begun stabbing those that ran at him expecting him to be a pushover. As he was a soldier, or "former-soldier," he made sure to kill them dead - as he was traumatized visibly by all the bloodshed and pain he witnessed firsthandedly. Aseron was a spearman, first-and-foremost, though he did experiment with other weapons in that phase of an Amperslandishs' life where they "find themselves." Because of this experimentation and his experience soldiering, it wouldn't be hard or rough for him to switch weapons - as that's what he now was doing upon the island, after chucking his weapon at the enemy. Quickly switching to a broadsword, then a Duribass (Amperslandish equivalent to the scimitar) and lastly to a gavel. "Ready? I'm always ready." Aseron Sunstriker quipped, before banging-away at the tribesmen. Women started igniting fires and torches, readying themselves to scorch them. The new, amateurish, torchbearers shrieked and yelped, throwing their torches and watching. More tribesmen popped-out of what seemed like hidingspots, and the bowmen amongst the Amperslandish party hurled their arrows at them with "religious intent" and full-hostility, before making sneers and crazy faces. "Yeah! Hehehe, take that!" They cheered. The attacking-party gave up, throwing their weapons down which in-turn caused the Amperslandish landingparty to seize all of their weapons lickety-split. An aboutface happened in which some of the islanders (mostly their girls) showered the newcoming Amperslandish with gifts. The Amperslandish guessed that all of this was some weird show - a spectacle, a force of entertainment made possibly to test the land-dwellers. Testing, test what - their Combat Prowess? What, did they expect the Amperslandish to takedown mammoths and other humongous creatures, too??? Examine their aptitude for ultraviolence? Well, now, since the fighting ended, it's time for teaching and culturalenrichment. "Hehehehehehe...we're gonna take all their fruit!" Akemiah schemed, rubbing her hands violently as if she was trying to incinerate herself. The girl quickly got to scamming and conning them - some of the islanders even throwing her rubies and Soulstones. She was surprised that it went off without a snag - grabbing armfuls of her prizes back aboard the ship. Then, she was going to get to work showing them things and even teaching them the languages of the mainland. It seemed her opportunism knew no bounds; girls like that'd possibly do anything to make a quick hyrak (slang for "gem" or "crystal") even off of the unsuspecting ones. A man approached the cast, wearing a headband. He cleared his throat and cracked his knuckles before looking around - then he decided to announce something. "This is Tartissia. Just so you know, because I know folks like you are going to try to rename it something daft." He clarified. "Tartissia..." Akemiah scratched her head, deep-in-thought. "Huh, I like that!" She clapped. "Hopefully you can understand what I'm sayin', 'cause ifnot - it'd suck to have to translate everything I say." The "official" scanned the Amperslandish, taking note of their vibrant outfits and unshaven faces. "I dunno about them, but I can!" Akemiah pointed at herself with two fingers, laughing. The scammer might be trying to pull-off another trick. "By the way you dress... you people seem affluent. I'd never seen such...what in the world would I call it... such..." The "official" searched around for a word. The Amperslandish took-in the compliment. "Jes... We are kinda...wealthy." Aseron had a tired expression on his face, almost like he was going to pass-out then and there. "How'd you get so...well-off?" The official fished. "Swapping, trading and...the food. There's a huge fish market going on, lotsa fishmongering - we fish ALOT." Akemiah smirked and stood with her arms crossed. Part of that was truth, and even the swapping/trading bit was indeed a halftruth - but most "wealth" came from overthrowing barons, counties (places ruled by counts/countesses), noblemen, and aristocracies across Farnsie, the rest came from mining and overmining until they essentially sat on a stack of resources. So rich, compared to these folk - but part of the whole "feel" came from how much Color "ruled" Amperslandish Culture. Most of the Holding is artistic - just comes with the territory, plus the Ketopia nears its Second Surplus. "Well... I guess this is it," the "official" looked down at his boots sadly. He knew what his holding was coming-to, even if no-one announced it or uttered a word. "Welp..." He looked around, trying to catch a whiff of air. He seemed very on-edge, but also "reserved," as-if he didn't want any of the landingparty to notice his distress. "We'll show you our mines. Oh, and if my people give you any trouble, you know what to do." He glanced the thrown-away bodies on the snowfloor. He'd swore he'd seen them move, but it was an illusion. "Look, we don't care about your stuff. We just wanted to learn about these places and take-in the Wind. We need more information about Dysembia, about what was before Pendilu and presumably the rest of us." Algeris spoke-up, fiddling with his belt. "That's... that's hopefully a noble cause, if I hadn't seen one, but...uh..." The "official" kicked the snow around him and stammered. "This is a cultural exchange. We didn't mean to kill anyone, either - it's just some of your guys got a bit carried-away with the whole 'We're gonna scare-off outsiders 'cause we're antisocial!' approach." Algeris mentioned. "If it means anything to you; these things don't happen very-often, and if they do - that's 'cause there's alotta folk with bows, just like you, who're going to invade us and take...take..." The "official" deflated. Suddenly, arrows sliced through the air, killing the "official." Then, more arrows, "for good measure." Some of the party tried to loot his corpse, but the rest utilized restraint and even foresight, trying to stop the savagery before it reached critical mass and became "a hot mess." Akemiahs' opportunism was cutthroat, embedded in her to continue taking from the tribal populace even though they'd just seen their leader get assassinated right infront of them, and now they're trying their very-best to not lose composure. "What can I say?!? I can't resist!" Akemiah waved her hands whimsically before returning to looting and exploiting. The other members of the party clutched their wrists in pain, before holding their heads - nonverbally trying to apologize since they couldn't really muster-up the words to "actually say 'sorry.'" They'd thought they were going to move-on from the needless killings and actually LEARN something, but another person just had to die - another mortal spinning-out before the Flame Princess and her ancestral-servants. More were going to suffer, more were going to die and lose their lives. And, insult-to-injury, Akemiah was going to use EVERY opportunity to enrich and benefit herself. Parasites, with no remorse or regret - just leeching from anything and everything around them ruthlessly! "She's not even self-aware to see what in the cai'gorah she'd just done. She's so worried about embiggening her pockets and continuing her personal-growth, she doesn't even SEE when others suffer - when others need her to acknowledge that they're in pain. I do not understand that atall!" Algeris belched. "We have to move-on. She probably was going to do that anyways, irrespective of the man meeting his makers." Aseron pointed-out and tried to save face. "Always looking out for herself!" Algeris slammed. "I know, I know, I know..." Aseron soothed. | |
| Marmaduke territory | Realignment Expansion Post [i]The Mud Pits by the Horse River[/b] "These Prairie's are fertile as a bosom," Dominique said in Auvreignaise. "At least, that's what I hear from the Voltanaise up Derdriu way. Locals tell me it puts Bucolico to shame, but, somehow I doubt that." "These bumpkin-yokel provincials could hardly point out Bucolico on a map, hon hon," his comrade, Giradeau, guffawed. "I don't think any of these men we've been fighting have seen a fish, let alone the ocean." "It's no issue. We have our own share of rural folk back out East, don't we? Now... I have family, Giradeau." "Yeah?" "Yeah. Dispossessed, tax man in Plailly pulled the rug right from under us. Why do you think I am a mercenary and not a goldsmith like my father? The Desperaux... it is not written and it is not spoken but he will turn this place into a mercenary's paradise, for ambitious, dastardly men as we." Dominique gestured out toward the endless expanse of Prairie before them. "All I see before me is an artist's canvas. Thousands of soldiers of fortune and other plucky Auvreignaise are ready to civilize this land. They are already used to us being here, and they chafe under the unwashed savages playing pretend as some cruel mockery of proper nobility! Spread the word, Giradeau: at tonight's meeting, we must raise hell, and let The Desperaux know that we intend to stay here under threat of mutiny rather than return to Plailly as paupers." Girardeau shot him a dagger glance. "Are you a few eggs loose of a bunch? You can't just throw the M-word around without getting killed! And the Desperaux has a reputation to uphold. Our employer's armies may have disintegrated at the Battle of Mud, but we do not know if Guy Guyson is dead." "Guyson be damned." The two mercenaries spun around, paralyzed by equal concoct shock and fear. Busy quivering with fear, they stood before the Desperado, their employer and commander. "You two are wiser than I thought. Hm. A shame, I would have loved to make this a surprise, but it seems the secret's out." He clapped his hands, and two squires in his care came forth. They held the muddy reliquary box which at one point conceled Guyson's payment. The reliquary was caked in mud, and tarnished, its lacquer peeling. With dainty fingertip touches, the Desperado grabbed the back of Dominique's and Giradeau's head. Squeezing gently, he attenuated their attention to the reliquary, and dug his finger nails slightly so as not to break skin, but to make them open their eyes more. They did so, and the sevants opened the box. Inside was Guyson's head. The neck was in tatters, apparently not given the courtesy of a clean cleave. Its face was contorted in a most horrible! "The last thing to go through Guysons head it seems, other than an arrow which was still imperfectly lodged in his frontal lobe, was anguish befitting a pretender." The Desperado said, circling around deliberately and closing the box with a deliberate motion. "It's no matter. Our esteemed client may be vanquished, but in keeping with custom, we shall not rest until the job is done. This is why we are the best, men. We never leave a job unfinished, an end loose." | |
| Rigelis | A Hint of Summer - I "I have always fancied this side of the continent more," Viktor remarked, swirling the wine in his glass. Its contents reflected the sun's light that peered through the gazebo, creating this iridescent glow that had such a nice ring to it. Though he would remove it from the sun's grasp, all the same, there wasn't much to warm wine after all. "Especially after spending so many suffocating summers in those damned plains, it is a nice break to be able to retreat to these resorts." "I concur," his opposite nodded, a yet not known figure within the wider political landscape of Rigelis. "Medilan and other exports are always closeby, the sun seems to be a bit less punishing, the shade is never far and the area is... shall we say more developed." "I can hardly imagine the trials and tribulations that can await one within the reaches of the Lutheringian plains or Western Steppes. Truly, I do not envy those that choose to make it their habitat." "You fancy the more urban regions? Well, I cannot blame you. Lake Rigel and its flow are hard spots to pass up on when deciding to settle. The Shershtyak and Chayrochka also provide a niche that one can appreciate, though I will always fancy these islands most. Not as much snowfall around here, the cold keeps its distance, I can appreciate that especially," Torrente responded, taking a sip of glass and then finally putting the glassware down on the small table. "Alluding to your Voltanese roots, are we your majesty?" "Correct," Viktor nodded curtly, though with a slight smirk. "Even after spending a multitude of long years in the harshest spots within our realm, I shall never grow used to the sheer cold that can be unleashed upon these lands. That is something I think I will always miss regarding my home." "I thought you said this was your home now?" "Oh, rest assured it is, but something about the Voltan shall always hold a special place within this old man's heart," Torrente conceded. "Something one cannot find here, as I am sure Rigelis has that same thing for others." "I know a few things I would find hard to go without," the figure concurred, running his hand through his hair to sweep it back. "Rigelian women?" "Do you take me to be a degenerate, your majesty?" the man feigned hurt as he responded with a rather theatrical tone. "Call it an educated guess, my good fellow," the King chuckled, amused by that his contemporary mirrored his antics without much hesitation. He knew he had made the right selection of characters to guide Rigelis with. After all, if any of these characters were quick to anger or take offense, that could be detrimental to the development of the nation. What their specific purposes were was yet to be revealed, but they were yet another crucial step in the modernisation of the country in a bid to elevate it to a greater status within the eastern realm of Selm. | |
 The United Kingdom of Dervockia | (Development post) There was an air of peace over Dervockian cities. There were no changes that needed made but with this came uncertainty. After all it was idleness that caused most nations to fall. The Dervockians were worried and so was King Aèd ll. This led to him sending a letter to everyone in his council saying to meet in King Aèd ll's Palace. King Aèd ll sent a runner to deliver all of the messages to the members of the council. The Spymaster, Echlin Mac Phaidin, Steward Murchad Marcham, Marshal Mánus Mac Carthaigh and the King's son and chancellor Northolt Willamson were invited to the meeting. The runner spent a few days while King Aèd ll and Prince Northolt waited patiently for the council to arrive. They set up a long table and a large map of Dervockia was put on the table. There were also markers placed on the map to show where everything is. Once each person had arrived and were seated at there appropriate seat they began the meeting. "Why did you bring us all here" said Marshal Carthaigh who was seated at the other end of the table. "We need to discuss the future of Dervockia" said King Aèd ll. "In many ways we need to expand our nation so that it remains strong". Marshal Carthaigh said "I agree with this in a few ways but what do you think, your highness". "How we need to expand is reliant on all of you to do good for the nation" replied King Aèd ll. "I would need all of you to change the way you do things for four years for my plan to work". The Council stayed silent and listened. "We need to adapt to the growing world. We need to expand our reach beyond our current borders and expand our economy in any way we can to ensure that our people will remain loyal and true to our nation". I'm suggesting a four year plan to change our system of government for the better of our people". "What does that mean for us though?" Asked Steward Marcham. "It just means that you will have to bend to these policies to stay in power". He said themm a piece of paper detailing the for year plan until the year 183 CE. The Council looked over the plans and agreed to them all. The King smiled and ordered his men to prepare a speech to the public in Dervock. The council all left the long table and waited for the speech. The public was gathered and were ready to receive the new information in regard to their country. They expected news on the new kinds of houses that were being built they were given King Aèd ll saying "We have expanded greatly in the last few years. It isn't good enough though". We must join together so that the nation of Dervockia will live on forever. He grinned and said the words "the Kingdom will be reorganised in to the Dervockian Empire". | |
| Rigelis | A Hint of Summer - II A soft breeze blew against the island, gently rustling the leaves and waking up most of the residents that woke with a sunrise. The sun's warmth was immediately noticeable, throwing itself onto the earth and covering the ground as if it were one great blanket. To the islanders, this was a normal day, any other Rigelian would find it hard to stand these temperatures when the day approached high noon. For the King, this place was paradise. Not too hot, not too cold, not too humid, yet not a dry heat. The waves that collided with the massive white cliffs were a good accompaniment to the chirping of crickets as he found himself in his vacation retreat. He had delegated the tasks at hand to his most trusted and departed with haste towards the islands, for he needed a breather from all the antics going on in the mainland, especially after the war with the Lutheringians that did not seem to want to end. His wife, the queen Ilay, accompanied him. She had been nothing but a pleasure the spend the days with. Supportive, inventive, and more than familiar with court antics, she was a great voice of reason but also a great pleasure giver. His eldest son was also there, Ogier. Eldest should be said with quotation marks, he was just first out of the womb and into the open world out of the triplets. Ibrahim had chosen to depart for Medilah, his mother's land, in order to join the holy order of Heilrhine. He was received with open arms there, a good reminder of the good faith between Rigelis and Medilah. He had always been a great scholar and took better to religious affairs that statesmanship. Viktor was happy for him. Egor took after his name sake and enrolled into the military academy, feeling that his talents were better used there than anywhere else Ogier was the sole heir left. There was one complication with that, however, Ogier was blind. They did not know what cultivated this blindness or of what nature the blindness was, but it was a fact that Ogier could only see where the light was strongest and where weakest. He still had reflexes, he could catch things that he had touched before, knowing their trajectory and all, but his sight was poor enough to be considered blind. He wore a beautifully decorated blindfold with long ends hanging down from the knot tied behind his head. The patterns it had were those fitting of a noble. Superstition spoke of food poisoning that lead to his current condition, others speculated he had lost his eyes and the ones they saw were fake ones. The truth remained shrouded in darkness. Ogier had handled it all surprisingly well, and he didn't become reliant upon his servants or family. He could manoeuvre himself fine, find his things by himself, the only issue was reading and writing documents, there were scribes for that. Viktor just worried that Ogier might be taken advantage of... but he also had a feeling that his son would manage just fine. | |
 The United Realm of Atlavania | Expansion post XXVII - The Western Samblása* – An Accident | |
| The United Realm of Atlavania | Expansion post XXVIII - The Western Samblása – Land of the Fish | |
| The United Realm of Atlavania | Expansion post XXIX - The Western Samblása – An bad first encounter | |
| Rigelis | A Hint of Summer - III "You will have to find a wife soon, Ogier." "I know that father, but it is not as easy as you make it seem." "And why's that?" Father and son strolled along the white beaches, the sun shining from behind the direction where they were walking. Both of their feet were naked, not wanting to get batches of sand in between their sandals and feet. One could question how wise that was seeing as the prince was blind, but he did have his father around to watch over him. "I don't think I have to recant the obvious to you, but being blind does come with that I must be careful picking a wife. What if she were to betray me? I am more than a vulnerable target for such things. If I were to die childless, we would be in trouble," Ogier reasoned. "And I know that Egor has no interest in taking my spot should this happen." "Aren't you overthinking these things a bit?" Viktor raised his brow. "Such things rarely happen." "Yes, but never before has the heir to the throne been blind. I shudder at the possible plans those that would harm us have in store for me. Rigelis is known for having the best assassins in the world, for all we know some are after us as we speak," Ogier responded, his voice becoming more panicky as he carried on. "Now now, boy, there is no need to worry. These sands have been scouted thoroughly for any untoward persons, and they are guarded against all angles of attack. No ill shall befall us here. As for the future, I wish I could quell your reservations, sadly I won't be around for your ascension," Viktor spoke, in an attempt to calm his son slightly. "All I can really say is that it won't matter if you can see if there is an entire plot orchestrated against you," he continued. "If the entire court has it out for you, you shall die regardless of your ability to see. It is important to gain some allies fast within your closest circles." It was clear from the angle of Ogier's lips that he was giving it some thought, for they curled down slightly and had his brow furrowed. His blindfold did obscure much about his visage, perhaps a good thing, but it did make him difficult to read for those around him. "Judging from the look on your face, I'm almost starting to believe you're reconsidering your stance on the whole matter," Viktor chuckled, slightly poking fun at his son as they continued their leisurely stroll along the shore. "I know better than to question your words of advice, seeing as they a rare commodity," Ogier shrugged, not hesitating to jab back at his father. "I shall restart my search for a wife then. I don't know where would be wise to search. Where would it be handy to tie ourselves to?" "Depends on what you deem important, boy. The interior or the exterior?" | |
| The Gargesiite of AmPeRsLaNdIa | Amperslandish Ivumerate - ಆಂಪರ್ಸ್ಲ್ಯಾಂಡಿಷ್ ಐವುಮೆರೇಟ್ (note to the reader: this all appears in-thought - everything in Italics unless otherwise, is "thinking" or "musing" on about something.) Representative Ophelia was still passed-out, recuperating at the soldierscamp in the Wastelands. "I saw it in a dream... that Farnsie - my home would get conquered by barbaric know-it-alls in Eutaria. I've always had this fear - that's why I wrote 'the state of the Confederacy' sometime ago - to warn my peoples of what's coming to pass in the Future, but also a documentation of Amperslandish Life. We will all die. We will be forgotten, and that's my True Fear. My phobia where even Cubist and Flammable Values do not hold-out, or pass the 'measure-of-Time.' Worship whatever deities, hail whatever entities you want - it'll all still turnout to Nothingness. And that's what I fear - what I was trying to stop, even if I halt it by one moment. There will come a time where Bufrancia or Leftile or Akaia or even Van Lauren won't exist. As of right now, they're in the Confederacy - but what's stopping the Confederacy from crashing down into a cobblestone wall?" "We have to scale upward. We have to keep climbing. This is the Truth, and truths are unpleasant. Truths are smelly and gross, alot like Chaos. We fool ourselves into thinking our virmt don't stink, when infact it does - but maybe it's good to live in Fantasy. I could've been fantastical, how I gave long speeches and represented Our People... I have spent so much time, too much time away from the Itemmi Peninsula. Away from my Atam, from my home - Pene'talia. I am Pene'tai, but I've spent so long with the Amperslandish, I feel like I've almost-forgotten how to speak my Native Language. I had to speak in HAS (Higher Amperslandish Speech) and in Parseltongue so-long, then develop an understanding or comprehension of other Dysembian dialects and speechpatterns." There just HAS to be a point to all of this - hopefully we all make it. Ophelia didn't want to condescend into hopelessness and pessimism. While she was "asleep," she just knew she was going to have to take a break from representing the Amperslandish Peoples - already she'd prepared successors and thought-ahead. She'd also feared the Debatehalls deciding everything and selecting an Organizer for Amperslandia; it'd be like a new councilsystem. Had to be betterthan what's going-on in Adasataria. These leaders, rulers - these oligarchs and dynasties across Dysembia. The very-idea of a "society" and how there had to be a Counter - a Nebisia, even though Amperslandia was in a state of moving-away from Chaosism - though never truly becoming Ideasist. The objectors, the naysayers coined the term "Ophelism," they'd then in-turn say "Go girl, give us nothing!" She had thought about all of this, about befriending the founders of Orangism instead of just killing them then and there - but there was one tab unpressed, and that was Alynica. Alynica the first Comrade, the first follower to Naomi. Naomism-Sarahism would finally get killed-off, Revolutionaryism would finally die in its tracks like most of the Originalists or Deep Orange Collective - but there also was this skepticism, this counterthought that indeed Tangerinism (Novarevolutionaryism) would establish itself. The "Shakers" would become more fanatical and more of the worst would happen. There would be no rest. Even in her thought - she wasn't thinking in her nativetongue, only Parseltongue - that's how inbuilt life in Amperslandia was. Yes, Pene'tai was and still is Amperslandish and was a part of the 'Amperslandish Region' even though it was disconnected by Asmendia, but it still had its own culture and acted as its own "different-thing." Ophelias' room started to get crowded, from the many soldiers that had looked-up to and admired her. They hoped the very-best for her - especially in times like this that seemed unstable. Ophelia herself, had slept peacefully and gently - you'd never be able to tell that this woman had been through alot in her life, or even "lead" or organized anyone. Her body was still, and doctors came back and forth to checkup on her and make sure she was healing well. "I know how all of this is going to turnout. I'm not with Sarah anymore, but I still hold the burden of ending this little rebellion. I know that when this...silent war ends, the Conservatados are going to flip. They jump around too much and get mad when you call them out on it. Seemingly, they had hated me to my core - but I could comeback home and return to the 'hall and they'd give me a Standing Ovation. Some people in this realm are tricky." "I guess I'm the first-ever Progressa. But, it sucks seeing your philosophy die-out. We heralded Entropy, for Ash sakes! I know we couldn't do it forever, but... Chaosism was essentially the backbone of our Holding. Scary how much things can change." Not one person "built" Amperslandia, or their ancestor Pendilu - it was a team-effort, but it wouldn't stop outsiders from talking about "the fathers of holdings" what made a holding a holding - well it could be called "pluck," but the inhabitants of the farside of Farnsie probably didn't recognize that. | |
| The ufc | Jamil - “Oh Thomas have you heard?” Pórta De Vín is the great port, the city of ships, the citadel of sails, but this reputation is often bloodied by the horrors the great walls shelter from the outside wall. The city was constructed around 8 centuries ago macking it not old but not young either, The city is constructed on a small peninsula with a canal made to separate it from the mainland, but due to its growing population the city has expanded over the canal slowly and a new canal is planned to be constructed soon to keep the city safe. The city joined the Econians in the war of the Citadel’s and was a hotbed of revolution due to the governments lac of power over everything but the navy, It is highly likely that the city will go back into a civil war at the smallest set-back but what set-back that will be is still up for debate. | |
 The Xōlavareseia Solosanatarēta of Vyzantion | Expansion Post - The Civil War in Biscayye VIII Astratācos Vestas Taloumenēs tapped his gnarled finger against the knuckle of his opposing hand in thought, as he sat nestled amidst a pile of area maps. He mulled over the proposal with some considerable incline towards acceptance, given how the fruit of victory had tumbled so much as to laden the spirits of the pursuing Vyzantoi. “And what if their retreat is but feint aimed at bringing us squarely into the face of a fresh force? What if they already wheel about horsemen as to pounce upon our rear?” He asked raspily, in equal parts rhetoric and test for the aspirant young officer. “Then we should dispatch a feinting force of our own, Astratācos. Allow me to take two hundreds of horse and rider unto the breach, a half of which being mounted Aēsgynātoi, as to draw the opportunist vultures into a fray they see as unequal in their favour. Yet, it shall be in ours. Then, Sun willing, we shall pin them until a second throng of riders, this time of heavy cavalry, can sweep in from the horizon and lay rent the pride of Qalaa upon the field.” “Not a poor choice of strategy, prymāphratos, but have you considered the terrain with care? The array of hills and craggy outcrops in this sector,” He tapped a long, painted nail unto a region on the topmost of the maps, “lend themselves perfectly to concealing the positions of up to several hundred Qalaani bowmen. If they were wise in their retreat, they would make utmost use of this naturally obscuring fortress. And I should never underestimate the Qalaani, particularly given that the majority of their officers were trained in the very academy you and your colleagues graduated from. I should suggest skirting around these crags entirely, though it may waylay us two days march. They will expect us to pursue them through the ravine and prepare accordingly. Therefore, if we were to dispatch our swiftest along this road,” His finger snaked upwards a fair distance, out of the immediate vicinity, “then we may be able to catch them with their heads wheeled about awaiting us in the highlands. Thus, a devastating flanking movement shall be achieved. Have the aēsgynātoi displace roughly a quarter of the riders of the vanguard force. That should suffice to spread utter discord and calamity in their already trembling spirits.” | |
 The Commonwealth of Mokranshi | City of Wonders Badam Caravanserai, Camel Quarter, Suqutibad When Naarai and Sachir pictured a journey to Suqutibad, neither had imagined it would involve waiting in line at a caravanserai. Of course, this experience was nothing new. But it was hardly the fantastical entrance suiting the beating heart of Clan Urjilzam. Their mother craned her head to take a better look at the line. Though she had taken stock of it before, it was beginning to hit her just how long the queue stretched. It coiled around the caravanserai like a snake, and she could not even see the entrance at their distance. She looked at the building, then back at her children. Then she sighed. "Do both of you have money?" The siblings could not agree fast enough. As soon as their mother dismissed them with a wave of their hand, the two of them took off towards Suquti, weaving through the streets of Badamlankhua. Or Badam, as the locals had taken to calling it for centuries. A veritable tent city, countless yurts, camels, and caravan stalls littered the walkways, filling the air with every sight and sound and smell imaginable. Some familiar, others quite exotic. Of course, to Naarai and Sachir, there was little that was truly foreign to them. Sometimes it felt that their mother had sold every conceivable spice under the sun, and then some that appeared out of thin air. There was much to admire about the tent city, from the countless flags waving in the wind to the peoples of every corner of the north, none of whom truly lived in Badam. No one really lived in Badam. The pair came right up to the gates separating Badam and Suquti, guarded by some very menacing guards whose stern faces contrasted with the sounds of the city behind them. "Hold it," said one of the guards to the teens. "You have business in Suquti, caravaneers? If anyone wants to buy your things, they'll come to you." Though their glee was palpable, nothing could prepare them for the sight of the Festival Quarter. Befitting the name, flags of all colors decorated the buildings towering above them, common symbols of a coming festival. But to the people of the Festival Quarter, life itself was a festival that never ended. And they certainly acted like it. "Woah!" Naarai exclaimed. "Okay, okay, where do we st- wahh!" With that, the two of them were finally, mercifully released by the wind dancer parade, with both left dizzy and their heads spinning. Instinctively, Sachir reached out to his sister's shoulders to steady her, before reaching into his coinpurse... where it felt somewhat lighter. "Wha... hey!" He turned to the quickly disappearing parade, with that familiar dancer noticing his frustration and casting a sly wink before revealing a gold coin between her fingers. "Payment for the entertainment! You're free to have it back if you didn't enjoy the show!" The dancer called out, before she slipped it into her bosom and rejoined her compatriots. "Well... fine. Fair enough. Okay, let's go!" Though he rekindled his enthusiasm, a lingering thought left by the wind dancer. Was it really that obvious they were outsiders? Still, the day proceeded. The pair wandered the streets of Suquti, mesmerized by the sights and sounds they had never seen before. As the pair left the temple, she turned to her brother. "Well, that explains why everyone is so happy all the time around here." The never-ending festival made itself known with every side street and shop they passed. Barkers offering the finest foods they had ever smelled. Street shows that left them spellbound. Sachir even tossed a few gold for a fire-eater than damn near set his shirt on fire. The way he briefly panicked sure had the crowd rolling. But it was all part of the joy, right? At least Naarai liked it. Two hours later... Sachir grumbled as he and Naarai sat down with a bowl of mantu between them. "You spent way more time in than I would've liked." As soon as the urchin realized he was spotted, he took off with a fistful of gold, and a very angry Sachir in pursuit. "You little thief! Gimme back my money!" It was bad form for a merchant of his family's esteem to be pickpocketed so easily. Not to mention the sheer fury propelling him forward. Luckily, he did not go very far. Just as the urchin began to dart out of reach, he was swiftly stopped by a Quarter guard, who grabbed the street rat by the hair, causing him to whimper and drop the gold. Sachir knelt down and picked up his lost money, while the guard looked down at him sympathetically. "Apologies, outsider. Please don't let this color your thoughts about our city." "Hm. All five fingers." The voice of the guard. "This your first offense, little rat? To think we let your ilk work here. Consider yourself lucky it's only one." Sachir darted to a hidden corner as he kept him and his sister hidden from the eyes of others. They watched as the door to the shack opened, with the guard's hand pointing outwards, and the urchin emerged, now whimpering and clutching a bloody hand. They watched as he wandered away from the bustle of the Festival Quarter, down a darker street where the air was mustier, and the ground rotted. They watched as he disappeared into nameless streets, far away from the joy of the City of Wonder. And yet, as far as they could tell, that was another part of the City of Wonder, right? They watched, and for the first time since they arrived, Sachir and Naarai stopped smiling. They watched the Quarter no one had mentioned once more, and they began to walk away. | |
| The Commonwealth of Mokranshi | The Call of the Dead Peaks, Part I "Come on, lads!" Henry Callahan called to the expedition trailing behind him. "The Peaks won't explore themselves!" With a few grumbling affirmations, the group soldiered on, deeper into the uplands. Behind them, the scattered plains of Mokranshi shrank. In front of them, the towering tips of the Dead Peaks grew, their presence foreboding and their call haunting. Their names suited them well. Legends abound that this was once home to mighty mammoth riders who lived atop the shivering mountains, until Lady Elizabeth herself assembled her army of the sea and laid them low, destroying it forever. The stories were fanciful. The people of Letderan were wont to exaggerate Elizabeth's deeds. Some said her army climbed up the mountains hand and foot, never stopping to eat or drink. Others said that Elizabeth herself slew a mammoth in single combat, along with a dozen riders who tried and failed to slay the Sea Queen. But for all their mighty mounts and hearts hardened by the frigid mountains, not even the people of the Dead Peaks could stop her. Still, there was always that worry. The fear that the ghosts of this lost civilization lingered behind, their souls still clinging to the hope of vengeance. Aye, vengeance against Letderan and Elizabeth's children. After all, why else would any call them the Dead Peaks? But they were too far away from the ground camps to turn back. So they just had to keep going and pray that the mountains would offer some refuge. And thus far, it had not. Only cold and a gentle fury at their trespass. And what a stroll it was. Each step further up was harder than the last for the once enthusiastic crew, now bristling with exhaustion. Even the business of marking camp felt like a chore, their bones aching and their muscles sore. The nip of the wind did no favors. In pairs of two, Letderrani and Mokrani alike worked to pitch their cheap yurts. A specific request by many of the Letderrani. Though they had the appetite of adventurers, superstition runs strong among the southron. Some feared that the spirits of the dead would come to take vengeance on Elizabeth's kin while they slept, so they opted to partner with Mokrani northerners, one per Letderrani. As well as choosing to sleep in yurts. Hopefully, the spirits would not recognize the foreign tents and leave them be. So much time had passed between the point they had left the lowlands and the point they chose to make camp that nary an hour passed before Henry first touched the peak. He set foot upon the summit with a sigh, partly of relief and partly of tiredness. He was loathe to admit that he too was exhausted, only propelled forward by the promise of discovery. And what a discovery he made. Henry pocketed his looking glass and smiled to himself. "Finally." | |
| The Commonwealth of Mokranshi | The Call of the Dead Peaks, Part II Once Henry had his target in sight, there was little dissuading him from tirelessly pursuing it until he - and everyone else in the expedition - had reached it. Much to the chagrin of his crew and their weary feet. Across valleys, hills, and perilous ridges, he had dragged them across the Dead Peaks to a lone building he had merely glimpsed far off in the distance. Still, as they drew closer, one by one everyone else could see it, too. Henry was the first to approach the old building, running his hand along the eroded exterior. "Marvelous," he said with a hint of wonder. "Look at the stonework. Probably smooth to the finish back when people lived here. Alagh!" He turned and barked to one of the crewmates in accented Mokrani, "Grab your mate and get your arses inside. See if there's anything of worth. The rest of you! Get to work securing this site. I'm not letting any half-rate antiquarian claim this spot before I." "That's quite curious," Henry said, gesturing to the roof. "Jack, what do you make of that?" Jack only shrugged in response. "Looks like a roof, captain." Before the crew was even halfway done with securing the site, Alagh and Emily re-emerged from inside the building, torch in hand. "It's not too big inside, captain," spoke up Emily. "Looks like an old temple, maybe. Even a spot where there might've been a shrine." Emily shook her head. "Err, if it's alright captain, I think I'll be camping outside with the others. I don't wanna sleep in this place. Looks haunted to me." | |
| The ufc | A party to say, a song to play, people screaming “he” - these are the things that praise is laid upon this city of celebratory song, Visit the city of Visanka Vilka any time of the year and you will find a great festival playing out. Whether its on the first of Shavan or the 64th of Kramma you will be found in the throngs of a great festival, The city is located on a small island between a tributary and the Vanstika River The city was mostly safe from fighting in the war of the citadels other then a few events, the main one being the Dancers siege which gave the city a new patron - The lady of the dance, The city is home to very little peasants and the population is rather small, gaining entry is hard due to the strict regulations but once in you have access to a numerous amount of the rich and powerful. The city sends many caskets of wine and alcohols to the rest of the island and Viskana Vilka is one of the most hated of the cities due to the noise and the amount of chaos in and around the city, | |
 The Sultanate of Medilah | Neuderan Affairs, II Carlengral-am-Flimmer did not have a citadel of its own, or a real castle. When the city was being built and the founders of the newly minted republic lay the foundations of th fledgeling state, castles and citadels were symbols of personal power. In other words, they implied an inherent right to rule that their owners supposedly possessed. After the horrors of the Urbinian rule and the sheer amount of suffering those savages inflicted with their attempt at reuinfying Neuderland, nobody had any love for the aristocracy that was all too happy to appease the priates. The fact that it was mostly merchants who founded the city also played a role in the decision to forego building a castle or anything resembling such. Of course, there was the Stadtum, a small fortress that housed the arsenal and the treasury, but that was it. The Stadtum played no role in politics of the city. Instead, the ruling council of the Republic and its Stadhalter met in the Rathaus, or the town hall when translated from Neuderan. Coincidentally, it was the largest building in Carlengral-am-Flimmer, a three-storey building coiling against its inner courtyard towered above the rest of the urban skyline. It was here that the Stadtrat met, in the large circular room filled with paintings saved from the old Carlengral. “Order, order,” Reinhardt called the start of the meeting, as per the customs. “Today’s agenda includes a proposition for additional infrastructure to facilitate easier and faster transportation of goods and services from the silver mines to the city, sponsored by councilor Dresher…” He nodded at the man and continued: “The second item is the replacement of wooden palicades with stone ones in the village of Brier village, sponsored by councilor Wald,” Reinhard once again nodded at the woman in question. He did not have to do that, of course. All of the twenty men and women in the room knew each other perfectly well, but it was tradition. “And finally, a proposal to increase the military budget and recruit new members to the militia, sponsored by the Stadthalter.” Of course, the last item on the agenda caused an uproar. Nobody liked increasing military spending, period. The only times when the Stadtrat ever approved such initiatives were during barbaric invasions. There were none at the moment, so the councilors were, for the most part, content to let things be and focus on expanding their own enterprises. “Order, order!” Reinhardt called. He really thought that the ancestors could have at least left a gravel if they were feeling like reforming the feudal society, but no such luck. Therefore, he had to shout to get everyone’s attention. “We will proceed with the discussions as scheduled and the vote on all of the proposed measures will take place, as per tradition and protocol, two weeks hence.” The reminder that they could vote down the bill seemed to mollify the councilors. Some were shooting Reinhardt puzzled looks, and very few looked like they were on to him. Just as he intended: the only purpose of proposing such a bill was to determine who had the faculties to see two steps ahead. Even if his bill was voted down, Reinhardt already had what he wanted. He would have to approach these individuals after this meeting. | |
| The Sultanate of Medilah | Neuderan Affairs, III The Kahler residence was a traditional urban manor. Three storyes, a fortified gate, a small garden, and a small palicade circling the property with patrolling guards scattered here and there. It was modestly decorated, advertising the wealth and influence of the family to the rest of the population, but not nearly enough to make any claims of grand standing. The people did not appreciate being reminded of the old aristocracy. Nevertheless, the luxurious decor within the manor more than made up for the outward osterity of the residence. Reinhardt’s family made sure that whoever was invited inside appreciated the gravity of the situation and status of their host. The wooden panels made of oak reflected the light of the fireplace and spotted a number of paintings. The side tables featured more than their fair share of trinkets, both of monetary and sentimental value. Finally, a fine carved table at the center of the room with exquisite chairs were intended to house the guests that needed to spectate the wealth. Personally, Reinhardt found it hard to contemplate his ancestors’ rather transparent motives without a smile, but then again — he had been to more than his fair share of manors in the city, none of them were any different. Thus, he waited for the guest to arrive in this small dining room, silverware already set and chandeliers adding to the illumination provided by the fireplace. The person in question did not dally. His servants let in a rather short woman in an elegant but informal green dress wich brought out her eyes. Her black hair was done in an elaborate style popular among women in the city. “Ah, good evening, councilor Schulhof, I am delighted you managed to make it to this little get-together,” Reinhardt rose to greet his guest and glanced at the servant. The man needed no more prompting and vanished for the kitchen, to give the others leave to serve supper. Reinhardt, as the etiquette required, pulled out the chair intended for the lady and helped her sit down, only then resuming his own seat. “But of course, Stadthalter, how could I miss such an event,” the woman gave him a thin smile. “I do so love the paintings in your home.” “Yes, they are quite exquisite, they come from a time when our ancestors had an empire that all but ruled the Great Sea,” Rreinhardt nodded. “And please, call me Reinhardt, my lady.” “Only if you agree to call me Nina, Reinhardt,” the woman’s smile grew just a fraction. “I could never refuse a woman of your beauty, Nina,” Reinhardt played along. “Ah, if only, beauty is fleeting, but art is immortal,” councilor Schulhof replied. “I knew you were a fellow art connoisseur when I voted for you, but the recent meeting dispelled any lingering doubts. That was a most amusing performance.” “Why thank you, my lady,” Reinhardt chuckled, capitalising on the opening his interlocutor provided. “It can be rather hard for many to focus on the less transitory matters, especially in the Stadtrat chamber.” “Truly,” councilor Schulhof nodded. “But I’m sure that those such as we have no problem investing in the long term. I could certainly do with more paintings, and I hear our northern neighbors have quite a few talented masters of the art.” “I quite agree, my lady,” Reinhardt said, as the servants opened the doors and brought the appetisers. The supper was a resounding success. | |
| The Sultanate of Medilah | Neuderan Affairs, IV Another day meant another round of politicking for a Stadthalter. The familiar dining room awaited another guest, this time a pair of twins from the Strauch family, Julian and August. That family was older than Reinhardts own, and they never let anyone forget that. They ran some of the silver mines in the western mountains and held some of the lucrative silver trade which provided them quite a lot of income and with it — influence. Reinhardt had dealings with them before. While Julian was the merchant of the family, August assumed to role of its politician. Both lacked the usual subtlety one would expect from a councilor and a major player in trade, but they could afford to be somewhat less refined. “Julian, August, a pleasure to host you, as always,” Reinhardt greeted the two men when they entered the dining room. Both were dressed in fine but clearly informal suits. “So is attending these secret meetings, Reinhardt,” August replied and too a seat. “What do you call them, ‘get-togethers’?” “Indeed,” Reinhardt replied, ignoring the bluntness with familiar ease. “How have you found the latest council session, if you don’t mind my asking?” “Why it was positively hilarious,” August chuckled. “Your proposal surely took everyone by surprise. Why did you sponsor it though? You know they’ll never pass it.” “I don’t expect them to pass my bill,” Reinhardt replied. “It was a move to see who could got the real picture and who could see beyond tomorrow.” “You mean the Medilans, don’t you, Stadthalter?” Julian joined the conversation. “They have been expanding in the jungle recently, and quite actively at that.” “That’s true. The Sultanate is practically on our doorstep. I fully expect their scouts to find us within the year,” Reinhardt agreed with a curt nod. In the meantime, the servants brought in some appetizers and a bottle of Voltanese wine. His men had a very hard time getting their hands on this particular item, they had to sail to Hetüjõl to find it, as Sitaramapotam had no Voltanese merchants or demand for their wines. Still, the bottle was well worth the effort if it meant securing support of the Strauch family and their finances. “And we have nothing to fight them with,” August grimaced. “I cannot imagine them leaving us alone if we ask nicely.” “Yes, that is rather unlikely,” Reinhardt hid his faint smile behind a glass of wine. “But we have many other options, aside from fighting the empire.” “What do you have in mind?” August asked, taking a sip from his own glass and looking at the bottle with obvious surprise. “Why, doing as those that once humbled our old empire did,” Reinhardt chuckled at the dubious expressions that crossed his guests’ faces. “We can make an intitution that will leverage our resources as influence with the Sultanate to make our voices heard.” “Assuming they won’t just seize whatever they want,” Julian frowned. “If we play our cards right, we will never have to worry about it again,” Reinhardt nodded at the man. “Besides that, think of what we could get our hands on if we make the imperial war machine work in our favor…” He did not need to say more. | |
| The Sultanate of Medilah | Neuderan Affairs, V It was not every day that the Stadthalter would leave the city he governed (though the Republic itself encompassed more than just Carlengral-am-Flimmer, of course). Reinhardt was not the epitome of a young knight anymire either. At thirty-seven, having suffered a very unfortunate fall from a horse at full speed, he had a permanent limp that precluded him from walking any great length of time. Instead, he had to rely on travelling by carriage, as his injury interfered with dismounting a steed. Still, he made an effort for his company to look as dignified as possible. He had to inspire confidence in his people, after all, lest his rule would be cut short. His predecessor became a head short when he provoked a coup after losing popular support. The interplay of popularity among the masses and among the elites was interesting, and the dynamic had, for quite some time, fascinated Reinhardt, prompting him to study it diligently. He had been doing so throughout his political career, and it appeared that the more he learned, the more he realized his own ignorance of the matter. The book on the art of ruling he had been writing for his son promised to be quite a lengthy read. “Father, why exactly do we need to visit the mines?” his son asked, as he rode his horse beside the Stadthalter’s open carriage. “We have allies to call upon there,” Reinhardt replied, pushing his deliberations on the political craft aside for the moment. Ernst was sixteen years old and took over the family cotton plantations on the outskirts of Carlengral. When the boy approached him a year ago, Reinhardt was only too happy to oblige his son’s request to be more included in the family business. Money was everything in the Republic, after all. All the sophistication, all the politicking — nothing could function without gold supporting it. Thus prudent management played an essential role in maintaining a family’s prominent status and securing their seat on the Stadtrat. Those seats were anything but cheap… “I was unaware of any allies in the eastern settlements,” Ernst noted. “We’ve rarely hosted them, even more so in the recent times,” Reinhardt explained. “They moved to a village near their mines, citing something about preferring absolute power in their little sandbox over a limited power within Carlengral-am-Flimmer.” “That seems very short-sighted,” Ernst replied. “It is,” Reinhardt nodded, glad that the endless hours spent teaching his eldest son and heir politics had not gone to waste. The boy could see beyond his nose. “They are lucky they have me as their ally, or the Stadtrat would have put their little settlement under much greater scrutiny.” “Is there a cause for such a measure?” Ernst inquired, his face betraying the boy’s amusement. “More than you know, and they would have had no political weight to defend themselves from any punishment either,” Reinhardt muttered. “Why bother with such allies then, father?” Ernst asked. “It looks like they are a burden rather than an asset.” “Why else?” Reinhardt snorted. “They are ridiculously rich. They mine gems and sell them in Sitaramapotam.” “Ah, that explains it,” Ernst replied with a sheepish look on his face. | |
| The Sultanate of Medilah | Neuderan Affairs, VI The village by the name of Erbendorf stood on the foothills of one of the mountains that made up the western mountains. A number of paths started here, all of which led somewhere deeper into the mountainous area. Few explorers went there, even fewer returned after their expeditions. Those who did, spoke of ancient ruins so grand that they boggled the mind. Few believed such tall tails of course, but it meant that someone likely used to live in the mountains. As far as Reinhardt was concerned, the past tense was the best part of this news. He did not have to deal with any more locals which spared him a lot of headache. From what he heard of the Medilans’ explorers, they would be thrilled to receive such information. At the moment, it hardly mattered, however. Reinhardt had arrived to the village for business, not to deliberate useless ancient ruins. He left his carriage with Ernst’s assistance and walked to greet the master of the mansion where he had just arrived. “Reinhardt, my old friend!” the really tall man with a mighty beard and a bald head gave Reinhardt a blinding smile. “It’s been ages since you last visited, you old dog!” “We’re the same age,” Reinhardt could not help the amusement that crept into his voice. “And yet someone’s a Stadthalter always buried beneath mountains of paperwork,” the host snorted. “You know how it is,” Reinhardt nodded, giving a wry chuckle. “Albert, allow me to introduce you to my eldest son Ernst. He is to inherit everything after I pass away.” “A pleasure to meet you, sir,” Ernst gave the man a shallow nod. “Likewise, lad,” the host nodded. “My name is Albert Preiss. Your father and I used to get into all sorts of trouble when we were younger and my family still lived in Carlengral.” “Truly?” Ernst directed a surprised glance at Reinhardt. “Father has neglected to mention any mischief in his youth.” “Yes well,” Reinhardt smothered an embarassed chuckle, “that was hardly relevant.” “We will have to remedy the situation, Reinhardt,” Albert smiled wider. “But that will have to wait. Come, we have business to discuss, I presume. Will Ernst be joining us?” “If father gives me leave to do so, I will be delighted to partake in the discussion,” Ernst responded. He spoke very formally, evidently still wary of the host, especially after Reinhardt’s comments on the way to the village. “Of course, he is my heir, he should know all of our business,” Reinhardt nodded. “Right you are,” Albert nodded. “Come, I’ve had Marina prepare the blue drawing room for us.” “How is her health?” Reinhardt inquired purely out of politeness. The woman hated him with a passion few could match. She could be a problem, but nothing that some gold would not solve. “Fine as usual,” Albert replied, his even tone suggesting that he had caught onto Reinhardt’s well-hidden hope for a less jovial answer. “Rhine bless her,” Reinhardt had to force himself to say that. “Anyway, I’ve arrived to discuss finances with you, old friend. There is a venue I have in mind which could use some of your wealth.” “You know I’m usually up tp any scheme you come up with, so let’s hear it,” Albert sat down in one of the chairs in the blue drawing room, named so for the blue wallpaper, and had servants pour everyone some wine. | |
| The Sultanate of Medilah | A New Foundation The new Diwan building was being constructed just by the Imperial Palace, one the side of the main square where mansions used to be. The nobility had to make do and move elsewhere, but nobody really cared about their discomfort. If anything, Gölcüm saw it as natural. The nobles had lost a lot of power in the previous decades. His decree about them having to abide by imperial law and the rulings of the imperial bureaucracy in all matters relating to the subjects of the throne, which now included the entirely of non-millet population of the empire, was simply the final nail in the coffin where their previous influence was buried. Diwan symbolized imperial authority and the Sultan’s legitimacy in more ways than one. This new building of the Imperial Diwan would symbolize a new empire, created on a strong foundation of unified law and based upon the absolute authority of the Imperial Throne. At the moment, Gölcüm was busy awaiting the news of another brick in the foundation of his empire — the news of his wife and his child she was giving birth to. The entire process was nerve wracking. He had been to a war, but even then Gölcüm did not have to worry quite as much. After all, the only threat on a distant battlefield was a stray arrow. Here… Well, Gölcüm found it easier if he avoided contemplating so many ways his spouse could meet her death. Ege was a member of minor nobility. It was a move by Gölcüm’s father Ibrahim, a gesture meant to humble the major nobility and remind them at whose pleasure they exist. After the ruined plans of a Voltanese marriage, no other could offer anything particularly useful in terms of marriage. Still, while Gölcüm did not love his wife, he cared for her and respected Ege for her determination and curiosity. It would be a shame if she died so early. Finally, the doors to his wife’s temporary chambers opened, and a nurse walked out. She bowed to Gölcüm. “It is over, Your Majesty, Ege-çekkõl has given birth to a healthy baby boy,” the woman smiled. “And Ege herself?” Gölcüm asked, elated at the news of an heir. “Exhausted, Your Majesty, but Ege-çekkõl has requested to see you,” the nurse replied. “Yes, of course,” Gölcüm nodded and entered the chamber. The large room had everyone one would need for comfortable living: a large soft bed, now occupied by Gölcüm’s wife, a coffee table with chairs, a fireplace for cold nights, and many more. None of that even registered, as Gölcüm walked to Ege who was cradling a small bundle of sheets in her arms. It was cooing as she gently rocked the baby. When he approached, Ege smiled and held out the child. “Your son, my husband,” she announced in a very tired voice. Gölcüm took the child with all the tenderness he could muster. Two blue eyes stared back at him. The boy inherited his mother’s eyes, but his father’s hair. He seemed so fragile that Gölcüm felt utterly lost. He had younger brothers and sisters, but he had never seen them born. He knew nothing of what to do with tiny newborns. It suddenly occured to Gölcüm that his son had no name. “I suppose he needs to be named,” Gölcüm finally said. His voice seemed to break the baby out of its stupor, as it started wailing. Gölcüm grimaced and looked at his wife who silently beckoned for him to give the child back. “Imren, I think, will do,” Gölcüm said after he regained his bearings. “Now you should go to sleep, you look exhausted.” | |
| Prismea | 220521 Development Post People often herald Kazari as the hero of Umitoji. But people often look over the real hero who united the sparse lands of the Hanaumi no Umitoji. Kiyoko Miru. The story of Kazari is one merely stemming from Hanaumian mythology. The previous inhabitants of the land of the Hanaumi no Umitoji were formerly called Hanaumians. Rebranded to suit current ideologies, they were now called prismeans. Before the advent of Chiroist ideals within the northern lands, Hanaumians believed in a mythology quite different from current beliefs in the present. The similarities of the past to sun-related thoughts lent to the ease of transfer of beliefs between these foreign ideals and national religion. Some beliefs disappeared eventually due to change while others persevere in maintaining it. One such notable example is the city of Hanamiya in Hanahara. They choose to preserve ancient scriptures of the old religion, as noted by the different suffix attached for the city name. However, due to the striking similarities between old Hanaumian religion and Chiroism, most were actually preserved in their core ideas. Some merely changed names while some others would have seen a part of their identities shifted. Especially the sun and the moon, they were virtually unchanged except for their names having different spellings and such. The Nakuno Tsukimiya, or the Shrine of the Moon Maiden, is one such example of this. It is located at Hananomiya, the lands of the religious Kamimoto clan, and is near the Haebi river running through Shironomiya, their capital. To erect a large temple for the Moon Maiden, Tsuki, was a feat worthy of recognition for the most pious. It was eventually modernized to fit certain foreign ideas and thoughts. The core structures were untouched by these changes but the doctrines and the practices eventually changed through time. Afraid of losing their past, some religious texts were shipped to Hanamiya for safekeeping while being rewritten to suit Chiro ideals better. Like Hanamiya, there were parts within the Hanaumi no Umitoji wherein the past Hanaumian stories were virtually unaffected or deliberately preserved. Most of it is concentrated exactly in the heart of the Yari mountain range and its southern plains at the lands of Aomiya of the Miru clan. They were one of the most zealous in protecting and preserving the ancient Hanaumian identity. Most prismean communities in the Shogai range were also barely affected by this change except for the area where the Kakuzuri live near the Kizutsuku-Kigai where the Aikawa clan reigns supreme. The Achiratoji too, where the wind was bitter and water was frigid. And in Hanaumian religious doctrines, it was Kazari at the forefront. Scholars nowadays debate the validity of her existence, some even going as far as to change the national hero to another ancient female figure, Kiyoko Miru, the first of her kind, the first leader of the unified clans and the first shogun of the Hanaumi no Umitoji. | |
| Prismea |
Before the current era of Prismeans and the Hanaumi no Umitoji, there was a time wherein the people were also in harmony. Peace was absolutely everywhere. The clans weren’t at odds with one another and crimes were slim to none at all. Everyone was happy with the world and their government. Trade was bustling and the seas were as busy as ever. The sun shone like it does everyday but it was as if everything was bathed in a golden light that seeks to embolden everything in its rays. The moon was never covered at its brightest in the darkness of the nights. It was happy. Everyone was happy. It was joyful. It was paradise. The clans of Mainland Umitoji and its islands were at peace since the beginning of time. Most problems were never left to fester on their own. Each issue was resolved efficiently. The seafaring clans of the Naganohara and Nagai were jolly with one another, the Aikawa was peacefully chilling on the other side of the Jinju strait while the Nakamoto, Sakamoto, Kamimono, Fujiwara, Miyamizu, Miru, were happily trading around the clans behind the Yari mountain range namely the Kiyoko, Hiiragi, Ishida and Saihara clans. But greed takes its course eventually. The wheels of time finally moved and the era was set to despair. How high you fly determines how low you fall. The clans sought to fight with each other for more lands, greed trampling on centuries of peaceful coexistence. Some clans opted not to join for it was either not in their best interests, have a superiority in either army or navy, or they simply do not want bloodshed. The Naganohara and the Nagai fall into the category of superior navy. It was also a blessing that they do not wish for more land lest the sea be dyed in red. The Naganohara stuck to half-frozen Kita and old Hanahara while the Nagai stayed in the chilly peaks of Seikainoowari and the Sakaya Islets. These clans’ focus was seafaring and to protect their men out on the sea, they had to be the best at naval battles and ship building. Since they didn’t have any claims or even lands to protect within Umitoji or Hakayama, they had an easy time defending their shores from those who would dare confront them. There were no other clans who settled for peace, except for the Kamimoto clan. As the most religious clan of Umitoji, they had to be better people and follow the teachings of the ancient Hanaumian scripts. Alas, it wasn’t enough. Human greed runs deep. They were pushed back to their knees, begging for the sweet release of death. The warring state of these clans continued on for years and decades, some having more blood than others. And within the wars stained with blood, the Miru clan birthed a child that would change the course of history. | |
| Prismea | 220521 Development Post Kiyoko and her older brother, Kazuhiko, were children living secretly. It was the custom for every noble or minister within these trying times. Other clans would attempt to take the future of one another so their lives, even at such a young age, had a target behind their backs. Even if they were hidden, speculations and leaks would eventually reach the other clans. You could expect the heir of a clan would be hidden so opponent clans must find information by themselves may it be through spies or intentional break-ins. Of course, the knowledge that the Hanashu of the Miru clan has produced two new heirs became widespread in a few years. The proud Miru clan would defends its substituents to its last breath, including the children. She was five when her sole motivation, her mother, was murdered. Kiyoko already knows that her time was borrowed—her mother was already ill even when she was born. It was a miracle that she survived childbirth and a further five more years. But she was murdered. By who? Kiyoko doesn’t care. She’ll put the entire Hanaumi no Umitoji to her heel just so no one could experience this. The feeling of losing a loved one already fated to die early through something out of their control. She was already meant to die, why was she even targeted in the first place? Perhaps her mother could have lived far longer, a few more wistful years perhaps. But it would only fester as regret for the chance wasn’t given. She was sixteen when her father, the Miru clan head—Hanashu, perished in a perilous battle. Her world fell apart when she heard the news. Kiyoko tightened her resolve. No one in her family should be hurt any longer. She would stop all this madness. And she did. Only a few clans were against the wars between the clans. They were few and far in between and most often than not, they would perish because of other far more greedier clans. Those who were able to kill their own people were the most despicable. Their only goal was only more land and power, how can she save them if their hearts were tainted in black? She subjugated every clan around her and the Yari mountain range. She brought them to their heel with her unparalleled prowess in the battlefield, both in wit and body. She seldomly lost a battle for even a hundred men at her hands were able to defeat a one thousand strong army. The separated clans of the Naganohara and Nagai were quick to join when peace were settling among the region. The Kamimoto clan was able to stand up once more. And for a while, the peace lingered. |
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