NationStates Jolt Archive

(OOC: See the OOC thread here (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=11047213#post11047213) for details on signing up)

Since the time before memory, the slate-grey planet had orbited its little yellow dwarf star, pockmarked and bruised by the cruel indifference of orbital mechanics and the debris of starbirth. Its twin moons--one a daughter calved off the mother rock after the collision of a third body since absorbed, the other a miniscule captured body just barely massive enough to be spherical and too far away to be anything more than another disc in the world's pus-yellow skies--show the same treatment, but in their tidally-locked fortune have large expanses of brown and white flatland protected from outrageous fortune by their protecting greater partner. The haze of sulfur dioxide coating the world chokes the thin, isolated, seas of tainted water, their future breadth and depth not to be determined for many years when paths would cross and momentary violence breed future benefit. For time outside recollection it spun, circumlocutions inside of circumlocutions, in a silent forest dance far from any ears to hear the tumbling. It danced in the warmth, not too hot, not too cold, but with no paws to cook the porridge or make the beds it danced indifferently; with the same indifference it shrugged off the ice and rocks and danced with the orderly, dead pomp of determinism.

A new bit of matter slipped into orbit, and the equation changed. Ears, eyes, mind--all but the latter actually analogs of flesh and blood rather than the 'real' thing--enter the equation. The dead chaos of simply existing ceases in an instant as minds make value judgments, estimate, plan, and apply reason; were it done by man it would be summed up as 'anthropomorphizing' but it was not. The little mote took up all it could in sight from pictures and maps, sound from geological sensors, taste and smell from chemical sensors, and touch from subsidiary probes, recorded all it could until its voluminous not-space was filled, and sent it all back in a final climax. Absolutely drained, it closed its eyes and stopped its ears, and determinism seemed to take over again as it spiraled slowly to a firey grave, a momentary streak in a pus-yellow sky.

It served its purpose.

Years later came a swarm of motes, larger, more powerful, with a exponentially greater will behind their actions. After a decision made very far away in terms of space, they went into action, splitting in all different directions. The inexorable timetable of ancient determinism, mugged from all sides by these motes, shattered forever as comets were wrenched from orbits and accelerated into new ones, as asteroids containing precious carbonaceous compounds found themselves on new courses. The planet itself changed under the force of lathes from the heavens; actively molded in some places, left to stand and evolve on the scale of geology in others. The planet was no longer a mute braindead dancer, a cog in a machine. Intelligence had touched it, had molded it, had turned it into an intelligent thing. A rock is but a rock. With no purpose it is nil, merely base matter occupying volume and having mass. A rock shaped is an arrowhead, a knife, a tool to acquire meat and feed intelligence. A rock shaped is a statue, a god, a way of giving intelligence meaning beyond its own existence. A rock shaped is an ampitheatre, a palace, giving intelligence order and a shape above the level of the individual. Even if the shaped rock is lost for ten thousand years it remains intelligent, a silent keeper of the secrets of its makers, and regains its place when found and understood. The only way it can become dumb once again is to be pulverized to dust.

Entire planets are notoriously hard to pulverize.

The ships from afar did cruel, unnatural things to the living rock, and at the same time they did beautiful, ethereal things to the soft clay. There were enough minds there that both thoughts were applied with equal truth. One mind dominated the rest, though, and although she thought of the world as clay she did not consider the value of her work as art, not yet. An artist must not laud herself as she creates; she must let the drive flow and look at it later. The idea and the material must be good to begin and if there is a point to pause in the middle to make sure the idea is still good then so be it, but for now there is only the flow. The flow of this ridgeline naturally transitioning to these plains, the hidden patterns of how she injects herself, literally and figuratively, into her work. Guided by the purest application yet of her long past madness, a fever dream set aside but never truly discarded until it could be attempted again with maturity and wisdom. It was art, it was therapy, it was healing, but it was not release.

There would never be release. She knew that and understood it long before; she knows that and understands it still now. She would be lost if there was. But it was still many things, all of them important.

There were no days or nights to her, simply work. Work paused only by the weakness of her tools, and even then only rarely. There was no order to her work beyond the greater order. Seas formed as the mountains were made and the plants were seeded as soon as the atmosphere was clean enough to accept them while the oceans still grew and the land moved like a living vivisected thing. Some of those helping felt it was a travesty, but the opportunity of aiding something this huge was greater than their mistrust of their queen. Some of those believed wholeheartedly, and offered support and suggestion in return for the honor of aiding such a monumental task.

The artist, the creator, thanked them and let the suggestions fall to the side. If they appeared, it was what she was going to do already.

The pace was feverish, the pace was glacial. Nations far away and out of mind lived and died. Generations begat generations begat generations around stars that may well have been infinitely distant from this lonely planet and its band of artisans. But throughout all this time every instant was action, every instant was thought, every instant was will. Will, thought, action that brought things into being where they were not before. That created new variations on the old to breathe life into the rock and the seas and the skies. The dead chaos of rock fell to the live chaos of plant and animal, from pure order to predictable disorder.

Until, one day, all was ready.

The first to call the new world their own were her children, for they had nothing else to call mother. She created them, cunningly and artfully engineered them to be the absolute best that flesh and bone in human form could ever be. Friends long since dead and dust would have called them supermen, higher states of biological evolution, but in her intent she made all of these exemplars merely carriers of recessive genes. As they would pair off and beget the recessive genes would be mixed with more 'natural,' far more ancient dominant ones. The artificial evolution would roll backwards, only to emerge now and then as probabilities aligned and some lucky child had just the right pedigree. It was inevitable, as the first generation had an entire world for their children to propagate.

She made them in many shapes and sizes, many colors and tones optimized for their region. They were all human, and yet slightly more than human. Their descendants would become human, all too human. But this is the way it had to be for it to have meaning.

There were many of her, many mothers, and so many individual families seeded in the remote corners of the world. There was no point in having them placed fully born with the minds of infants--for it was her intent to leave their minds as free as she could--so she was their mother. She raised them with one body just as constructed as theirs, she taught them with another body she was accustomed to through the ages. She taught them how to live, as humans must, as she expected them to teach their children and so on. It was her intent not to give them the technology she was, nor anything remotely resembling it. It would make life harder on her children, and it pained her, but to simply recreate her creators millenia after they were dust... what would be the point? What novelty would emerge? There were already people like that, humans and more-than-humans, scattered about the stars. She knew many, if not most, of them. What point is there to recreate what already exists beside simply saying "I can?"

No, her children would start with the simplest things. Flint and shale, wood and vine. She would teach them history, what they could and could not eat, what needed to be done to live... the rest they would have to develop on their own. She would heal them as they were injured where their own bodies couldn't make do for themselves. As any mother would she would send them away when they had learned all they should, to make their own way in the world.

She did not look forward to those days, but she prepared herself and her children. She weaned them off teats which were simultaneously hers and not exactly hers, she taught them to walk with her bodies both flesh and grey compounds her descendants would not know for thousands of years. She raised them in staggered groups, so the very first could learn from the raising of the second. Her flesh, far more baseline than the flesh of her children, grew old, grew sick, and died. She grew old, grew sick, and died. And yet she lived on in immortal technology as she had for spans which would never mean anything to her children. So she taught them the concepts of sickness and death, of loss and sadness. She taught them the most basic rules of genetics--to mate outside the family--and had the foresight to put clusters of small similar but not too related clans close together, so when they left to make their fortune they eventually met.

Before a group would be ready to leave--or be urged out, as gently or ungently as needed--she would teach them one last truth. In her grey-skinned body, short cape of purple, necklace in the style of a nation long since swept away as limestone dust upon the wind, patterns of darker grey and pulsing light which would have no meaning here for millenia, she taught them.

"Remember, my children, what you have learned and teach your children. They must teach their children and so on--that is how you will survive.

"You, your children, and their children will meet others like you. They will look different, speak differently, but they are my children as much as you are. Everyone on this world is my child or my descendant. If you can, treat them as siblings. If you cannot... I will understand, but I will be sad.

"Everything on this world is of my making and is for you and the rest of my children. If you can, treat it with respect and live in harmony with it. If you cannot... I will understand, but I will be sad.

"Even though you leave, I will be watching over you, and your children, and their children. Though you will all die and return to the soil in your time, I will not. You will see wind and rain, fire and fog, in amongst your days of sun and warmth. You will have times of hunger amongst your days of food. Remember that I am always watching and will always care for you. Call on me in your worst distress, and I will help... but I choose not to always save nor aid because that choice makes you what you are--capable of choosing and making your own way. In time you will have to do the same with your own children, and you will understand.

"From here until a time unknown, you are your own people. You must make choices and face life, even though those choices and that life may make you curse your own mother. I will understand, although I am sad, and if you do not understand now you will. I am your mother and will always love you, love you too much to simply keep you in my embrace. You are adults, men and women, not toys--but whatever happens, even the darkest of dark days, even among the far stars, you are not alone. Remember that.

"Remember all this, and teach your children. Teach their children if you can. Remember that you are all my family, and I will love you all until the end of time. I will even visit from time to time, as the need calls"--this much brings a soft smile to her coppery lips--"but moreover I will watch and love."

Finally the secluded nests are empty, one by one. In the little clearing in the woods, or the quiet cave under mossy rocks, or the sandy cove next to the sea that acted as the meeting place of the family, she sits down and cries softly. Partly for her loss--but she has lost so much over the years--and partly because she has set things in motion. Most likely, for most of her varied lineages, things would get worse before they ever got better. Her message may be remembered for a few centuries as the first few generations can give personal meaning to the next, but then she would be a rumor to most and memory to few. There would be curses, and she would deserve them. Even if she lets the winds blow and the lightning fall she could prevent them; in her inaction she is responsible. Even if she could not control everything to make it eternal paradise, she created minds to perceive pain as well as bliss. There is no Lucifer to blame, no Prometheus; she is the Prime Mover and all returns to her. In her now nigh-perfect little world, there would certainly be pain and probably war. She could and would, though, guide things. The pain and war would become positives in the end in the strange calculus of the good of gods; cultures would grow and improve. Paradise would never return to stay, but it wasn't supposed to--it just being the slow comfortable death-that-is-not-death. As cynics before her had said, life is anguish, life is pain. But through this anguish and pain comes beauty and happiness and love, which can never lose, and creativity, the new idea, the simple solution never before seen that adds complexity and life to an entropic existence. And that's the point, the art.

But it is her family she does this to, and so she weeps knowing that this too will pass. Then she stands, disappears, and in the night her hands without fingers mold the nest into something completely new so there truly is no going back. Even then she inhabits the lines and folds of the world, the entire planet becoming her body. She would keep her word.

Her children would never be alone. She would even visit on occasion, albeit in whatever image they had since given her. Sometimes direct interference may be necessary... but now, it was simply time to let time pass.

Years, generations passed; ideas diverged. The one who knew the whole truth did not correct the variations, as the variations and everything else was the entire point. Tribes and clans grew and fell, sticks and stones were fashioned into tools and broken. Some of her children, many generations removed, found that some stones held in them material that could be made sharp, strong, and durable, and some of these could be mixed to improve further on the natural. Agriculture and metallurgy appeared and spread, technology and culture moving forward even as people still told legends as they had learned from their ancestors...

Ah, so you've found me! People occasionally do--I hear there's talk of a wise hermit who lives in these mountains. I haven't found him, myself; just me in this cave with the trappings of a life well lived and my sheep.

Don't look at me like that. You're lucky I'm not the hot-blooded young thing I used to be. No, just an old man now with too much hospitality and not enough company! Come in, come in! Sit yourself down here--yes, there's a table just inside, with some chairs and an amphora of wine the last visitor brought. It's a touch old, but it's no loss because it was never that good to begin with. It's the thought that counts, though, isn't it?

Come in! I won't say it a third time. Yes, it's a cave and somewhat dusty but I'm perfectly civilized if not what you expected. What did you expect, anyway? Some sort of doubled-over old man with bones in his beard, half-blind in one eye and mumbling? So I do have a beard. I try to keep it neat. My eyes aren't what they used to be but I'm not blind--oof, who put that chair there? I do mumble occasionally... age does that, young man. If you're lucky you'll get to mumble to people and have them respect you for it too!

There, isn't that better. I suppose you don't know me, even if you were wandering about a bit to find me. My name's Zelidiches; there may still be one or two people out there who remember me. I've crossed the width and breath of the ocean, so I've known a few people... I've tried to ask Her how some friends and lov... ah, people in my past are doing. She just says they're well, and after so long I'm thinking She's lying in a few cases... oh, never mind, there I go mumbling again... where are you from again, young man?

Oh! I was there once, when I was a galley slave for the Golithians (don't ask). Didn't see much of it, but it smelled good. Then again, most anyplace smells good when you've spent weeks in a galley. Heard stories, too. Anyway, I've been there, and it's on the map. She showed me this most amazing map, and I've copied parts down from memory...

Her? Oh, it's nothing, nothing. I told you I know many people from all over, and you wouldn't believe me anyway. Anyway, that map's my most prized possession, beside the sword I think is from The Tribes or that Ossicbee vase over there... well, most prized of my own making. Would you like to see it?

http://server106.totalchoicehosting.com/~tpjzdd/albums/ScenesandPosters/iron_map2.sized.jpg (http://server106.totalchoicehosting.com/~tpjzdd/gallery/ScenesandPosters/iron_map2?full=1)

Puts things into perspective, doesn't it? I've had spies and generals offering me gold and threatening my life for it... not that it does them any good. Besides, I'm sure a few by-memory copies are floating around here and there. Like I said, it's my most prized posession and I show it to everyone who visits.

Don't recognize all the names? I suppose you might not. Well, let's go over them one at a time. The polar edge of the sea, between Antoris and Erinak, have these massive breakers. Huge waves that swallow ships whole--it's not so bad along the coast of Erinak but it's kept people from going south of that.

Oh, all right, the nations. Erinak in the pole-sunset direction is an amazing place. Been there myself. Huge plains and hilly valleys filled with tall, dark, elegant people. They have chariots pulled by these black and white striped horses, the damndest things, and elephants! I'm glad I wasn't a soldier there. Only seemed to have a bit of bronze, though, and they bickered. Still nice to visit, though.

Antipolar of them is that desert--the speckled bits--and the lush river plains of Derdon. They're not very nice, all very matriarchal because of some past troubles and not at all kind to men. Amazing history, but I had to escape through the deserts separating them and the Serenysis on the sea--see the little city on the peninsula? Serenois is an entirely different place. Lots of ships, and they believe in a goddess like most people do and seem to a bit less... mad. Like a lot of people they've iron and the occasional harder-iron, the charcoal-beaten kind. I'm not a smith, it's not my art.

Antipolar of Derdon are the lands of the Qessai. They're matriarchs too, but have male warriors and are balanced again, but they're all nomads. No real cities to speak of, but don't call them savages! They clash a bit, but they're okay folks with iron and doing well for themselves, even if their fights do seem pretty petty. Wethia's just polar of them; you probably know them, they've got traders all over the place just like all the water-states. Then there's Alea on the coast there. They trade too, but everything they've got seems old. Older than me--heh, I know that's what you're thinking. No trees, either, because they cut them all down for iron. They're hurting for it now. It's just like She said... oh, never mind.

Antipolar-and-sunrise of the steppes of the Qessai are the Albel. They're simple and nasty raiders, plain as day, and just for kicks as they've got wealth right under their noses. She gets quiet when She talks about them. Anyway, they think they've invented the stirrup (but the Kolms've got 'em too, so I'm doubtful) and they've got these iron things on the bottoms of their horses hooves. Whatever--just less iron for proper things like swords.

Sunrise of them is the Kolmyrathan Empire. Impressive name, although they've got their troubles. Everyone there always seems so learned and they have--had, well, so I've heard--such tremendous libraries. Still, let that be a lesson to you, young man: you're almost always your own worst enemy.

Antipolar of them are the Quibliah; they're like the Derdons but kinder and gentler. Quite religious--their priestesses are the rulers too--and they're not as harsh as others. Polar of the Kolms is the little port state of Hakaa; they're traders because they pretty much have to be. Goran's on the polar-sunrise corner of the Kolms and nestled between two rivers, just like on the map. They're so proud of their trade--they think they're the port city of the sea... I've heard that so many times...--and their tower with the timeteller in it.

Polar of all those are all the island nations. The little island of Proica (hmm... it's labeled 'Exodia' here, I must've remembered wrong); they have no god but instead worship the fire, wind, water, and earth. They also have clever tools to help their work, all wheels and screws for planting and chaffing. Novistrania, a bigger island, who seem to take much pride in their iron and their mounted archers. They've got catapults, too, and they're proud of that. Aphinimer, a little set of islands with a little pantheon and a touch of bronze--good location, though; the islands have sheer cliffs with worn paths that are good for the bazaars there but would be hell to charge up.

I tried that, once. Didn't work, and I wouldn't recommend it.

Then NieknRynn, more traders in a good location. They have everything--olive oil, everywhere!--palaces and ships. No iron, but it's not as if they really need it. And The People, just polar of the big traders. There's stories told of the wildmen inland of the islands. Inbred, if you can believe it. And The People are all about their boats, and they save the skins of their holiest people! Savages, no writing--they hate it--and... other things not for polite company.

Sunrise of the islands is Golith with its shoals, its lighthouse, and its mountains. More people who have almost anything they could ever want, and they've put it into a giant lighthouse like nothing else in the world and they're working on a huge wall. Sunrise over the mountains is Ossicbee, on its cliffs, a little out of the way but still trading. They do things with burning wood and boiling water, and have this little cart at their temple that moves on its own. I've seen it with my own eyes, trundling along on wooden planks with a hiss. Rather creative, they are, but maybe too much for their own good.

Antipolar-sunrise of them are the Schydin, cliffdwellers who ride lizards. Giant lizards. Or small dragons. I didn't bother to stay around long enough to find out, although I think the lizards keep them from getting much anywhere. Hard to feed an army when its mounts need fresh meat. Polar-sunrise of them is an expanse of hilly, craggy desert and the Bney Elohim. They've only got one god... sort of. They've got thirteen tribes and they don't get along very well, except with their sheep.

Don't look at me like that. You can run an entire culture on sheep. You can eat sheep, wear sheep, boil sheepfat for useful things, make sheep into bags, burn sheepfat and dung for fire-fuel... anyway, sunrise of them are the Shodaya. They're not exactly barbarians... more like a horse state instead of a water state, if that makes any sense. They have a king and a Star Prophet who rarely agree but the Star Prophet's in real charge, and only one real city.

Antipolar of the lot of them are the Shadani. They're nomads, but they build temples. They make amazing things out of wood, you see, and build them so they can be taken apart and put back up again. Other than wood and stone, though, they've only got what they've managed to steal. And they steal from everyone. Filthy beggars, they.

Antipolar of them are the Tribes: small, don't get along, but make good iron... really good iron... perhaps the best, too bad there's so little of it. And Zerowon, who love their scrolls and books and writing; they're like the opposite of The People. They're really tricky to get to and don't have much worth taking save books.

Finally, Kalus. I haven't actually been there, and anyone who says they have been is lying. It exists, She says so. I've never seen it though, and I've heard the people their are madmen and sorcerors. I don't put much credence into what I hear, though--people are excitable and all--so I don't have much to say about them.

Well, I've been prattling on for awhile. I hope you're not too bored. Still, it's a long trip back to civilization so you may want to rest up a bit. I can cook some lamb for you, if you'd like, and the wildberries over there are quite nice this season. Of course, if you're like the others, you didn't come here just to hear me explain a map, you've probably got a question. Always questions; seriously, I wonder why no one ever finds that wise old hermit people always think is around here and always find me instead.

(Roania/Kolm gets first IC post by request)

Fires crackled in the dying light of the sun. Here and there, iron-armoured infantry walked the rubbled streets, keeping in their own groups and casting disparaging eyes on the other others.
Occasionally a soldier would find a person alive in the rubble. They would be lifted up, and forced into the waiting crowd of future-slaves.

Here the cornices and stone lamassu of the Temples lay in ruins. There, the courtyard of the academy had fallen inwards. Thatch houses of the ordinary residents, the palaces of the wealthy, all were destroyed equally by the conquerors. All for nothing.

"Lord Kolm-Enlil! Lord Kolm-Enlil!" A messenger raced up to the waiting lords, who had been waiting on their horses from a nearby hillock, black fur cloaks around themselves.

"What is it?" The Kolmyran General demanded, riding away slightly from the other lords and dropping off his horse.

"It...it's almost all gone, sir." The brown-faced young man took a couple of deep, shuddering breaths. "The academy and the armoury both vanished in the strange explosion... There's hardly anything left of the forges or the..."

Kolm-Enlil reached forward and grabbed the young man. "WHAT?" The Kolmyran noble lifted the soldier up to face him, shaking him like the red rag was shaken at the Great Temple to mark the ascencion of Great Kolm. The cataphract hurled the leather-robed spearmen to the ground. "Search everywhere!"

"Is something the matter, oh Servant of the Sarkon of All Kolmyrath?" Lord Rud-Hamu questioned, nudging his own warhorse over to stand by his counterpart’s, while he too dropped to the ground. “Is His Holy Lordship the Sarkon going to be disappointed at this day’s work?” fishmail of the cataphracts gleamed in the dying light. "Perhaps there is something the People of Rud can do to assist our dear ruler."

Kolm-Enlil glared at Rud-Hamu. “Your assistance was appreciated, oh Servant of the City of Rud. We no longer have need of your valiant men, however.”

“Oh, but there remains much to be done, Oh Great Kolm-Enlil.” The Rudan Noble bowed low and smiled. “We shall help your men search the city. Please, there is no need to thank us.”

All Kolm-Enlil could do was grit his teeth. "As you wish, Great Rud-Hamu." He was already estimating how long it would take to get soldiers from the capital here to chase these others away. He also knew that they were thinking the same...



Ancient of Ancients. First-Born. Supreme. The Kolmyrathan Hegemony held all of these titles. For as long as there had been civilisation, there had been Kolmyrath. Their records recalled nations which had vanished from living memory. Their records extended back to the days when Kolm, first child of Sha the Creator, and his sister-spouse Rath lived and died, though none could now say if these records held the total truth or not.

They had carved the living rock into the great walls of Kolmyr that armies broke against. Their hands had assembled the great Shadanea, an idol of the goddess that could be seen from across the plains that made up their homes. Their wealth was fabled. The produce of half-the-world once found its way into their markets. They had held the world at their feet.

And now they were dying. Not through sickness, not through age. But through the harsh suicide that comes from too long of prosperity, with too little strength to guide it. Each city, secure behind its mighty walls and the great rivers and canals that defined their homeland, thought itself strong enough to be the first.

And so, for the past century every summer there had been warfare. Constant strife in the name of becoming the Sarkon. Alliances shifted and faded, rivers turned, men died. The Sarkons, from Sha-Kolm-Enlile onwards, had slowly and steadily lost power to the nobles of the cities. Many lost their lives, contributing to the death of central authority.

But still there had been wealth, the gold of the rivers and the strong-iron of the hills, the produce of the fields, maintaining the civilisation. And then one city became too strong. The alchemists of the city of Trys, at the prompting of their lords, captured the very fire of Great Sha herself and turned it loose upon the Ecclesiastic city of Ar-Beis.

The other cities, shocked by this offence, had united behind Rud and Kolm, the Second following the First, and put Great Trys to battle. Sha herself, it seemed, had favoured the rest of Kolmyrath, for a single catapult was in the end all that had been needed to destroy the great city after a year of siege.

The explosion could have been seen for miles, indeed might even have been seen in the nations of the Albel and the Godan. And so, for the second time in a year, the walls of a city fell in. And with them came the soldiers...

Now the hunt began, for each city desired that secret weapon of Trys, desired to proclaim itself the master of the plains and fields of Kolmyrath. The ancient nation now lived in interesting times…

Over from the plains of the empire that wounded itself, over past the great lighthouse of the Golith, past the mist-coveres seewall mountains, through the borders of Shandini territory and onto the border-post of Proffessio Obduco.
The Republicae Ossicbee sat high upon stony cliff-faces, the small controller of trade Sun-rise-wards thanks to its near-iron hold on the easier passes through their side of the Seewalls, here lying granite and marble the grand Capital of Alexarta.

Beyond towards polar her smaller port-neighbour of Athrio.

To her Sunset the Templum Eternus Visio, where the golden visage was worshipped.

Again to her Sunset-Polar stood the marble-walls of Haretafa. Here stood the nominally small, the nominally good.

The Trader. The Gateway. The Guardian...

"Sin, sin, sin, dex, sin!" yelled out the voice, face mostly hidden by a heavy iron helm, the eyes and chin being the only thing giving away any identity. The blankened mask a pale imitation of the beauty of the Eternus Visio, the shield held by the figure was painted in colours, and the words "Eternus Visio Incubo Vos" were painted around the rim on the rear of the shield.

The groups of young guardians, new Mucro Vir marched in organized lines, three abrest, the Officer stood to the side as they marched past, the figure then spotted a problem and stoped the whole column with a raised arm.
"Janus! I said start on sinister! Not dexter!"
"I'm sorry Madam Offico." muttered the recruit.
The mask leaned in. "You're what?" she screamed.
"S-Sorry Madam Offico!" shouted the recruit.
The flesh mouth underneath the face-mask curled into a slight smile.
"Good, you'll still report to my tent at Sunset for punishment as a result though Janus."
"Yes Madam Offico." spluttered the recruit.

"Take a short break, we'll practise sword techniques later." the Offico moved away towards the trail and stretched her bare arms, she removed her helmet and shook out her long brown hair and peered as a small merchant convoy rattled past, the trucks were covered, which mean they'd probably be precious materials and some iron-works for Schyndin.
The two states had made good relations, one sending down food, while the other sent beautiful pots, gold and Iron in the form of weapons or metal trinkets to the other.

Angelus Heroto had been a trader for 18 years, his father had left him a single horse and cart when he died, now Angelus had two convoys of 4 wagons each running back and forth to and from Schyndin, he hadn't travelled from his home to Schyndin for a while, so for a change he had decided to travel with the mid-week convoy to see how Myzat had tided over since his last visit some 10 years ago, his small caravan was in the middle of the convoy as it rattled along the well made roadway, the first stop for the night would first be the stop-over at Vox Obduco, a small border-point where three roads branched away, one ran on sunrise-wards to the large territory of Shodaya, another ran towards the Pole Star to the land of Bney Elonhim, a route which was only really used when sheep were driven to the market which sprang up there. Away from the Pole Star and up in the mountains was Schyndin, his destination, and the destination of his passenger also.

Angelus sat cross-legged on the large cushion and drank from his goblet, the wine he had bought from Niekn Rynn was expensive for the distance, but truly worth the extra price for such quality. His traveller also took a sip and looked into the cup.
"Quite good isn't it?" he smiled as the traveller nodded.
"We should be at Vox Obduco soon, the Valde Attero is quite impressive at sunrise, so I reccomend an early night."
The Traveller nodded.

"But I want to know what a Student of Hero's is doing travelling so far out from the Vir Universtitas? I didn't even catch your name."
The Traveller nodded, and set his empty goblet down onto a small table, the caravan bounced slightly as it rattled towards a small camp built around a wooden fort, Vox Obduco was arriving.

"I am, as you know, one of Hero's Students, my name is Kaluthia Phyruss. I recently gained correspondance with some people in Schydin who are mapping the heavens in an attempt to unlock their secrets and their ability to guide us further from the coast by ship. In order to map them more accurately we spoke to a master-blower at Niekn Rynn to forge us a lense, unfortunately he couldn't, and instead we have a crystal one, it means the image is a little unclear, but it allows us to see the groups a little closer."
Angelus nodded and glanced at the wooden box that he had insisted he put in his caravan with them, he was being payed for this, so it didn't concern him, but the talk had intrigued him.

"So," he said as he set his own goblet down and tore off a small chunk of bred and added a little peice of mutton to it, "I assume this device is in there?"

"Yes, its called the teleskopos, or far seer. It is currently in peices, thats the main reason why I am travelling to Shyndin, to help show how they are assembled, it'll need replacement parts before soon, and I'm sure you'd be willing to help in some way, surely Mr Heroto?"

"If you pay me to get it there, then certainly." nodded Angelus as he popped the peice of meat and bread into his mouth. Kaluthia gave him a funny look "I've never seen such an odd combination of food before."
Angelus chuckled and took a sip of wine.

"A while back one of my food shipments was late and I didn't have anything left in my larder but some bread and a few peices of mutton, so I thought I should combine the two and see what it tasted like, I call it the Heroto." he smiled and had another peice, Kaluthia tried a peice and smiled.
"Not half bad."
"Nope, I'm opening up a place to sell it though, Heroto Food Emporium." he grinned, and the caravan shuddered to a halt. "We're here it seems"

Vox Obduco was an outpost-come-barter-market it was made up primarily of wooden shacks that had been built here out at the oasis long ago that kept it fed and watered, it also placed them within a straight line, and trade route between Shyndin and Bney Elonhim, and just a single day's ride from Athrio, perfect.

Opening the side of the caravan Kaluthia half-fell out, with a slightly amused chuckle from Angelus and a reassurance that the case would not be touched by anybody as long as it was in his caravan. Straightening out his robes he began to walk across the outpost area to the place he had agreed to meet the guide, a tavern.
He pulled the sheepskin used as a door and tutted as he entered, it was one of those old-style bars that required people to be bare-chested, some sort of old tradition that was designed to show off battle-scars, rarely performed these days. He pulled the top of his robe down and wrapped it around his waist before looking around for his guide, the tavern was busy, men and women chatting and drinking, off duty Guardians, traders, mercenaries, all here in this large wooden hut next to a cool pool of water, a tiny speckle of life in the area that was offically classified as "Nex" (dead) by the Universitas. Yet here was life, here was cheap meed, expensive wines, food in many forms (some inedible) and that smell of slow fermentation and sweat that deems to be associated with any kind of public establishment that sold food and drink.

The hills and mountains may hold riches to some, but to the Shadani it was simply their home and all too recent and recurring a battlefield. The resources they had access to and could use were scarce, and so the clans fought each other and raided settlements to the west, south and even occasionally north.
The differences between each clan may have been minor to outsiders, but the varying intepretations of their religion and even who should be chief of each particular clan added another layer of warfare to an already 'splintered' people. They stole almost every piece of technology they have, and as such the only 'idea' that remained with them for the long term has been the construction of temples out of wood, another precious resource.

It has only been in the last few years that a new leader has arisen, one capable of uniting a majority of the clans under one banner. He has waged war across the mountains and hills to bring his people together and songs, legends are already being heard of his almost superhuman strength, his capability in war and how he can down more hill-drink than anyone else for miles around. But now he, his advisors and the leaders of conquered clans are arrayed around the camp fire, plotting their next move, next territorial aqquisition.

The women and children dance while the younger men pray to their godess for protection and success in future battles. The people unfortunate enough to have been enslaved in Sho-A's conquests watch the proceedings warily, serving drinks and preparing the camp for when it's time to leave.
Tommorrow, they march.

Streaks of sunrise-red, bloody as the war-banners of Kehanec's host, are fading in the wide skies as the Tei alights from his horse to inspect the recent battlefield.

Riders of Erre Aserras encircled this camp during the night, striking as soon as the sun had imparted light enough to see by, and now the pavilions of Erre Alaztan are rent through with the cuts of sword and spear, punctured with arrowholes. Kehanec's riders have already gone through the possessions of the defeated, and many now sport torcs and armbands of Alaztanim gold, or trinkets prised from Alaztanim war-masks.

The portion set aside for Kehanec is the greatest amount, far more than any man could carry; but as Tei, he is expected to apportion these spoils among his lieutenants and the Aserrasim matriarchs. Among the heap are several fine iron swords, and Kehanec swings a blade experimentally to test it's balance, cutting lines into the morning air.

The sword is well-made, but the edge is dull; the Tei is no smith, but he thinks it may have come from lands further polewards - the smiths bordering Wethia are skilled. He will find a bearer for it among the loyal riders of his host.

Elsewhere the riders are piling up the slain; a large mound for the Alaztanim, and a smaller one for Kehanec's own riders. The Aserrasim heap is larger than he would like - horses will be led back riderless to the camps of the Aserrasim tonight. The Alaztanim mound is smaller than ideal, although it holds riders, women, and matriarchs mixed in equal measure; some of the foe managed to escape into the hill country.

But the Erre Alaztanim are broken, and the Aserrasim have their herds - a wealth greater than swords or gold. On the steppes, cattle are life, and horses are freedom. Both will please the Aserrasim matriarchs, which in turn will please Kehanec; as every Tei knows, the clan-mothers are better allies than enemies, and liable to marry you off to some cow-faced woman in a backwards Erre if you cross them.

OOC: And now the thinking has trickled out of my brain. Maybe it'll come back after dinner.

Once, in the Dawning, our goddesses walked among us providing and teaching.
Lo, and the men of Wethia listened, and were exalted by our own attention.
Lo, and the men of Wethia were strong, swift were our ships and far was our dominion spread over the lands of men.
Lo, and the men of Wethia sang our gratitude to the Sister-Creators who nurtured the child that was Man.
Lo, and our goddesses smiled upon on us
But that was many years ago.
~ Terence, C.30PH

Fractal Anthropology - Evolution of early Wethia - Hegemon to Backwater to Empire.
The early years of Wethian existence as a political, rather than a tribal, unit are lost to history. The earliest records begin shortly before the destruction of the "Wethian League" via a combination of internal strife, famine and external pressures. The collapse of the League and ensuing reduction of the area controlled by the then ruler, the "Archon of Sho", seems to have come as a massive cultural shock to the Wethians, the literature of the day becomes almost overnight funereal in aspect, the poets and dramaticists spinning tales of woe and, in several cases, branching out into very similar paths to Greek Tragedy in the Alpha timeline. (ref. Oedipal tragedies/Cultural Irrelevance)
In addition to this artistic woe the base element of Wethian society, the armed forces, collapsed, writhing against itself in a self-destructive orgy of guilt over it's role in the collapse of the League (ref. Praetorian practices/askari regiments).
While these internal struggles were relatively brief they had a massive flow-on effect, the "loyal" units regarding the survivors of the other units as tainted, a view many of the survivors shared.
In light of this taint, and, at the end of the period of strife, the accession to Archon of a pious and wise ruler (ref. Alexius 'the Redeemer'), saw the majority of those who served with the old Archon's regiments exiled while Wethia attempted to rebuild it's shattered hegemony over the surrounding area.
The fates of these exiles is, in nearly all cases, a mystery. We know of several who enlisted in the armies of other (Shodan's World) nations, a few returned home in time to lie in the funerarium at Wethia Primus, but the vast majority of Wethia's exiled sons vanish once beyond the Archon's writ.
However, we do have access to the journals of one of these Wethian exiles and his descriptions on the world he finds himself in are invaluable tools in examining it.
At the time of his surviving writings, starting from the end of the League Wars in Post Hegemony Year 30 and running to Year 45, Jarokontes of Wethia is a wandering mercenary who's homeland is emerging from a decades-long civil war, her internal wealth useless in the face of her internal strife, the endless and endlessly fertile plains of her demense fallow as farmers have been swept up into the legions slugging it out for control of the Archon's chair, the world around her is hungry without the food exports her fields provided.
What had been been is now not, Wethia's Archon and his conclave only controlling their own lands, the cities over the rivers, mountains and oceans that surround the city-state independent and contemptuous of the brawling plainsmen, revelling in their escape from her hegemony.
Jarokontes, even as he is exiled from Wethia with the wars just ended, is predicting the unleashed polii will swiftly be brought back into the fold and his career as a mercenary brings him through several of those cities as his prediction comes to pass, showing us a worm's eye-view of the politics and conditions of the day.

~~~

"When a man is tired of Wethia, he is tired of Sho's favour being writ so large. When a man is tired of Iibet he is tired of streets full of shit and fools yelling at the sky."
~ Akhimentes of Iibet, C.60BE

Somewhere in Iibet, C.39PH.
It's just before dawn.
I can tell it's just before dawn because one of the locals is wailing his sins to the Sky-Mother, hoping for absolution with the morning sun.
I hope Sho smites the fucker, it's entirely too early in the day for a man to be sounding like he's giving birth to an angry wek-cat through his nose.
Still, he makes a reasonable alarm clock, the damned racket dragging me from my squalid little cocoon in my squalid little room in this squalid little city in the asshole of T'an's green world.
I swing my feet out of bed, and, as I do every morning, curse the name of Abpatomenes and his desire to be Archon. Then I curse my idiot fifteen year old self for following the goat-chasing fucker, may Sho burn his soul in her forge.
The essentials accomplished, I stand, waiting for my ribs to twinge. Which they do not. Interesting. I prod one expirementally, and for the first time in weeks do not scream like a rabbit in a wek-cat's grasp. They must be healed.
I scratch them thoughtfully. I've always healed swiftly, but the Iibetii doctor had said months, not weeks. I shrug mentally, an other sign that Sho's favour is on me in all aspects but my location and move into the mix of stretches and mars-ti, the war-patterns, that have been my morning routine since I was old enough to ask my father what he was doing.
Stretches done, I pick a mostly-clean tunic and trews from the rack, carefully distanced from the floor and walls. No bugs in my hosiery thank you. Over it goes the iron mail-shirt Abpatomenes gave me for saving his life in the retreat from Wethia Primus. Fat lot of good saving the oaf did me. Or him, in the long run. Over the mail goes the heavy, sleeveless, green leather coat that marks me as a Wethian Miles, a soldier unmatched.
Or at least that's what I used to be. Now I am of the Wek-Miles, the Not-Soldiers. I sigh, and slide on the iron arm guards, the ends of the fore-arm guards painted with the blue & black wave pattern of my homeland, the blue of our ocean and the black of our sand and soil.
All my gear donned, advertising me as a Wek-Miles and thus a mercenary in need of work, I lift my mattress up and retrieve the most precious of my possessions, a sword made of Sho's Metal. I slide it out from the plain scabbard it hides in a little, and marvel at the sheen, cheering myself with this sign of my Goddess's blessing, a longsword with the pattern of Her waves beaten into it, heavy with purpose and age, the wek-sharkskin haft warm in my hand, before buckling it to my side and opening the wooden shutters of my mud-brick room.
Outside, the building's wooden frame projects out into the street, little birds resting on the frame, cheeping and scrabbling in the dust as the face of Sho illuminates the city. Ignoring them with lordly disdain is a brown and black Wek-Bird, mad red eyes opening as I lean out the window.
"Metallic wardrobe hey, means you've stopped the lazing about. Kill people we do?" inquires the little monster. I smile and it hops up my extended arm, inches-long claws delicate until it clambers up to the heavy leather pad on my shoulder.
"Yes Ko. Probably. We'll find someone to pay us for it first."
Ko's eyes cross and he coo's irritably, before running his hooked beak through my hair, murmuring to himself.
The morning's preparations completed, I head out of the building, a squalid apartment block which charges exorbitantly for it's relative closeness to the hiring markets and for the supervisor who also happens to be a competent doctor. Most of my neighbours are criminals and those who aren't officially so probably just haven't been caught yet.
At home the vigiles would have nailed the doors shut and torched it, after extracting the supervisor of course. Waste not and Want not are a big part of T'an's credo. Doctors are rare after all.
I amble through the city as it wakes, stepping over waste, animals, drunks and the ocassional corpse. An other big night in Iibet's Old Quarter. Alleyways watch me as I pass, calculate the value of the metal on my back versus my obvious status as a Miles and decide that unhappily, there's not enough bandits in all of Iibet's alleyways to make it worthwhile.
Ko shrieks obscenities at the skulking watchers and I let him, he enjoys it so, only stopping him when he flares his wings and begins to prepare to go and claim some faces for Sho.
Around us the city is putting out wares, whores are going home and the idle rabble that Iibetii call soldiers laugh and joke as they head off to open the wooden crap these people call gates.
Settle down Jarokontes. No point getting angry this early in the day. Plenty of time left to get alternately pissed off at this shitpot city and your own stupidity in landing here.
By the time I reach the markets it's fully light, the morning promising a hot day, plenty of time to heat my armour up to searing heat. That I wear it at all impresses these fools, but then they've never been introduced to the Mysteries. Even our women are tougher than these weaklings. Full armour in this craphole is nothing.
I catch myself doing it again, and shake my head to clear out the cobwebby might-have-beens.
"Ko, go up and see if anyone's in the mercenary section yet." Ko murmurs, bunches his powerful little legs and snaps up into the air, surprisingly powerful for the odd little shape of him. I stroke the crescent shaped pomel of my sword with my thumb as he circles the market once, then glides gently back down to my shoulder.
"Lati. Once."
A farmer eh. "Good lad Ko." The little pseudo-raptor preens and rubs against my hair as I move through the already-forming crowds and over into the smaller, quieter hiring courts, where various employers and employees negotiate. The mercenary area is outside the local temple to some wog foreign god. Violet or something. Stupid name for a god. A little joke at the notoriously pious Wethian expense making us stand outside to look for work. The bastards will laugh on the other side of their faces when a legion comes through and..
Damnit I'm doing it again.
Reminding myself that such a legion would undoubtedly be as much irked to see me as the temple to Violet, I move over to where a man, the farmer Ko identified by his sleeveless vest and simple white-linen kilt is looking nervously around, starting when he notices me.
I don't smile, and instead nod to him. He swallows and doesn't say anything. Fair enough. I'm a foot taller than him, wearing the worth of his life in the Kolmyrathan slave markets and I'm clearly one of the notoriously scary Wethian Miles. And there's a psychotic little wek-bird on my shoulder hopping from foot to foot, gleefully chanting battle-hymns in High God-Tongue.
"Ko, hush. I'm sorry neighbour, the bird doesn't really like people much. You know how Wek-animals are. Now, you look like a man in need of a sword, is that correct?"
The farmer nods, swallowing nervously. "Y-yes. My, my father sent me. For a soldier. There are b-b-b-"
"Bandits?"
A duck of his straw-hat covered head. "Y-yes. W-we, we can pay. Money even!"
I suck my teeth thoughtfully. Bandits I wouldn't usually waste my time on, but I haven't worked since I broke my ribs and money is tight and rare out here. I frown thoughtfully at the nervous little man, who has taken his hat off and is now turning it through his hands like a prayer wheel.
"How much money?"

Alea, Mansion/ Palace of the Altani clan

"So what about Nekwer and Kurst?" Nasapa asked, still facing the wall, and looking up its crude mosaics, imitations of the vast creations of the Kolmyrathans or NieknRynn, still not quite there... It was a little frustrating. Just like the whole building - it was supposed to be a palace, yet, it wasn't quite there.

Alea the backwater. It annoyed him.

"It's rather complex, Elder. The two cities are essentially at war, which is rather bad for business, including ours. Nekwer's fleet has been destroyed, and it seems to be... unprofitable. Also, trading with both cities might become a problem when either sees it as treachery."

"I see. And?" Nasapa turned around, robes flowing, and hiding his old, very old skin. He had seen almost seventy summers...

"Well..." Nesalis smiled. "I've a few friends there. The locals. The merchants of Kurst. They dislike the way the empire is developing - or rather, collapsing, and they want to have a helping hand. I see an, ah... A chance."

Nasapa didn't smile. He did, however, sit down, and leant back, eyes half closed. It's becoming a little much... "A chance?"

"Kurst would potentially be interested in joining a confederacy consisting of the two of us. It would of course screw our relations with Nekwer, but it might be worth it..."

"It might indeed..." A part of Nasapa's mind was thinking about different issues - the Qessai, and Alea's relations with them. The future of the clans - he was old, and he'd die, soon. And this would be the time when the clans would once more start to fight, to decide which clan would rule the next generation... Starting an adventure like this would be risky, to say the least. And then there was the question if they could work together at all, too.

And yet... He'd turned Alea into what it now was, into, well, not quite a power, but a place one recognised.

And he wanted more.

"What is the Imperial Governeur saying?"

"Nothing. I'm not sure he knows. But..."

"Yes, I know. Well..." Still no smile. But Nasapa's mind was working. "I trust you to do the necessary steps. If this can be done... then it will be done. Now leave... May She guide your hunt."

"Yes, elder."

Nesalis left the crude imitation of a palace that was the home of the Altani clan, getting to glimpse upon the arrival - the young daughter of the Ugana clan, leading the delegation that was bringing gifts.

This was how politics worked in Alea. Until someone died.

Then they ceased to work.

A fresh breeze was coming from the sea, where the ships were arriving, anchored, or leaving, bringing the clothes and wines and oils and woods Alea desired, and leaving with weapons and shields and silver. On the markets, Qessai warriors and NieknRynn traders exchanged goods and money, and from a tavern by the seaside, the sounds of fighting could be heard, drunk locals and maybe a few foreigners arguing about the services of the tavern's maid.

It were interesting times to live in. Very interesting times indeed.

At the Temple

Ishayahu smiled as the doors of the temple opened. The ceremony of the Day of Harvest has begun. And as the High Priest of the Blessed Sacred God, he could say with all authority – that was his favorite day of the year – well, one of the three favorite days of the year. It was on the Day of Harvest – as well as the New Year and the Day of Knowledge – that the Bney Elohim converged upon the Temple, to bring their sacrifices and gifts. Many and varied they were – the Bney Elohim, of course, but Ishayahu was mainly interested in the sacrifices.

There was a good reason to that. As the Blessed Sacred Lord has ordained, the Nahumites – and especially the priests – were prohibited to have land holdings of their own, or herds, and so they dependent on the gifts and sacrifices of the people to stay alive. Staying alive was of course relative – the mass of sheep, wool and weights of silver that poured into the temple every one of the Walking Days was more then enough to maintain the Nahumites and Priests well - even though some of it was burned down as a sacrifice, and some eaten by the visitors themselves.

Not all that was given was fit for sacrifice – pottery with the words 'To the Lord and His Astartes' was impure, and had to be disposed of. To Ishayahu, that meant only one thing: re-sell it. So was done with all the goods that the Temple did not need – for example, more meat was donated every Walking Day than could be eaten before it spoiled, and naturally it was sold to assure food and sacrifices throughout the year. But regardless, there was much more to the Walking Days than just assuring an income to Hodaya and his tribe. Otherwise, they would have stopped long ago.


In the Walking Days, all the tribes came together - the Arieh Tribe, with it's valiant warriors, and strong sheep which were good for shearing and for carrying the tribe's belongings on the long route to the temple but worthless as food, the Nahash tribe with it's tradesmen who bought the wool from Arieh and gave them their own fat, marvellous sheep that could feed a family for a week, the Dag tribe whose sheep were only there so they could carry the fish from the Southern Sea, the Halel tribe whose living was made by singing songs and playing their flutes, the Nadav tribe with the silver weights, and the Bashan tribe whose hills were perfect for wheat,

And all of those were one People, the people of the Blessed Sacred God! Here came the tribes again - the Hakhamim tribe, the Knowledgeable Ones, those who knew the diffeent names of the God, and it was they who have the tribes the best insights into the word of the Lord - except the Temple priests, of course. There went the people of the Noah tribe, with their wines - red and blue, let them pour, it's a Walking Day! Here come the Banot tribe, with their beautiful daughters - the other tribes will give great gifts again to marry their sons into Banot, and there'll be much ungodly cavorting, but today, the God is merciful, it's a Walking Day!

There was music and rejoicing, and here was Shevet Harashim entering the Temple Yard - the Bronzeworkers, who make the swords and the tools of the Sons of God, and Shevet Shafan - the Rabbit People, who are careful and wize and whose sheep are almost as good as those of Nahash, and Shevet Hazak - whose men and women are equally strong and can hoist a healthy sheep onto their shoulders and walk the perilous slopes towards the temple with it.

And they are one tribe! One people! Truly, merciful is the Blessed Sacred God, great are His works!

Above the hills of Bney Elohim, the sun was rising.

Lanaia hesitated, letting her hand rest on the edge of the sheepskin door for a moment before pulling it aside and entering as though she belonged. Walk as though you own the world, because you do. Casual eyes glanced at her and she glanced back, clear eyes with the palest reflection of blue hidden in their depths returning look after look with equal measure. She was alone here, not another Schydin in sight despite the nearness to Myzat, and as usual the newer travelers gave more than a glance. She ignored their inquiries, she would always ignore them. They were the strange ones, refusing to mark themselves with signs of power, refusing to worship deities and see the world in a light that truly existed. The strange were the ones who should be stared at, not those who followed customs as they should be taught. Walk in peace. She breathed deeply and scanned the room.

Angelus Heroto was not a new traveler; he would not eye her strangely or attempt to touch her droma nor would he ask her why she marked herself with Totems. Angelus would trade as men were supposed to trade and respectfully accept her people as they were. Breath, you find snakes where there are only sheep. Lanaia frowned at the crowd around her and forced her shoulders to relax. It was difficult to distinguish one man from another in this place. Idly, she scratched the Wind Totem on her left bicep. Swirls of silver colored ink ran from shoulder to elbow on both arms, seeming to spring from the sleeveless cloth shirt she wore. From the corners of her eyes the same wind pattern swirled outward to her cheeks in a mask of silvery paint that glinted orange in the occasional bright flicker of lamplight.

There. Heroto sat with a second man. Lanaia frowned and made her way to the table at which they had placed themselves, squeezing her small and pale body into a nearby seat. She had not been told he would be bringing another, Angelus Heroto generally met with her alone and the man he brought did not seem entirely comfortable with this place. She tried to smile, to seem encouraging, wind tattoos creasing with the smile.

“Angelus Heroto.” She bowed her head respectfully, diamond-blue eyes never leaving his face. She did not look at his companion; she would wait for an introduction. “My droma waits outside, whenever you are ready.”

"Lania! Its been a while, can I offer you some wine or meed before we depart?" Angelus locked into the gaze also, he had known her since Angelus had taken over his father's buisness, they had met here on the off-chance and when his convoy's travelled, she would meet the lead-driver. Ok it meant that a couple of times he had to chaiste the driver when he got back, but the threat of being consumed by Lania's mount usually put payed to any lewd behaviour out here from any of his drivers.

"Oh how silly of me! This here is Kaluthia Phy-eer."
"Kaluthia Phyruss, student of the Vir Universitas. I'm err headed up to Shyndin to meet with somebody at Myzat, we're going to chart the heavens to better understand ourselves."

“Kaluthia Phyruss.” Lanaia bowed as best she could from her position in the overly cramped table. More people were coming into the tavern by the moment and she was becoming increasingly less comfortable. “I see, you bring the Far Seer to map the skies.” Heroto had brought what he was supposed to, though the mystery of Phyruss was not yet resolved. “Vir Universitas is a place of learning for you, I thought. It surprises me that one from a place of learning would travel the trails of merchants with a Far Seer.”

"Yes, well, I'm, uh, studying the skies also, so I felt it'd be a good idea for me to tag along and live in Shyndin for a while to help with the work, show how the, uh, "far seer" works." he nodded, then glanced around. "Its, uh, crowded in here, I feel perhaps we should get back to the convoy."

"Yes, yes I suppose so, very well." nodded Angelus as he drained the last of his cup and sat it down, the three of them headed to the door Kaluthia immediately pulled his robes back up and felt much more comfortable, Angelus sighed, clapped his hands together and sorted his own out. They walked back to the convoy where a small fire had been made, the wagons had been drawn into a circle and the drivers were passing around a bottle of meed. Kaluthia jumped when one of the steeds, covered in shadow spat and hissed, and moved out from the shadows, it came to a stop next to Lanaia. Kaluthia merely stared at its scales.

Lanaia smiled in truth and patted the droma's scaled shoulder, standing as tall at the shoulder as her head on lightly clawed feet. It hissed again and nipped at a nearby horse before the animal was wise enough to shy away. Nothing else had been tethered within biting range of the sinuous green neck or reptilian yellow eyes. It lifted one of its long back legs to balance precariously on one foot and receive attention. She smiled as though it were her pet, watching the four almost finger-like toes of its foot curl and uncurl with pleasure.

“His name is Tyyler. He is two and one half seasons old.” Her fingers traced the ridgeline above his eye, past the protective membrane that guarded his ear and down the brown stripe pattern that casually overlapped the brilliant green of his hide. “Do not touch his snout, he will take your fingers if not your hand.”

Her attention returned fully to what Kaluthia Phyruss had said before her droma had come into view, before the twin sisters that were this place’s moons began to peek over the darkness of the horizon. “I will take you to Myzat at dawn, when Tyyler may see to carry us.” The droma placed its foot on the ground, shorter front ‘arms’ clenching and unclenching in a distinctly raptorial manner.

"I see..." Kaluthia merely eyed the creature before deciding that further discussion wasn't really all that necessary, instead he went and sat down by the fire.

Angelus peered a little at the mount, as if weighing him up. "He's a little smaller than Dreke Lanaia, I thought you were breeding them better up in Shyndin now? This one seems every so slightly runtish, might be the age I suppose."

Lanaia shrugged and watched Kaluthia walk past the droma's lashing tail. "Dreke was my great grandfather's long before he was mine. There is only so much that you can account for in size. He had grown large enough that it was time to give him to the fighters and find someone swifter for me."

Turning, she joined the schooled one at the fire, looking over her shoulder only to tell Angelus. "You should come to Myzat some time. You would see droma like nothing you have ever seen me ride. Dreke was only at half of his life and Tyyler is not even a child."

Angelus merely nodded and sat down also by the fire.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Janus pulled back the tent flap and walked in to find Madam Offico completely nude and holding some sort of leather whip.
"Ah, Janus, clothes off, you're in the presence of your Offico and should be dressed like them at all times, Mucro Vir pass-"
"Passage 12 Madam Offico." Janus said as he took his robe off.
The Offico nodded. "I call this punishment Janus because tomorrow we march all the way back to Haretafa and you're not getting any sleep tonight."
"Oh, cru-" Janus murmered before the lips of the Offico met his.

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Miles from Vox Obduco sat the great Templum Eternus Visio, where they had just began to light the great fires around the Eternus Visio itself, the furnaces had been angled carefully to force the light of the fire onto the giagantic visage, which reflected back and around the temple, causing it to shine out across the Pilgrims Mile, even now as the sun set down behind them and the twin moons rose did they still come. Known as "Infardi" they usually came offering food to the great visage, some could pay more and would arrive by Divum Sanctomora.

Laro pulled the lever and the little machine hissed into life, he felt it judder slightly as the two small carts behind it pulled and followed, a small offering of grain, imported no doubt, and two high-class passengers sat in the carts, the mile was infact closer to two, but it usually helped the elderly think they were only walking one.

The two flat metal plates hanging down began to rotate a little faster as the cart rattled, and Laro heard a slight crack, this was his last round trip of the day, and he knew that in the morning he'd have to talk to the other Chariot-Brothers and replace the section that he had evidently heard begin to break. He glanced around at the rocks and small farms that littered nearby to the raised chariot-way, it was interesting that the small sun that had risen seemed to cast a gentle glow across all the fields and few wooden dwellings that were out here, the temple itself loomed and Laro pulled the lever again, the hissing slowed and stopped and the cart continued to move on silently, the couple bounced inside and waved down at some of the lower-born as they trudged dutifully up to the templum to pay their worship and respect to the avatar of the Great Goddess. The young and the elderly, some hunched with sacks of food to offer, some to give to the templum preists so they could continue their eternal praying.

The charriot came to a gentle stop and a slight shudder as it hit the large stone block at the end of the chariotway, Laro bowed as the high-born couple alighted and walked down the stone steps to the templum, the firelight from the furnace used to power the chairot burned, the light catching the gold plate that replaced part of Laro's cheek.

After the couple had reached the bottom of the steps he checked his leather gloves were on properly and threw a few wooden and black chunks onto the fire, he didn't quite trust this strange new material that had come from Valde Astrum Mei, but it seemed to burn well when mixed with the peatmud wood.

He then dutifully stepped out onto the platform and bowed again as some other Templum Preists arrived with clay pots and containers to take away the grain and store it. He then shook his gloves again and grabbed one of the still-leaking pipes on the dull hanging down wheel and turned it into the opposite direction with a grunt, he then pulled the wheel around and did it again, then went across, where there was another stone platform with no stepps and did it again, he then sighed and sat down in the cart where the high-born couple had been and watched the other preists move the grain away.

He sighed and closed his eyes for a short-while, his days were long and tiring, but it was his holy task to ensure the safe piloting of the Steam Chariot, the Eternus Visio had sent it to him in a vision after all. For now he could rest a little before taking the high-borns back to Alexarta and going to sleep in his own small house which was part of the Sky-Chariotway.

Man is a Wolf to Man
~ Wethian Proverb

Banditry. The most iredeemably stupid career choice on T'an's Green Earth.
Oh I'll admit there's the occasional cunning one, sly enough that he passes into local legend before he's crucified or what have you.
But mostly they're as dumb as the rock formations they inevitably skulk within in this part of the world.
The batch belonging to my farmer, who rejoices in the supremely inappropriate name of Adofo, are no sharper than the rest. Their 'watchman' is sitting silhouetted by the fire outside of their cave, dozing more due to the jug he's slowly drained over his watch than any obvious tiredness.
He slumps a little more against the rocky bowl of the opening of the cave, lifting his crude pottery jug and slurring a blessing to the Sky Mother, giggling to himself.
Like I said, iredeemably stupid. Their trail from the last farm they'd burned had been wide and unconcealed, abandoned loot a signpost up into the hills.
The most difficult part of this job so far had been the climb up the side of the rocks, the gravel and sand that form most Iibetian hillsides threatening to cascade down with every step.
After that, ensconcing myself with recurve and waterbottle had been simple, watching the bandits drink, argue and fight, waiting for near dawn, dozing fitfully throughout the day.
An owl hoots somewhere and Ko, who has been dozing fitfully on my quiver rocks awake, head rotating around, mad red eyes glowing faintly in the dark, before he shrugs his wings and tucks his head back under his wing.
I grin at him, before moving carefully into the full shadows behind me, stretching carefully so as not to jingle my mail before dropping back into a crouch, crab-walking down the slope, gravel trickling down with me inevitably, but not enough to attract my drunken friend's attention.
I ghost to a halt by one of the ox-sized boulders forming the "mouth" of the little depression leading into the cave, and sight carefully, the heavy bowstring cutting into the leather fingerguard on my left hand, before I release it and the crescent-headed arrow smashes into the watchman's throat.
The massive pull of a Wethian recurve means the arrow, with it's open-mouthed crescent shearing through tissue like a scythe through grass, nearly decapitates the dozing bandit.
I wait a heartbeat, notching an arrow. Two heartbeats. Nothing other than the faint gurgling of blood from the ex-watchman and a slight thud as his head topples off, proving there was no "nearly" about the decapitation. On the third heartbeat I smack my flint against the rock I'm sheltered behind with a sharp crack!
Sparks jump onto the rag wrapped around the arrowhead and the oil-soaked cotton flares up immediately, flaring against the night as I launch it into the cave.
It thuds into what I'd thought what a pile of rags, but turns out to have been one of the bandits, who snaps away screaming at the arrow buried in his person, then screaming louder as the fire spreads to his filthy rags. He rolls to his feet with commendable speed, shrieking and beating at his robes, running back and forth across the cave, wild flails flicking flaming cloth onto his fellows, who also scramble around the cave as the fire spreads.
Blinking to regain my night-vision from the sudden and spreading brightness, I put an other couple of arrows into the yelling and burning crowd, before dropping my bow and drawing my sword.
The Sho-Metal hisses out of the scabbard and I take three long steps into the flaming madness the cave has become, blade flowing through the light robes of the bandits, who, confused and broken are not even close to realising I'm there before the last, a particularly well-dressed young man with a-certainly-looted iron khopesh, has fallen.
I bow, and offer a prayer to T'an, the Forgiving Mother, for their souls as I clean my blade. While banditry is always stupid, sometimes stupidity is the only choice. The essentials taken care of, I idly peruse the loot. Adofo will arrive here at dawn to pay me and to reclaim whatever he feels is useful for his people from the bandits' gear.
A thorough examination later, I claim the khopesh and the few bits of coin the bandits have on them, before I start stripping the bodies and dumping them into a crevasse at the back of the cave. Judging from the smell, the bandits appear to have used it as a toilet themselves. Fitting.
I'm just about to drag the last, the well-dressed one, who's face has drawn up into a sneer in death, when my brave Adofo peers around the rock I'd shot from behind, moustache twitching nervously. He sighs with relief when I wave, and move out to greet me, before stopping dead as he catches sight of the corpse I'm dragging. Pale as a sheet he wheezes something, pointing at the dead man.
By this time I've been awake on and off since dawn the previous day, so my bark of "What!?" is perhaps harsher than necessary, but it has the desired effect as Adofo shakes his head, hugging his skinny chest, pointing his chin at my dead burden.
"That is the Emir of Iibet's youngest son. His favourite child, one he would let get away with anything, including playing bandit with his courtiers. Sky-Mother protect us, his favourite son!" Adofo starts to shake, and as his eyes roll up into his head all I can think of to say is...
"Oh fuck."
My goddess is a capricious and fickle one.

When the wind blew from sunset across the plains it blew parched and hot, ridden by spirits and unquiet ghosts, hammering and howling around the pavilions of the Qessai.

In such weather, the herders and their shaggy long-horn cattle hunkered down, the faces of beasts and men turned away from the rough entreaties of ghosts and wind. Those who could waited out the gale within the soundly-anchored pavilions of the Errem, attending to the myriad tasks of life.

The Qessai had no real division of labour; even a Matriarch, or a Blue Speaker, or the Tei himself must mend their own equipment, as Kehanec was now doing. His hands were deft enough to push a bronze needle through leather, pull sinew after it to repair a broken saddle. Around him, the Matriarchs of the Aserrasim were engaged in similar work; there was always something needing a pair of hands to attend to it.

Secluded in the privacy of their pavilions, the Matriarchs shed their all-enveloping veils and robes, discarding the aura of imperious mystery for the very familiar, personal presence of women who would not take lip from anyone, be he Tei or herdwatcher. Thus revealed, they possessed the chocolate skin, compact bodies, and snub-nosed, triangular faces common to the Qessai - furrowed, in some cases, by nearly threescore years of life.

"We need closer ties with Erre Yasugin," one of them - Dehan - was saying. "Erre Izan is closely bound to Aserras already - we should be expanding our greater-family throughout the Errem, not concentrating it within the bloc. If we focus on the ties we already possess, how can Aserras confront a greater bloc - like the Laskaim? I am sure the Yasuginim have a suitable bride for Ezkeraz - their riders took enough girls from the Wethians*, a generation ago, to have one for every Qessai woman of that Erre."

"And yet you think it is wise to make marriage ties with the Yasuginim, an Erre half whose mothers, now, were born to the dirt? We Qessai are the eldest children of the Grey Mother - we shouldn't be encouraging such things. The children of those Wethian girls may be Qessai as far as it counts, but the Yasuginim are as stupid as Wethian goats to make such a practice of it."

Aurren was full of disdain for the Errem further polewards, and the wretches who scrabbled out a living in plant-husbandry beyond them - Yasuginim raids might capture Wethian women alongside Wethian trophies (and Kehanec suspected the Aserrasim would do the same, if they were presented with the opportunity) but the Matriarchs naturally disapproved of the practice as falling outside the careful intrigue of arranged marriages which held Qessai hosts together.

Kehanec, as a man among the Matriarchs, had no real authority here - only the ability to offer advise concerning the disposition of Ezkeraz, a prized lieutenant, in marriage, and he would wait to be asked before offering it - unmarried himself, Kehanec was fair game for the machinations of the clan-mothers. Erre Aserras was his host, and it would be a terrible setback to have to start anew in some other Erre. The Matriarchs were valuable but capricious allies.

"And yet don't they have good smiths, and swords from Wethia itself?" Dehan rejoindered. Aurren was her cousin, and the two were constantly sparring - if Dehan took one position, Aurren would assume the opposing one. "They may be fools, but they are not entirely irredeemable. And whether or not they are weakened by puling dirt-born women, we need to spread our greater-family, not keep it to our chests. You haven't said anything about that."

"A tightly bound bloc cannot be pulled away from under us as a stretched one can, then. Let us suppose we married Ezkeraz to some Yasuginim girl. What, then, when Laskai finds a suitable rider or three of their own, to pull Yasugin into their bloc? Tei Kehanec, don't you agree that a close-knit host is better than a loosely-held one?"

Kehanec considered, in the seconds he had avaliable before giving no response would be an insult. The Matriarchial worldview of blocs and marriages was not his, which rested on riders and tactics, but any Tei, dealing as he must with riders originating from different Errem, had to gain an understanding of the careful maneuverings of his Matriarchs.

"Too many riders can be as bad a thing as too few, on a battlefield," he replied, "And any Tei would be more comfortable leading a loyal host than a fractious one."

Dehan shot him a withering look, but several of the other Matriarchs were nodding - surely these women, manipulating powers of which Kehanec and his host were only the final, least subtle arrow, understood the concept of treachery.

"Izan, then. Or Erre Xuellin? Their herds are greater."

"Their worth to the bloc is lesser despite it," Indasan - oldest of the Matriarchs, lined and worn like ancient stones - replied. "Erre Izan has strong ties to Errem outside our bloc, ties we ourselves do not hold. They are closely bound to us, but Erre Aserras would benefit further, were they to be held closer still.

"Cattle and horses are all very well in the game of arrows, but do not forget that we play the game of blood - it requires strategems more subtle than those of men."

Indasan's grey eyes flickered around the circle, and the authority contained in them quelled any disagreement.

"And who in Erre Izan would be a bride deserving of a Tei's lieutenant?" Aurren asked. "It would be best if we had some names to offer the Izanim Matriarchs, if we wish them to agree to such a match. A nobody of Qessai breeding would be as poor a bride as some half-Wethian Yasuginim."

"Qiano, perhaps? A Matriarch's daughter would be a suitable tie."

"Should we go to the Izanim, then, with our hands outstretched, and request the most noble of their daughters? A daughter of Ezkeraz's stature could command any dowry, could marry the sons of a Tei's wife - but Ezkeraz is no woman, and to the Izanim goes the advantage."

"Iriani is Matriarch Ikenyu's niece. Ezkeraz is a Tei's lieutenant, and we cannot give him too cheaply."

"Iriani is unheard in the councils of the Izanim. I had heard she intends to become Inkerre, and the host-sisters do not marry."

"Chuari? Iriani's sister has rather more influence."

"Chuari is flighty as a yearling colt ... but yes, the younger niece of Ikenyu may indeed suit our needs."

"Honoured Mothers?"

The eyes of the Matriarchs turned to regard Kehanec, who shifted uncomfortably. No Qessai man would be still of heart, with the combined gaze of his Matriarchs upon him.

"Honoured Mothers, I regret to say ... my lietenant detests Chuari of the Izanim. He has told me she is as scatterbrained as a hare."

A smile twitched on Indasan's stony visage. "My dear Tei Kehanec ... since when has that ever meant anything, in the game of blood?"

OOC: *I've checked with Wethia's player and this fits - it's within his League War, when Wethia was in chaos and Qessai raiders could easily have carried off hapless villagers as prizes of battle.

The Medini family sat upon the throne of Goran, they looked over their city with the smug feeling of self-importance. "We have been guided to greatness and we still have great heights to climb." was a phrase that the head of the family ,Royan Medini, frequently said. The other 'families' of power in Goran the Rooad's and the Tarine's where always in the backbround plotting for an over throw of the the Medini's, and there allies. If you where allied with someone you better had make it their family where on top... or else.

Not only where the leaders smug but so where the tradsmen of Goran, having access to plentiful resources of timber and skilled carpentry, Goranesse ships where well crafted and sturdy. Along with the numerous pieces of furniture the lower classes churned out. Most of the Goranese Traders had a reputation for being hard bargainers and sly. Not adverse to taking slaves or any other goods that might conviently 'fall into their lap'. Whether or not it was legal or not, and usually managed to be smart about it. Only taking people or things no one would care if they went missing or any witnesses around. This happened very infrequently and the Goran's made most of their money getting goods from where they where in excess to where they in need. Most of the goods where kept on the ships that bought them until a buyer had been located.

The Medini's paid a yearly tribute to the Kolmyran Empire. It was the only way they have left Goran alone. This left the Medini's smug about Goran's protection, no way would the Kolmyrans want their source of money. And no one would want to anger the Kolmyrans. Even so the Traders where esspecially weary not to take any Kolmyran's as slaves usually it was the Kolmyrans who where their biggest customers in that regards. T

Royan looked up to the Tower of Time, the delicately intricate device that kept ticking every second, tick, tick tick... They had the clock for 20 years and every year the clock had been tested against Astronomical time keeping methods and was only 10 minutes out. Despite these official checks the no one in Goran paid any attention to it. It was just there as a reminder of how great they where.

Royan had also decided to finance an expedition.. to explore the waters of the south. There was a hope that there was a great southern land there waiting to be discovered bearing bountiful reaches of gold, silver, precious gems... and most important thing of all. Bountiful tracks of land, the type of land that farmers drool over. Well that's what the explorers said and the Medini's believed them. Though if they where wrong they would be accused of Treason and killed.

Aurora was the ship that was heading on the exploration and final preperations where just under way... What would happen? Would the crew even return back alive? No one ever knew on these things but they had to go where the stars had lead and the stars told them south.

For most of the men and women of Novistrana, religion was their opiate; everything that they did, they did thinking of the Promised Land, the Land of the Glowing Sun. For them, the only pursuit was to live a simple life, a life blessed by the Gods themselves, so that upon death, Shiriay would open his arms and accept them into the Everland. But there were those who rejected this ideal; some who claimed that there were no Gods, some who believed that the Gods were evil, some who simply wished to live a life of excess. The soldiers of the Novistranan Army were dedicated, among their innumerable other tasks, to wiping out what the Emperor called infidels. Anyone who was seen to fall outside the lines was removed.

The elderly man on the steps to the Vezina Library was one of these. His name was unknown to the ten-strong squad of soldiers, but that was not a concern for them - he was an order to be carried out. In full, shining gold armour, the soldiers were quite a sight, but no-one laughed. No-one would ever laugh at someone who had carte blanche to commit whatever crimes they felt without fear of retribution, just as no-one would ever laugh at someone with a long sword and a short fuse.

Stamping to a halt, the leader strode up to the old man, unrolling a parchment scroll. Like most soldiers, his happiness at becoming one of society’s elite had mutated swiftly into arrogance, and this sentiment was only heightened by Captain Merak’s belief he was firmly on his way up the ranks.

‘Josef Ilya Vasicek,’ he proclaimed loudly. The old man threw him a contemptuous glance over his shoulder.

‘You don’t need to go ahead with the reading, Malik. I know what you’re about to say - exile, never to return, leave the empire entirely.’

Merak smiled grimly. ‘No, my friend. For you, the sentence is much more final. You are to be executed.’

‘On charges of conspiracy to revolt, treason and religious hatred, no doubt. The tools of an effective dictatorship always lie with the soldiers.’ The man sighed, holding out his wrists in resignation. A little perturbed by Josef’s acquiescence, the young soldier holding a set of manacles, and set to work disabling their captive. Josef Vasicek was well-known to the soldiers of the Vezina garrison - he was a scientist, who had been responsible, in the past, for the development of the ballistae and the continued improvement of the army’s ranged weaponry. He was also, however, a religious deviant, who believed that science was the way forward, and unlike many of his followers and students, he was outspoken about it.

His brother had met much the same fate. Ruslan Vasicek, a learned man like himself, had long protested that the elections were a sham, and that these freedoms were the only way for their culture to develop. Twice the Emperor had him arrested, and twice he was released and warned not to do it again. He ignored them, and continued to get his message across - finally, he was taken away, kidnapped in his home, and two days after, he was beheaded in the town square, denounced as a terrorist.

Such is the way of life, of Novistrana.

The Shadani have not marched in such numbers since the youth of the greatest elder's elder, and it is only the iron will of Sho-A that drives them on, the families keeping up with the warriors, as they are almost born with an axe in their hand, from a very young age learning to be one of their clan. Everyone in the vast host has a scar or old war wound of some description, for they have all faced many battles before, the ferocity of clan warfare breeding strong, hardy and vicious warriors.

Their discipline is almost not-there, even Sho-A himself having to win many a companion and prove himself by defeating a Kolymathran mount in combat among other things before they would bow before him. He rides with his personal guard among the horde, driving that section on as the warriors march, run. It would still be nightfall on a too distant day before they reached the mountains, and it would be too late in the night, all of them too exhausted to assault the republic with Sho-A forcing them on.

And so they camp, lighting no fires and cooking no food, sleeping next to their supplies and weapons. The host would move against the republic on the next day, the prospect of a good battle warming their hearts and temporarily replacing their need for food. Many would die, but those that survived would bring home a great story and much status for themselves, assuming that some did in fact live through the coming conflict. Sho-A stays awake as the others spread across a small portion of the mountains sleep, praying to his goddess for fortune in battle, that he gains enough favour that his 'story' spreads across the world, for good or bad.

May Sho bless me and my clan with good fortune, may the great grey one instill in my mens hearts courage that we may win the day, that I may earn a new name for myself, and strike down those that would stand before us...

Nebech had just returned from his raid of a small Qessai settlement north of there. The raid had been quite successful and they had even managed to get a couple of slaves that he was sure the Kolm would like. He also knew that it was the most important raid of his career as if he had failed then Thomos Beldrinot would have tried to overthrow him.

His leadership had always been tenous. One bad raid or poor decision and he was gone. That's how politics was always done in the Albel society, they seemed to know nothing but violence and to an outsider like him it was much different. He was captured as a boy by the Albel after they sacked his city, and instead of killing him, like they usually did, he was made a slave. He progressed steadily as a warrior and soon led the infantry in the Albel's raids. He continued to rise and even bought out his slave status to become a general. Then Nebech got really lucky, he got the perfect conditions and had the most successful raid in the Albel's written history and had used this to become the Great General or leader of the Albel society.

Since that raid though he had trouble repeating his success and even had failed on a raid that got a very promising young lieutenant captured. This had made Beldrinot's rise even more worrisome. This raid though had made Nebech happy and now he was about ready to move to more ambitious another raid against the Kolmyran. This time though it might be a fortified city. That didn't seem like a good idea at the moment though, he was just waiting for his most loyal general, Yelsi Geldramai, to come back from his raid and then he would see his next move.

He only hoped that raid was successful or else he might be dead because that would be his poorest choice yet. Oof, why did politics have to be so fical here? One bad raid and bam! your dead. It was one bad raid and your dead. It was only what have you done for me lately, memories just didn't seem to last here at all. Well, whatever, he was here and Great General Nebech Yehudah was here to stay.

Esemkhebe brushed a stray lock of her hair away from her face with the back of her hand, still speaking to Akana in the calm, reassuring voice she had tried to use since labor began. Around them were others, both priestesses and family, including Akana’s Chosen, Rasui, who held her hand and wiped the sweat from her brow with a gentle, concerned touch.

The woman strained against the birthing chair with the next push, breathing hard and even now, forcing a broken prayer to the Goddess for strength through her clenched teeth. Her hours of effort were finally rewarded, and she collapsed back against the not quite upright woven chair back with a sob of relief and triumph. Esemkhebe gently cradled the child, cleaning the little face with a soft cloth, making sure the airways were cleared – no question remained as the baby began to cry that all was well.

Placing the newborn in his mother’s arms, the priestess stepped back slightly to appreciate the moment. A new life, surrounded by loving family, and the Daughters of Chioné, all gathered in the sheltered garden of the home where the mother had chosen to bring her little one into the world. In the eyes of Esemkhebe, nothing could be more beautiful, or bring them any more close to the Goddess as this.

Later, after Akana had been properly attended to, she and her baby – a boy that they had chosen to name Ubaid – were resting comfortably, watched over by a very proud Rasui. The rest of the family, now joined by friends, and those of the priesthood who could remain, gathered to begin the feast and celebration that would last long into the night. Mother, father and child would join when they wished, their needs attended to by their family, and given the usual respect for any privacy or quiet time they needed.

As it had been for as long as they could remember, by the grace of Chioné it would remain for as long as they could foresee.

Tradition.

Esemkhebe knew it was not this way everywhere, and at times, this knowledge saddened her. From what reports were brought in by those who venture out to trade, or those few who made it back from long the long pilgrimage they called Ndjedi-Ma’at, to go out among their brothers and sisters to try and teach by word and example the truths of the Goddess that they believed had been lost by so many of the others. Never by force, and never by pressure. A person’s path was chosen by them, after all – not for them. Such was not the way of the Goddess as they understood it.

Few returned for many reasons, among them death, for the way was long, and the roads often harsh, and beset with all manner of peril. Some found peace among their fellow children of Chioné, living out their lives in continued service to their Goddess, finding a home and sometimes family away from the Quibilah. Some remained through no choice of their own, given the unnatural drive some of their brothers and sisters had to hold ownership over one another.

Yes, the world was vast, and often full of pain, and death, and fear. Not like here, where there was ease and plenty, and though they were not immune from troubles, at least they seemed in the larger scheme of things to be relatively small. Esemkhebe could not remember the last time they had had to fight against their brothers and sisters, though the people took steps to remain ready should such a thing come to pass again. If the road out was hard, the road in was equally so, and most it seemed were content to let them be, as they caused their neighbors no trouble.

There were those who might call the Quibilah blessed, which they would not deny, and rich beyond compare to those in the world who had little. While work still had to be done, they all benefited from it, and each who chose to did their part, be it those who tended the flocks, or wove the cloth, or had learned the art of fire and hammer to purify the living rock of the mountains and high cliff walls that surrounded their deep valley to make the many metals they enjoyed, both for tools and ornamentation. Here, the waters ran clear, the crops were plentiful, the animals were healthy and whether domesticated or wild, there seemed more than enough for what was needed.

Here, in the valley, was home. And here for generations they had lived, trying to learn the secrets of those things around them, passing their knowledge on first by word and song, and later by paintings that they made on the walls of the caves they found, and expanded on, and now, in addition to the old traditions, they kept record of on the scrolls they had made from the thin-beaten fibers of a plant that grew in abundance along the river. For some time the caves had served a number of purposes, in addition to the previous keeping of pictorial references, for here they laid to rest the bodies of their dead, and took refuge in times of need. Stories told of a time long past when the skies had darkened and the earth shook, and the Quibilah had taken to the caves as the sky fell and coated the valley in choking ash.

But then, the stories told of many things that Esemkhebe found difficult to imagine. The tales of giant eagles she knew for truth – they still lived high on the peaks, far beyond the reach of man. Many who had journeyed up to where the land touched the sky for their right of passage had seen them, more closely than they would like. It was held they were sacred, guardians of a sort, and as long as they watched over the valley, the Quibilah would come to no lasting harm.

Other stories of great monsters, and beasts that knew the speech of man, and shared in part their form, were common, and yet, unproven. Now and then, one would come back telling of some strange thing he or she had seen, in the remote peaks, or along the road, or more alarming, among the trees in the dark of the forest, or down among the reeds. Still, nothing had been proven, and one way or another, it was believed all would be well in the end should something worse than the great cats appear to stalk them.

It was their belief that it was the will of the Goddess that they do what they would, and what they could. While belief in her favor and protection was unquestioned, their belief that it was through their own efforts that their faith would be proven was strong as well. Nothing worth having was gained easily – childbirth being a prime example of that. And given how precious a thing it was among the Quibilah, where families remained small, and children were considered a rare blessing, it made the example all the more pertinent.

Esemkhebe took a slow sip of honeyed wine, smiling quietly as she watched the group join in song, some taking up instruments to accompany them. So long as families still joined together to celebrate life, so long as the people remembered the teachings that had been passed on, whatever trials came their way, it was all worth it. Setting her cup aside, she walked over to join them, several women standing and joining hands as they began to dance to the music, faces bright with the simple joy of living.

“Ma’ati!” they cried, welcoming her in with open arms and joyful smiles. And when at last she made her way back to the temple to her own rooms for the night, she prayed again to Chioné to continue to watch over these people that she so loved, to thank her for the blessings they enjoyed, and for the new life she had given them this day.

Tomorrow she would begin her own small trek to visit the other towns and settlements around the valley, but for now, she slept, content in her calling, resting peacefully as dreams of one day sharing in the joys of having her own child filled her head.

The noon sun shines brightly, warming those gathered in the chilled air of the grand amphitheater. Most every person in the city is there, save those too infirm or on watch on the walls and heliograph station. Down on the stage, a small group in gathered. At the sound of a horn, the crowd goes silent, and an old man steps up to the podium.

“Welcome, welcome all. I thank you greatly for coming on this most auspicious day, as we meet the equinox and the five hundredth year of the city. It has been an honor and privilege to serve these last four years. I give great thanks to you all.” After a minute of applause. “I have but two tasks left. First, I welcome Julius Caspian Nerva Five-Sixty-Nine as my replacement as Technical Processor. And now, the year in review.”

He makes a show of opening a scroll before him. “In the four-hundredth and ninety-ninth solar year since the founding, there were five hundred and sixty-three deaths, and five hundred and seventy-nine births, an increase of sixteen souls, well within the current population expansion plan's guidelines, and leaving us with a total population of thirty-nine thousand, nine-hundred fifty-two. There were three hundred and twenty new entries in the Books of Collected Epiphanies, slightly below average but well within norms.”

He takes a sip of water, and continues. “Numerous public works were created, including the new windpumps for the valley's antipolar terraces, several miles of road, and upgrades to the walls in Fahgawn. Finally, there was no significant trouble with the Shadani last year, and harvest yields were good. In short, it was a very pleasant and productive year. Now, I bid you a fond fairwell, and give you Seepeeyoo Vorcroft!”

The crowd cheers, as a younger man walks up, shakes his predecessor's hand, and takes the stand. “Thank you, sir, and I wish you a happy retirement. I'll try not to keep the rest of you too long as I outline my objectives for this year. First, I am happy to say that the rangers report the polar passes are now clear, and travel will shortly be possible. Several new Acquisition teams are already preparing, and we hope to see the return of several more...”

Early Morning, Several Days Later

At the courtyard of the setside gate, a dozen people has gathered, along with a milling crowd of animals and servants. Near the gate itself, a man in mail and a resplendent red cloak jumps up upon a box, and addresses the group. “Morning, everyone! In case you haven't met me, I'm Corporal Nicolas Fraser, and I'll be leading the group until we reach the foothills. This will be your last chance to opt out, maybe for a few years, so if you have any doubts now's the time to say something.” He waits a moment, but the others stay silent. Fraser grins and claps his hands. “Excellent. I expect to reach Fahgawn by nightfall, and then we should make Bad Wolf by the day after. We'll be leaving the carts behind there and using the pack llamas from that point. As far as we know, all of the supply stations are now ready, and I expect to be able to stop at one each night after leaving the outpost. From Bad Wolf to the foothills normally takes about a week and a half, if condition are good. From there, we split up.”

He looks around. “Well, if there aren't any questions, we'll head out. If everyone would get with their groups, we'll start in a few minutes.

The mountains of Kalus have long hidden many secrets. Tales of great riches, buried deep beneath the earth, and of sorcerors and hermits abound. The caverns and passages extending deep throughout the mountain range are lesser known by those of the Lands Beneath, and many have theorized that, were it possible to navigate the confounding mazes beneath the surface, that one would eventually emerge in the Lands Beyond.

Not even the people of Kalus are foolish enough to attempt such a feat, as even they are truly only upon the slopes above the Lands Beneath, and the mountains stretch as far as the eye can see antipolar.

But, it is an intriguing idea, nonetheless, and the scholars of Kalus have oft been occupied in debate on what, and who could possibly exist in the Lands Beyond.

It is the Lands Below, however, that draw the most attention. Those Who Live Below make war upon each other, squander resources in the name of Wealth, and Greed. The Kolmyrathan Empire crumbles in the lands below, under the eyes of both Kalus and their gilded idol of the Creator, sacriligious in both size and depiction.

For the Lands Beneath, Kalus is myth, and few know the truth of her existence. For Kalus, the Lands Beneath, in all their instability, offer opportunity of mythical proportion.

The Way of Shau has long since unified the people of Kalus. As Shau battles the forces of Chaos, of Disorder, the Shau'ha'daan, the Priests and Sisters, Mothers and Fathers of the Shau'ha seek to end the conflicts of the Lands Beneath.

---

Talim had been travelling for all of a day by the time he arrived at the viewpoint. It was one of the few places in the mountains around Kalus proper where it was actually possible to see the Lands Below, and beyond them, the seas that stretched all the way to the Polar edge.

Dashar wheezed audibly behind Talim as they paused for a moment. "You can... see that... cursed idol... from here."

"I have been waiting here for over two arcs. Did you find the trail difficult?"

"Difficult?!" Dashar gasped. "I have no idea how you manage to traverse such treacherous passes."

"It is Her will... What do you see below?"

"I see the Kolmyra Idol..."

Talim smiled, slightly. "To Polar-Sunset, I see the slow death of the Komyrathan Empire. The smoke is visible - albiet slightly - even from here. They destroy their own cities, they kill their own brethren."

"It is no great secret that decadence has corrupted Those Who Live Below."

"Still, we must bring the Way of Shau back to those who have left it, before nothing but corpses and rubble remain.

It will be... arduous, but we must traverse the Deep Passages, that She made for us. Think of it... as a test of faith."

Talim started off towards the mouth of a cave near the viewpoint as Dashar attempted to catch his breath. "A test of faith..."

It would take several days overland to reach the Kolmyrathan Empire, and a single night through the Deep Passages. Traversing them was no small feat, and though several had done so - and left hints, and journals along the way for the Faithful who would follow - the way was one treacherous not for the sheer physical danger, but also a challenge of Faith.

There were, long ago, those within Kalus who had chosen to leave the Way, and the Shau'ha'daan had exiled them to the Deep Passages, away from Her Light and Warmth, never to return.

Those who had survived the exile were rumored to have changed, adapting to the barren nature of the passages. Such was untrue, of course. Those exiled were given no provisions, quite literally left to die within the bowels of the mountains.

Talim had traversed the passages twice in the past three seasons, but as for Dashar...

He would not be the same person when they reached the foothills.

Erre Ahanion was scattered on the winds, little more than angry ghosts and panicked riders. Three days ago the Albel savages had descended upon the main encampment of the Erre, burning the pavilions of the Ahanionim and spitting those who escaped on their lances.

But they had not killed Kahaiyi, throwing her instead across the back of a horse alongside the gold they'd taken from the Ahanionim dead. They'd been as gentle as the Qessai had come to expect of their antipolar neighbours; which is to say, not at all. The Albel had taken her veils, too, leaving her face as naked as any dirt-eater ochuta.

Kahaiyi knew a little of the ugly Albel-tongue, enough at least to understand most of what the raiders said, and she'd screamed vipurative abuse at them in that tongue for half a day before she realised it wasn't doing any good. She'd begged the Grey Mother, the Red Sky Lord, even the Blue Earth Lady to help her until her voice was gone, but the gods were silent, and there were no spirits upon the wind.

Kolm, they'd said, would pay well for a daughter of the Qessai, and that terrified her more than even the stinking, leering Albel raiders. Kolmyranth was a wholly alien land, the domain of filthy dirt-eaters, from which not even Erre Laskai could rescue her. Every mile the Albel horses crossed took her further beyond hope.

OOC: Inspired, of course, by a single sentence of Milchama's post. You're welcome to take it somewhere if you wish, or not as the case may be.

The Aurora was a large ship, the largest ship that the Goranese had ever made. It had a hundred and eighty crew on board, especially designed and built as an open ocean, rough sea vessel. including members of the Goranese military there to protect it. The ship was finally loaded and prepared all the deck hands, and miscillaneous crew members, including a skilled doctor, particularily in leechery and amputation.

As it left an escort of 2 ballistae ships , Ships that bore two ballisteas each escorted the Aurora towards the south... towards the Pole Star whereever that might lead.

(OOC: I had some issues raised and I have edited this post from here on to deal with those issues raised. Also changed the size as recommened by various ship design boffins. Thanks for your input)

The Ships approached somewhere near the NeiknRynn, and got as close as they where going to be approximately 60km east of the most eastern point...

The captain was up on deck talking with his first mate...

"This exploration of the southern most parts, it's going to be risky..." said the captain

"Aye, Sir. Especially since we had to suspend our entire merchant navy to find enough sailors."

"Aye, but without risks there are no rewards, she will guides us, always has and she will lead us safely down and back again. So say the stars"

"Aye, So say the stars. But what of the other sea farers? What will they think of us?"

"We are flying the flag of the merchant navy, if they falter and transgress the unwritten rules of the sea then we have our guards to protect us. We are not in a position to start a war so I have ordered our guards to only fire if fired upon. We are here for the wonders that await us in the south, whatever they might be."

Bshang...Bshang...Bshang....Bshang.

The Mucro Vir desperately hammered at the iron gong in his small watch-tower before sliding down the ladder and leaping onto his horse teathered at the bottom of the tower, a few moments later his post was hammered by spears and arrows as he rode for his life. May the Eternus Visio curse the damn Shandini and everything they were worth. Now he rode hard back to the roadway, then he would turn Sunset-wards and head for Athrio. The other watch-towers were banging out now, the message was being relayed all the way back to Athrio and Alexarta.

The three units of Mucro Vir, two infantry and one archer unit heard the gongs and turned to look at the mountain-side. A horse thundered towards them with the cry of "Shandini in force! Shandini in force!"

It was all the Madam Offico needed.
"Double time the march, we need to get back to the foothills and out of this Visio-damned plain!"
There were some screams of confirmation and the group began to pound their way back towards the hills, archers leading with their lighter clothing and weapons, Mucro Vir pounding heavily as they marched the mile or two back to the rolling foothills, the rider was just a clouded speck by now, riding hard to Athrio. Where some of the elite Hopliti were stationed along with the city's battery of two onagers.

The Mucro Vir were barely in the hills when they spotted the Barbarians thundering across the plain, it was one hell of a raiding force, and they seemed to have their blood up, some units charging further ahead of the pack than others. The three units continued to march as they saw the shining gold of figures move out of the gate, followed by units of cavalry, the cloth colour of the archers, and the dull iron of the Mucro Vir.

The golden figures were like Gods to the people of the Republic, their faces were always hidden by the grinning face-plate, moulded in the image of the Visio herself, their armour was leafed in the glorious gold and they moved with silence and eerie precision in their lines, the only sound they made by the tramping of their leather boots, the archers moved in loose lines and the mucro vir stamped as orders were called out.
Then a set of horses moved out, pulling and baying, the grand Onager of Athrio was wheeled out of the gate as the other units formed into battle-lines, the shining golden figures in the middle, becoming a becon flinging the light back at the sun defiantly.

"Preparo!" called out a voice as hundreds of weapons were unsheathed or knocked into a state of readyness. The three Mucro Vir units that had been running from the barbarians finally reached the line of soldiers and fed through the gaps which rapidly closed behind them, The lines were four men deep and locked ready in position, the spears of the Mucro Vir pressed down into the soil of the ground, ready for them to pick up and throw when the Shandini were in range. The lighter cavalry of the Osiric armies were usually used for lightning fast attacks to the flanks and rear of the enemy, causing them to quickly demoralize those laid out against them, they had simple shields, a spear and only wore the helm of the Mucro Vir, the rest of their body was covered by simple clothing and leather shoes.

The Shandini charged over the ridge with a baleful warcry, hundreds of men running or riding, some in vaguely consistent groups, some seemingly content to just run and ride at the enemy to close with and fight.

One golden figure sat on a horse and waved behind him.
With the crack the onager flung its gigantic ceramic pot into the middle of the barbaric warhost. It shattered spilling its oil out everywhere, the wick that had been carefully smoldering on the lid ignitied it sending fire bowling up and out, catching some of the barbarians and denying an area of ground to them. It was an expensive one shot, but it'd done its work, now it'd be down to stones being flung by the Onager.

Small stones and pellets whizzed down into the lines of Mucro Vir, smacking the helms of some, and breaking the bones of others, those men were quickly cycled back and replaced with men who were further back. The Gold figure waved again and arrows answered the whorde. Then the Mucro Vir pulled their spears out of the ground and hurled them high at the mass of the enemy, before readying their swords as they continued to press onwards, many were slain by arrows and spears, but still they kept coming, with a cry and charge they smashed into the lines of the Ossiric Army, and it devolved to brutal sword and pike fighting.

Vox Obduco

The old man moved slightly in his saddle, making himself more comfortable on his mount – not in fact a horse, but rather a strong tup from Shevet Arieh, only recently rebranded with the mark of the old herd driver Uriah. The tup was not fat, but strong and bred to carry a load or a rider, and he was well-behaved under Uriah. The old man was thin – you could even say scraggly, and he carried little belongings but his long cane – his shevet, the mark of the elder of the family.

Most of the household remained at home this season – there was business to attend, and herds to watch. Uriah’s family was well blessed by the Sacred God for their work, and his sons were strong in trade and in choosing the sheep for the herds. And as such, Uriah had been one of the most respected elders of Shevet Nahash, Tribe of the Snake.

Around the massive – well, sizeable herd - moved the young shepherds. There were Obadiah and Nehemiah, Uriah’s grandsons, and Shlumiel, the grandson of his late brother, Dafuk, and some other grandsons that Uriah didn’t remember the names of - when you have eleven sons and six daughters, you can’t honestly be expected to remember all of your offspring’s names, can you?

Uriah remembered Dafuk, though. Now that was a brother you didn’t want to be around. A perpetual drunk, Dafuk squandered a full three-quarters of his inheritance before he had his only child – the Sacred Blessed One has wisely spared the poor souls the suffering of being born to a father like this, and sent them to better, wiser parents.

Then came the inevitable. According to what Uriah’s family said to strangers, after Dafuk’s wife died in childbirth, birthing Shlumiel, Dafuk decided to turn his life around – and died falling off a cliff when he was riding to the temple to make some form of sacrifice.

This was not true. Uriah knew that – he himself was the one who saw Dafuk ride the tup off the cliff, crazy drunk… but you don’t tell people about that. You don’t want people to know that a member of your family has committed suicide – or even to suspect that.

There was only one thing that ever came good of Dafuk, and it was Shlumiel. The boy was intelligent, and for a man only fourteen years old, well-versed in the Knowledge. This is why Shlumiel was riding a tup as well, while the others were still walking. That and because he was playing the flute.

This ‘flute’ was rather primitive of course, even by the standards of Bney Elohim – merely five pipes made out of burned clay. Wood was too scarce to come buy, and nobody saw it fit to equip a mere boy with a wooden toy – though Uriah did promise to buy Shlumiel a good instrument if they succeeded in the sheep market, and indeed, that was a promise he was going to keep.

In part, this was because he actually liked Shlumiel’s music – it was kind of calming, if simple, and it has a strange effect on the sheep – it seemed that it prevented them from trying to escape, or butt Uriah’s tup. This was a very good thing for Uriah, and it made the journey simpler… much simpler.

This, Uriah appreciated. And in fact, as he listened to Shlumiel’s flute, more and more he was thinking to give the boy the best flute he could find – even if he didn’t do as well as he expected. Certainly the playing was worth it.

The hot wind blew against the banner of the caravan, with the black snake coiling against the yellow-died cloth, embedded with the three letters of the name of his tribe – NaHaSh, looking as if they were actually cut into a stone with a knife, rather then stitched on a cloth – straight, sharp lines and angles. It was as if the snake was hissing, calling on it’s brethren in the desert to come and rescue it from the humans that have kept it captive. Uriah shuddered at that particular thought. Urgh. Snakes

Uriah didn’t like snakes. He lost three brothers to them – one bitten in his cradle when he was two, one who stepped on a nest of tzefa when he was tending the herds, and one who fell asleep leaning on a rock in the mountains, on a three-day hunt for a she-wolf. The snakes are the worst there could be, shuddered Uriah as he imagined them coming to the caravan, scaring the sheep, Shlumiel’s tup falling over, sheep bleating in horror as the inevitable nightmare approached…

The sands have spread open. He heard Shlumiel’s voice:

“….cle Uriah! Uncle Uriah, we are here! Look! Vox Obduco!”

He smiled faintly as he woke up from his uneasy sleep. It was time to dismount.

The sunlight gleamed from the golden ziggurats of Great Kolm, the 'Capital' of the Great Kolmyranthan Empire. It gleamed upon hundreds of slaves and upon the mighty walls of the city. It shone upon the Great Menagerie, where a small population of the rare Kolmyranthan Shedus still dwelled in opulent seclusion, viewable only by the Sharkon himself. The light beamed into the many towers where archers marched and ballistae waited. Upon the serried ranks of the Light Infantry and the shining armour of the Cataphractim.

A war-elephant raised its trunk and gave a loud trumpet call, taken up by its nearby brethren. Several slaves were unceremoniously pushed to take them their food, their long loincloths flapping in the wind.


All this was visible from the Sarkon's harem room, where the Titular Ruler of the Kolmyranthan Empire lounged in comfort, surrounded by beauty of many forms. Golden jewellery, shining fountains...and the women. Women of all colours and shapes, from the tanned women of the Kolmyrath to white and black, to strange women with yellow skin and blonde hair purchased for their rareness value from merchants of Goran. Today he was with a Qessai, well-developed and beautiful, so different from the small women of the natives. She rested on a divan behind him, held by a bronze restraint around her neck. Like all harem slaves, she wore nothing but the long cloth between her legs, and her face showed she was still embarassed to be so under-dressed.

General Kolm-Adad, however, wished occasionally for the dress of a slave, especially in the hot and muggy summers that he needed to endure in this city. "Sarkon Kolm-Enki." He genuflected low, but directed a glance at the slave. "General Enlil sent me to inform you of failure."

The degenerate Sarkon, descendant of better men, rolled his head towards Adad. "Failure?" He squeaked. "What do you mean by failure?!"

"Tyrs was destroyed by a cataclysmic explosion, as if the great mouth of the destroyer itself had opened and licked the city with flame. When our men, and the treacherous dogs of Rud, entered almost all was as it had been licked in fire, smote like Shakon Kolm-Urra had smote the heathens of the Qessai."

Enki stared blankly at Adad, his mouth working soundlessly. "You didn't find the toys?" He demanded. "I was promised toys! Shiny toys!" Then his fat chin rested lamely on his great belly.

"Lord Sarkon, we are searching for the 'toys'." Adad muttered, almost crossing the boundaries of righteousness which was due to the Sarkon, even one as loathsome as this. "We shall find any that survived, do not be concerned."

"You didn't bring me my new toys!" The Sarkon shouted, outraged by this. "Guards! Take this man a..."

"My lord, before you do... I believe His Generalship has another message for you." The woman spoke softly, in halting Kolmyrathan. "He carries a tablet." She rose to sit up, crossing her arms over her breasts.

The General nodded to her and stepped forward with the tablet. "My lord, I bring a message to you. Here..."

The Sarkon stared at it blankly, wondering why the soldier was bringing it to him. "Someone summon the priests to decipher this for me!" He said, after a moment of watching the cuneiform tablet in case it did something interesting.

"No need for that, my lord." The General murmured. "I can tell you what it is." Then he slammed the tablet on the back of the Sarkon's head. "It is an order from General Enlil and the High Priest for your death." The Sarkon toppled forward, and Adad impaled his former master with his sword. "And now, slave, what shall I do with you...?" Adad looked up at the beautfiul woman wonderingly.

She uncrossed her arms and bared her breast to him. "You can kill me..." She murmured, "Or perhaps I have something else to offer you." Her smile was seductive and very inviting. Adad considered this for a moment, and then raised his sword to cut open the chain that held her. "Wise choice..."

"What is your name, slave?" He closed the door and removed his shimmering armour. "Convince me to let you live."

"I am called Ahantan." Her eyes were tracing along his body. "And I rather believe that I have the privilege of being the first to call you Sarkon." Then she rose to her feet and walked to him, bowing low. "As for convince..." She leaned up and whispered in his ear, placing one hand on top of his swordhand. "I am skilled in many things...I can read your signs, I can see the thoughts of men..." The last was pure exaggeration (a lie), but it seemed to play well with her captivated audience. "And at this moment in time...I can offer you something else..." Her hands slid around his neck. "Convinced yet?"

To answer, he simply kissed her.


It was dawn the next day. Kolm-Enlil was already awake, pacing as scribes and priests ran through the clay tablets that had been recovered so far. None of them detailed the formulae, and none of them provided any of the other secrets that Tyrs had possessed. Worst, none of the people of Tyrs had been helpful. "May Diamad take them all." He muttered. His sole comfort was that Rud had found nothing, either.

A spearmen ran in and reported. "General! News has come from the Citadel! Sarkon Enki has died and General Adad has taken control as Sarkon. Your orders?"

Enlil pinched his nose. "Well, that's the second good news. Carry on, soldier."


Rud-Hormazd was a simple spearman in the Rud army, sent by his commander Rud-Hamu to see if 'Those thrice-damned Kolmyrans' had found anything. They hadn't, and he had been about to leave his listening post when, "Sarkon Enki has died and General Adad has taken control as Sarkon."

And then the Kolmyran had simply treated this like it was expected. Even Hormazd knew that this was a very important thing. Because if the military of Kolm could set up a new Sarkon on its own, then why could not the governing families of the other cities declare themselves Sarkon?

Nebech had just returned from his raid of a small Qessai settlement north of there. The raid had been quite successful and they had even managed to get a couple of slaves that he was sure the Kolm would like. He also knew that it was the most important raid of his career as if he had failed then Thomos Beldrinot would have tried to overthrow him.

Since that raid though he had trouble repeating his success and even had failed on a raid that got a very promising young lieutenant captured. This had made Beldrinot's rise even more worrisome. This raid though had made Nebech happy and now he was about ready to move to more ambitious another raid against the Kolmyran. This time though it might be a fortified city. That didn't seem like a good idea at the moment though, he was just waiting for his most loyal general, Yelsi Geldramai, to come back from his raid and then he would see his next move.

Erre Ahanion was scattered on the winds, little more than angry ghosts and panicked riders. Three days ago the Albel savages had descended upon the main encampment of the Erre, burning the pavilions of the Ahanionim and spitting those who escaped on their lances.

But they had not killed Kahaiyi, throwing her instead across the back of a horse alongside the gold they'd taken from the Ahanionim dead. They'd been as gentle as the Qessai had come to expect of their antipolar neighbours; which is to say, not at all. The Albel had taken her veils, too, leaving her face as naked as any dirt-eater ochuta.

Kolm, they'd said, would pay well for a daughter of the Qessai, and that terrified her more than even the stinking, leering Albel raiders. Kolmyranth was a wholly alien land, the domain of filthy dirt-eaters, from which not even Erre Laskai could rescue her. Every mile the Albel horses crossed took her further beyond hope.

OOC: Inspired, of course, by a single sentence of Milchama's post. You're welcome to take it somewhere if you wish, or not as the case may be.

OOC: I'd like to run with this, though naturally I'll bow to Milchama's wishes here.

Ras-Etana waited at his fortified encampment. It was the slave-season, which meant that the Albel should have had something for him by now. Not that he expected much better from those savages.

The Kolmyrathans hated the Albel. Their sole redeeming grace was since they had migrated to that river delta, the raids of the Qessai that had so tormented the Kolmyrathan empire previously had slowed. But the Albel revolted them anyway, almost as much as the Shidani did. But the empire needed slaves... and the Albel provided some of the most eagerly sought after. Qessai.

Because they were dealing with the Albel, the city of Ras had provided him with support. Several light infantrymen, their spears at the ready to break a cavalry charge, paced within the small earthen fort, while another dozen archers waited on the 'ramparts'. And within the fort... "Ras-Etana, are you wasting our time?" The Cataphract Commander, Ras-Sangasu, dropped down from his horse, his scales glinting in the firelight.

The merchant squeaked nervously, sweat dripping from his brow in a way that had nothing to do with the humidity of the air. "Most honoured Ras-Sangasu, Slayer of Dozens, Most Mighty..."

"Halt your flattery, merchant. Or you shall find yourself in the maws of a river-beast quickly enough." Ras-Sangasu deputed two of his twenty men to ride the perimeter, a job he had just come off of, and moved back to the temporary pavilion his slaves had brought with him, and the comforts of his beautiful First-Wife, Nodatha-Anu. "Though there is a chance of that anyway, Etanu." Was his Abelian shot as he vanished within.

Etanu swallowed and stared at a distant cloud of dust. He had heard rumours in the port cities of strange crystals that allowed a man to look into the distance, coming from some distant nation. The slavemerchant desperately yearned for one of those now, or he wouldn't live out the night.

Ceterum censeo: delenda est Iibet.
Ceterum censeo Iibetem delendam esse.
~ V. Lucius Cato, member of the Wethian High Conclave, C.38PH

The Iibetian charioteer shrieks briefly as the light wickery hull of his conveyance springs up into the air, twirling briefly, deceptively lightly as it flicks him face first into the rock-face it'd been passing, shriek ceasing abruptly as his body hits the stone with a damp "smack!".
Behind him his fellows slide to a halt, several toppling from their stirrupless saddles as chariots and cavalry collide within the narrow confines of the canyon they'd been trotting through.

Ko flutters back up to my shoulder, panting happily from the exertion of his horse-terrorising and chariot-capsising dive. I hand him a strip of beef from my belt-pouch and watch the Iibetii sourly, listening to the pseudo-raptor boast with only half an ear.
Sho has blessed me with many things. Strength, health, intelligence. My sword as well. But what I am getting most use out of today is my speed.
By running the feth away from Iibetii cavalry.
Well. Sometimes I run. My six hours headstart had given me time to set up various little incidents along the track to the port I've been scampering down, but two legs can only cover so much ground and the Iibetii have eaten up my lead till they're now, vertically at least, only a few hundred yards away.
For the moment.

I watch the charioteers and cavalry try to sort themselves out, exorted heavily by a man in the flowing robes and ridiculous purple tricorne of an Iibetii nobleman.
He pauses in his harangue to scowl around him, catching sight of me where I lean on the canyon's edge, unleashing a stream of curses, most of which seem to be based on speculation that my parents were strangers and not even in waving distance of human.
I smile exaggeratedly and give him a cheery wave and he screams in frustration, laying into a nearby courtier with his dinky little ceremonial sceptre before a hulking Erinakii restrains him with a hand on the arm.
The Emir shakes him off, but does allow the enormous black to lead him out of bow-range, gesticulating and spitting curses even as he follows his servant.
I smile after his retreating back and turn my attention to his men, who've almost untangled the wreckage of the lead chariot and it's horses.
A brief amble along the edge of the cliff takes me to what looks like a cairn, one of the simple little rock shrines the Iibetii peasantry raise to the Sky-Mother.

It however, is not. A brief kick with my bronze-capped boot demonstrates this, as the cairn cascades swiftly down the edge, smacking into several artfully, if I do say so myself, concealed deadfalls.
The cavalry bolt en masse, and the charioteers abandon vehicles and horses as the tide of rock sweeps towards them, the animals neighing in terror and running hither and yon, men ducking under their panicing hooves and fleeing the tumbling wall of stones.
Boulders the size of a man's torso are tumbling ahead of the crushing mass, bouncing like grasshoppers to smash into the fragile wood of chariots, or the even more yielding flesh of man and beast.
The rock thunders down into the canyon, drawing a curtain of dust behind it, and the results of my work are hidden in the noise and dirt it engenders, long moments after the rocks cease to tumble.

Eventually however, the air clears. Where there had been a narrow, sharply sloped canyon, is now a ramp of rubble, rising almost to the edge of the canyon I stand on, the occasional corpse of man or horse mute testimony to it's overwhelmingly rapid construction.

The Emir, who is surrounded by his surviving casualty shrieks in fury, face as purple as his horrible hat with rage, literally bouncing up and down on the spot as he screams vituperation on me, my people and my gods.
Behind him however, his Erinakii servant is looking at the ramp speculatively, fingers drumming on the long hilt of his warbrand, before he bellows authoritavely, flicking the long blade out and pointing at me.

It suddenly occurs to me leaving a slope leading up to my position was not my best choice in actions, a thought which is confirmed in it's correctness as the now-dismounted Iibetii cavalry, lead by their bellowing Erinakii commander, sprint with commendable pace up the ramp, light armour and weapons allowing disconcertingly goatlike agility.
Ko, surging up from his position on my shoulder, shrieks in the God-Tongue, and dives into the face of an Iibetii, inch long talons reducing the man's features into red ruin, the pseudo-raptor springing back into the air, wings snapping at the air as he climbs for an other mutilating dive.
I grunt as the over-enthusiastic little maniac drops in and does it again, waiting on the steady footing of the cliff-top, rather than the shifting footing of my ramp. The cavalry men flow past their leader, giving the ululating war-cry of their city and I draw my khopesh and flow into the Mars-Ti, the war-patterns.
The heavy, single-edged blade sparks off the bronze-wrapped haft of a scalloped axe, dragging it out of my way as I smash my fist into it's owner's nose.
He squeals in anguish, releasing the axe to clutch at his face, and I kick him in the beanbag for his trouble. Wheezing horridly he collapses backward down the slope, slowing his fellows long enough for the khopesh to smack once, twice into their flesh, blood arcing through the air as it's iron blade comes back into the guard position again.
More Iibetii hurl themselves up the slope, only to be torn from T'an's world by the sharp edge of the sword, reduced to meat by my arm and blade.
The over-enthused die quick, the smarter slowing and dropping behind the Erinakii as he trots up the slope, tip of the warbrand pointing out and down.
He reaches the slope, and motions his fellows back with a startlingly pink palm.

A cock of his head as I stand back, looking to me, then his men questioningly, and I nod. He smiles, white teeth glinting against his night-dark face in the midday sun, and bows low.
I mirror him, right arm crossed against my chest, the khopesh free in my left.
We move back, wait a heartbeat, two, and charge, his warbrand held high, two handed, snapping down horridly quickly against the crude iron of my khopesh, breath bursting from him in a "disssssaaaa!"
I flick his blade away and disengage, circling him. I could have drawn the Sho-Metal blade still belted at my waist or put an arrow from the bow encased on my back in him on the way up, but that would be as honourable as a Kolmyranthan, and I am no such coward.
I am Jarokontes of Wethia, Beloved of my Goddess, and I laugh to see my death in this man's bright eyes, and we snap toward each other again, that long, long blade arcing over my head as I duck, the khopesh's sickle shape coming to reap his legs, but he pops up into the air, surging over the blade and kicking outward, foot thumping into my blocking forearm, and we roll apart again.

I smile at him, and he grins back, both of us panting, mouths open like an exhausted hounds. This is a battle the survivor will long treasure, his style is like none I have encountered before, a truly new way of weilding that long blade of his, and it has been long since I found a challenge of it's like.

I decide that I don't mind this man taking my Sho-Metal blade if he wins, he would be worth of it's beauty.
I smile again, my breath returned, leaping toward him, spinning and twirling the khopesh, flicking the lighter, longer warbrand aside, reaching for his throat, but he spins himself out of my path, and his sword hisses through the air as it passes within a finger-joint of my neck, the black man's broad chest expelling an other "disssaaaa!" as we glide apart anew.
I suck oxygen in now, panting hard, my opponent doing the same, then he lifts that long sword high, smiling fit to burst, and charges.

One step, two step, and the long blade comes down like the wrath of Sho on my khopesh, caught neatly in the hook of my shorter blade, or so it seems, for the heartbeat it takes for the cruder blade to snap neatly in half, the warbrand crashing through my guard, delflected enough that it thumps into the leather of Ko's perch-pad on my shoulder, rather than cleave my skull in two.
It still hurts like Hell of course, but, in the moments it takes the Erinakii to disengage, to lift that blade to strike again, I've spun back and smashed my iron-covered forearm into his leather-wrapped one once, twice as he reels back, then I jab forward with the still-sharp edge of my khopesh, punching it under his ribs, clasping him to me to prevent that sword swinging again.

He smiles at me again, even as the light flees his eyes, red bubbles staining those so-white teeth, the warbrand dropping from his fingers, smile so huge as to fill the world.
I hold him still as the breath gurgles out of him, and that smile, so wide, so wide, sags into the slackness of death. His race is done, and I kneel, laying him down gently, back turned to the Iibetii cavalry clustering on the edge of the slope, to close his eyes and murmur the end of the Weth-Miles funeral service.
"May the Last Embrace of the Mother welcome you Home."

I return to my feet, bending over again to scoop up his warbrand, then, only then, do I turn to face the gathered Iibetii, that long blade steady in my hand, the blood of it's owner trickling down my foreguard.
"So, who thinks themself to be as good a man as he? For if you do, I am for you sir."
The Iibetii look at each other, then bolt as one, tumbling back down the slope, tripping over each other in their haste to flee.
I smile after them.
"Right then. Time to go."
I spin in place and take to my heels myself, warbrand naked in my grasp, laughing, because I am alive, alive and safe again in Sho's grey hand and care for now, for always and a day.

o.o.c Erinak's player, if you mind me using one of your nationals in this just tg and I'll yoink him.

Over the next two weeks, the group makes its way polarwards. As they travel, the journey gets progressively more difficult. From Zerowon to the small town of Fahgawn to the fortress of Bad Wolf, they travel on the great polar highway, wide and stone-paved with strong stone bridges that cut days off the natural journey. For a day past that, they travel along a road of lesser quality, of packed earth with gravel, and less grand and solid bridges. From there on, they must travel along the natural paths through the mountains, on one of the few safe series of passes and ridges that have been found over the years. While just as long a straight-line distance, the winding path takes much longer than the first half of the journey. There are no villages or forts here – the few attempts to colonize the few small valleys were abandoned as too far from home and too close to the Shadani. There are, however, a string of small stone buildings with room for small parties of travelers and animals, stocked with supplies by Guard patrols that pass through during the traveling season. The buildings serve two purposes – provide safe resting places for the acquisition and trading parties, especially should the weather turn rough, and serve as a buffer for the occasional Shadani raiders. It's a mutually beneficial setup – the Shadani get some small amount of loot and aren't faced with the task of attacking fortified holds and fleeing from vengeful troops with fine iron weapons and armor; the people of Zerowon don't have their farmbuildings burnt or the occasional worker killed. Patrols keep the Shadani from getting too complacent.

At the edge of the foothills (although by people from the plains these foothills might be called mountains), the party sets up camp, tends the dogs and llamas, and prepares a simple meal. As they sit around the campfire, they chatter with one another about the journey they're beginning. Some will head risewards, on a journey to the capital of Shodaya. A second group will head setwards, hoping to make copies of works from the failing Empire before it crumbles further. A third means to head towards the pole – there are rumors that the Shadani have massed for war, and the chance to record such a campaign first-hand is seen as worth the risks involved.

Edge of Shodayan Territory

A trio of Zerowons look down from the mountains at the plains before them. The only woman, Librarian-Fourth Cordelia Kosigan, takes a breath and smiles. “Every time I go out, I'm always amazed at how open it is.”

“It is impressive, isn't it?” agrees Fraser. “So much flat land, there for the taking.”

“Feels a bit creepy to me. It's so, so, exposed,” replies the youngest of the group, Tech-First Ivan Parrish. “And it's all sitting there unused. Where are the fields, the pastures, the orchards?”

Kosigan laughs, shaking her head. “Oh, young one. Out here, there's so much open space that no one can use it all. We're days from the nearest village, let alone a real city.”

“Amazing.”

The three urge their animals forwards, the pack animals following behind and a trio of dogs alongside. As they ride downhill, Fraser begins talking again. “We've been making good time. We're already at the edge of Shodaya. Now, if the maps we have are accurate, we should be able to avoid most of the settlements until we near the capital, although there may be patrols. If the Storyteller is willing, they won't kill us on sight.”

The wind was still beating at the pavilions of Erre Aserras when Ezkeraz - unwittingly soon-to-be-married Ezkeraz, now - found Kehanec.

The Tei's lieutenant was accompanied by a pair of more junior riders, escorting a youth with shockingly pale skin and hair. Although the young man's wrists were held firmly by his guards, he offered them no resistance.

"My Tei! Intzuko and Arnuro here found this intruder on the outskirts of the camp. He says he'll speak only to you."

"Is that so, hmm? Very good work, my riders." Kehanec reached into a pocket and found a few ingots of gold - part of the prize haul from the Alaztan raid - with which to reward the two men.

"Lad, will you give your word you won't try to run?"

Pale blue eyes met Kehanec's as the young man nodded firmly.

"Your word, now. Ezkeraz says you can speak."

"You have my word I shan't run, Tei. I'm here to speak with you."

His voice cracked higher in mid-sentence, and Kehanec mentally revised the boy's age downwards. His jaw was weak, his lips suprisingly full, and the top of his head barely reached Kehanec's chin. What Erre would send such a young man to treat with the Tei of Erre Aserras - let alone a boy so freakishly white of skin?

"Thankyou. And my thanks to you, Intzuko, Arnuro, for finding him."

With their gold in their pockets, the two riders disappeared from whence they had come. The boy frowned, rubbing his wrists.

"Now, lad, how are you named, and who have you come from?"

Those pale eyes found Kehanec's again in direct challenge, and the Tei found himself unsettled.

"My name is Inharna. I come from Erre Laskai."

Kehanec blinked, reconsidering this strange visitor.

"I had thought that any envoy of the Laskaim would come under a grey flag of parley ... girl. Tell me, why has Tei Vekrane sent a half-naked albino woman to negotiate with Aserras?"

Ezkeraz gaped.

"Ochuta! My Tei, I had no idea -"

"I am not blaming you, Ezkeraz ... Inharna is clearly a good actor."

"I find it avoids complications, Tei Kehanec. But I hold no flag of parley because I do not represent Tei Vekrane."

"One of his lieutenants, then?"

In his mind Kehanec was already judging the possibilities for Erre Aserras, if some other power within the Laskaim camp wished to topple the powerful Laskaim Tei.

The disturbing beam of Inharna's gaze found his eyes again, and he realised just what he found so unsettling - the Laskaim woman didn't blink.

"I am representing only myself, Tei. But I can give you Erre Laskai."

Kehanec would have laughed, if it wasn't for that razor stare burning at his eyes.

"And how do you intend to do that, Inharna?"

"I'll need the bacquat."

"The ... Ezkeraz, thank you for bringing this to my attention, but I must speak to this woman alone."

"As you wish, Kehanec."

Once his lieutenant had departed, Kehanec lowered his voice and continued.

"Obviously you know what the spirit-flower can do. As a Red Speaker, I know what it is. I do not think your disguise is good enough to fool Vekrane's Speakers and pass the Testing Rite, girl - so how is it that you know of the bacquat?"

"My uncle was a Red Speaker. He taught me."

This girl's uncle had commited dreadful sacrelige, then, in giving a Red Speaker's powers to a woman. All the spirits on the wind should hunt out such a one, shrieking their misgivings - no wonder such a gale was blowing!

"You intend to poison Tei Vekrane, then? That is hardly an honourable tactic, woman."

"The Tei. The Matriarchs. As many as I can. If Erre Liskai is leaderless, it will fall easily to your riders. You can count the loss to your honour when you count the gains to your herds ... Usaltei."

Usaltei. The word - great Tei, great rider, a master of hosts - hung heavy as gold in the air between them. Smashing the Laskaim bloc would indeed make Kehanec a leader worthy of the title - but to do so in such an underhanded fashion! Poison was a woman's tool, underhanded and subtle. Although Inharna seemed as subtle as a club to the head.

"And why would the other Teim of the Laskaim bloc follow me, if I won by such an underhanded tactic?"

"The living value their lives above their honour. The dead valued their honour above their lives."

"I can't kill every rider who would refuse to follow me!"

"Why not?" Inharna seemed genuinely suprised to hear it. "People join the spirits every day, Tei. What does it matter how?"

Kehanec frowned. What had Laskai done to create this woman, who proposed poisoning her own Matriarchs and thought nothing of the slaughter of thousands?

"Why are you proposing this, Inharna? This is your Erre you betray."

"Only in blood, Tei. They betrayed me in the hour of my birth." She gestured to her face, the snow-pale hair and skin. "My sister, my other-half, died then. I bear her spirit with me always. She did not die in fear - and so I do not fear. She died in rage - and that demands vengeance."

"You're ... a twin." Bad luck and twice bad luck, to birth twins; it ran in some bloodlines, punishment for ancestral crimes unremembered. Most Errem exposed twins at birth, as the Laskaim had done to Inharna and her dead sister, but somehow someone had saved the infant, had raised her despite the repulsiveness of her bone-white skin. Now Inharna would repay that kindness with destruction, with the bad luck inherent in her nature.

"Yes."

"All right - I'll get you the bacquat, and I'll gather the hosts. But responsibility for this thing rests upon your shoulders, and it's you who'll owe the dead their warmth."

"I'll gladly accept a debt so small as that, Tei Kehanec. Agreed."

"Agreed," Kehanec echoed, but the word sounded strangely hollow in his mind. What was it that he had unleashed?

Somewhere polewards and setwards of Bney Elohim

"The Laughing Girl says we'll be tested by the Winds by day's end." Nigri declares as he gently lowers the vitrovidi and placing the exceedingly fragile device in its woven case.

"Again? Tordi Nigri, this will be the third time since we left Hejmo-Kvar last." Ghento, the Tordi's second in command muses, her voice carrying a trace of concern. "Does She say how this next test will be?"

The Tordi chuckles. "Indeed. It will be a brief blow, mostly rain and wild gusts. Soon after, we should see the coast."

The ship had gotten seperated from a few of the others it had been voyaging with in the last storm, but the crew of the sanktavazo Veturo were not overly concerned. The Akvo Kvar were a people of traders, traversing the seas where the Blue Mother, the Laughing Girl of the Waters; and the Sightless Mother, the Whispering Guide led them. If they were led apart, so be it.

"It would be smart to seek the nearest friendly port then to replenish our supplies." Ghento notes. "We still have two kelka of the black daggers and several nakelka of those 'Pafi's Tears' House Sventi is so proud of. Kheti's house gave us a great deal of of glass trinkets we would be well rid of before the Laughing Girl shatters them."

The Tordi nods agreement with the sentiment- many of the things the Alia Kvar trade are useless in the eyes of the Akvo Kvar. "Perhaps when we make landfall, I'll permit Liini and Aiala come along when we deal with the tero."

Ghento raises an eyebrow at the Tordi's statement. "Is that wise, Tordi? Aiala will mind herself, but Liini..."

"I would rather have that Liini with me and know where he is rather than trust him to remain on board the sanktavazo."

NieknRynn

The soft breeze was moving the barge towards the not-so-distant island, much to its owner's satisfaction - Raul Kenarin, associate of the Ugana clan, wanted to finally arrive at what he'd come to consider his second home, for NieknRynn, although backward in some senses, was a place so much more interesting than Alea that, well...

He liked it there, liked its architecture, its arts, its women.

The oars didn't move, the wind being sufficient to propel the small ship forward and towards its destination.

Kenarin closed his eyes. There were eight men in total on board, and they all looked forward to this. Yet, not everything was perfect... Before he'd left Alea, Kenarin had been told by his clan elder that not everyone in Alea thought highly of trading with NieknRynn - the Nesati (Who had been very active in ensuring ties with nearby Qessai Erre' - indeed, the Nesati elder was apparently intending to marry one of his granddaughters off to them, and they'd since absorbed the occasional Qessai male into their clan, which was why less well-meaning tongues claimed that contacting the Nesati elder was pointless - instead, one should contact his wife), having absorbed some of the ethos of the steppes, were of the opinion that more heavy-handed means to ensure Alea's wealth would be preferable.

Of course, neither the Ugana, nor the mighty Altani agreed with this point of view.

Lets just hope that things remain peaceful... Kenarin liked his trade, he liked NieknRynn and its wealth... He didn't much like the idea of piracy.

Alea

An ocean of flesh, an aura of lust. Frantic, spastic ovement, and sweating humans. Screams and moaning. Lights flickering, illuminating the thick smoke inside the chamber.

The elder wouldn't approve, and indeed, in previous generations, this kind of event would've been outright impossible and, if somehow happening, followed by a death sentence spoken out by the elder.

These days, it still happened in secret, but it happened. Everybody knew, but nobody spoke about it. Yet, all the excess, simultaneously desired and reviled, taken from the Kolmyran harems and blown out of proportion, wouldn't have been possible without an excuse - as much as the individual desired its personal fulfillment, it couldn't justify such in Alea's society. Not without a greater reason... A religion.

In the middle of the room, the idol stood, an idol without precedent, a mixture of assorted cults found throughout the world, in small, and often vorbidden sects and circles, trying to overthrow Alea's native, primitive, anachronistic, still-neolithic cult.

Men were weak, and She, the gentle hunter, probably looked down from the heavens and wept, while on Earth, the youth of the clans forgot about its discipline and heritage, ignored tradition and just fell for the seductive and hallucinogenic excess that had started to gnaw on the roots of Alea's society, far too early for it to develop naturally, the effect of a society jumping ahead a thousand, two thousand years in one, two generations.

Though the Shadani may have been considered barbarians by other cultures, and may not actually have a proper standing army, they had experience in many forms of combat and had faced foes like this before. Faced with the pikes and swords of the Mucro Vir, some tried to get to their side and behind them, and the ones that had short bows used them when faced with static enemies.

Sho-A himself stayed well away from the combat, firing the occasional arrow when he could get a clear shot and then darting away on his mount. The fighting was exceptionally fierce, the Shadani using the advantage of numbers to try and overcome their foes advantage in technology. The groups around the areas hit by the siege equipment scattered and attempted to join the fighting from a different angle while the few who had mounts retreated to gather around Sho-A as he continued firing at the Mucro Vir. They couldn't afford to lose their most precious leaders, and their actions showed this.

"Ach, drat it all, one of the first traders is coming through." Angelus commented as he stirred to the sound of bleating sheep.
"Mnh?" murmuered Kaluthia as he stirred.
"The sheep market lad, for the slaughter-barons."
"Oh."
Angelus opened the door to his caravan and called out.
"Lanaia! Drivers! Lets get out of here before we're swamped by those ruddy sheep!"

Lanaia was already on her mount and trotted next to the ornate caravan, Tyyler baying and snapping his jaws a little. sniffing the air at the smell of the sheep.
"At once Angelus, I dont like the idea of keeping Tyyler here when they arrive." she nodded before stomping to the front of the convoy, the other drivers moved quickly, bundling up their sleeping items and jumping back onto their carts. With a neigh of horses and snorting, steam from their nostrels rising in the cold morning air, the wagons jolted a little as they left the camp.

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The model clicked and wheezed, sending water spouting about and out of the stone trough.
"My student, I tell you that it wont work, the sea-water is much colder than the water in this trough." A man frowned, his flint-grey hair and beard hanging low, with steely grey eyes peering out with a hint of shine to them that betrayed his physical age.

"And I have done the work, it will suceed, just like your sky chariot did." grumbled a younger student.
"And I have also done the work and tell you it wont, you need higher pressure to move such a thing, and we dont have the ability to make such pressure yet." replied Hero his hand tapping some notes. "See how much more you require? Look at how this model works! The heat difference is too great and it will explode catastrophically." He pointed at the model which was now slowly breaking apart. "See? You need a simpler design."
"Bah! Bah I say to it!" muttered the student.

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Athrio dockside had been hewed into the cliff-face, natrual spits held most of the worse weather away from the port itself, and a series of wide steps and pathways had been hacked by hand into the grany cliff-face, the cries of battle echoed gently down onto the wooden and stone piers, causing some of the traders to merely glance up, and others moving supplies down by small carts to stop and glance up. From his trade and store house Grefo Ihirit merely yawned and scribbled on his slate, his stocks were ok for this time of year, enough before he gained more food and fresh water when the summer finally wore out.
A machine clicked idly around as an oxen walked around and around, being led by a child, it turned a pair of paddles gently around in a large iron tank that kept the water from going stale, there were also ceramic jugs and bottles corked and filled with water and beer.

Grefo looked idly up as another figure entered his house of resupplies, it was of a person he hadn't seen before, and he usually remembered most of the traders that went to and from, down to Antoris or around the coast to Niekn Rynn and Golith, usually with perishables, or high-value goods.

"How can I help you?" He asked to the figure in the door.
[OOC: and cue the Ninja Mod >.>]

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The Gold-mounted figure merely peered as he watched the display of crashing death before him, he was one of the very special class of soldier, a General, the leader of men and a damn proud city-general.
He pointed at two units he had in reserve and pointed to the flanks where the barbarians were clashing with the fast-hitting cavalry, which merely smashed into the rabbled war-bands, then pulled back again, it was slowly working and the unseen mouth under the golden helm curled into a grin as a couple of groups seemed to finally give up and run back the way they came.

At the front it was pressing and holding, the barbarians had smashed into the lines of the Murcro Vir the hardest, leaving the Eternally Vigilant to do little but wait until groups came within range of their pikes. This wasn't long as the barbarians were interested in the gold-coloured items and weaponry and attempted to kill to steal. Swift actions by the pikes put payed to that.

The figure barked out a new order and the archers immediately responded with an "Aye" and lowered their bows slightly, now a good portion of the Whorde was engaged, and the flank-attacks were now beginning to be checked by the reserves and cavalry, it was time to focus on the bits that still seemed to be coming for them, that and the damn warlord and his own cavalry that seemed to be keeping mostly to the back, firing down the occassional arrow.

A flurry of arrows answered him and killed a number of his retuine.

Adonis Eterus' mouth curled into a slight grin as the warlord now moved slightly further back, as a general the targeting of the opposing general to loose cohesion of the forces always worked wonders.

Another flurry of arrows, some more of the retuine falling.
One of which was the warlord himself.

It was only his mound though, and the warlord was dusting himself off when the realisation of what had happened hit him. He had been humiliated and they had mistaken him to have fallen, a number of the groups that were in the middle of battle suddenly broke and fled, the news spreading like wildfire as morale collapsed in a few minutes.

Adonis ordered the advance.

As the Shandini broke and fled, the warlord tried desperately to rally his troops. But it was basically over. The warlord stole a ride from one of his retuine and fled with his troops.
The Mucro Vir slashed at the stragglers and stabbed the wounded on the battlefield.

Adonis trotted his horse about as a member of his retuine rode up next to him.
"This is an act of war." said the female figure, her face also obscured by a golden grinning visage
"Life is but a war if only people opened their eyes." murmered Andonis as he turned his baying horse and barked out for a messenger.
A Cavalry-man appeared a moment later.
"My Lord-General?" he turned his reigns in the opposite direction of his horse's moving head to stop him turning around.
"Go to Alexarta and order the assembly of the Grand Senate."
"Incubo Vos, Lord General."
"Incubo Vos." he said almost idly as he turned back to the fleeing mass.

In a massive Walled City known as Danus, a man sat on his throne. He was the elder of the Loyatians. His name was Elder Sretaw. He looked out at his empire. It wasn't a very large empire, and it's accessibility was average. It also lacked leadership. He had recently overtaken it from the other elder, Elder Terrab. However, the Loyatians were wealthy, and they were the most technologically advanced people around. They used most of this technology to make military weapons. Their military was their pride. The basic foot soldiers carried longswords and shields. The cavalry didn't use horses, they used large boars bred for war. These pigriders carried lances. For range, they used a unique concept. The ranged fighters used powerful throwing hammers. Although they lacked the range of arrows, they were extremely damaging. Siege was also their specialty, using massive hammers as rams, and complex catapults and trebuchets.

A quiet day at the island of Proica. There is a soft breeze coming from the sea, and the vulcano has remained silent for three days in a row already. In three of the tribes, life goes one like always, unaware of what is going to happen in the fourth. But there, in the Ignis tribe, a heated debate had started, concerning the leadership of the tribe...

"Fervus, you have been the leader of this tribe for years and what good has come from it? The other tribes are still not our slaves, even though our army could easily crush them all!"

"You still have a lot to learn Tores. No good would come from taking control of a ruïned island, but like this, they will serve us without complaints. Now leave, your prescence here is no longer needed nor wished."

"This talk of yours might fool others, but it doesn't work on me. You know fully well you failed in your task. Sometimes I wonder if the fire within you is still there, or if it has been extinguished long ago."

"Enough of this! Are you questioning my ability to lead this tribe? If so, I challenge you for a duel. Your son against mine, and then we will see who is going to be the ruler here!"

"When the sun is above the vulcano, the duel will take place in the center of the tribe. And don't worry, after my son has won this duel, you will be still be welcome in this tribe - as a slave..."

***Later, when the sun is right above the vulcano.***

Both of the contestants had come to the center of the tribe, with a large group of curious spectators standing around. Fighting for Tores was his son Aros, a large man encased in iron armour and wielding a spiked mace. Fervus' son, Tabus, on the other hand, didn't look like much of a fighter, and only wore a suit of leather armour. From his belt hung two small daggers, and a set of clay spheres.

"You are either very brave, or very stupid to come to a duel dressed like that. I expect the latter." Aros started taunting.

"It is neither." responded Tabus,"This armour is all I need against your primitive style of fighting. Now, lets finish this quickly, I've got better things to do..."

As soon as Tabus finished talking, Tores came charging at him, the cruel mace lifted high above his head. Tabus who had expected this, jumped away to the left, making Tores smash a small crater in the ground, rather than in his head. The pair of them repeated these moves several times, untill Tabus decided it was time to put an end to this swiftly.

"A pity that the only way persons like you see the true potential of fire, is by dying from it."

He took one of the spheres from his belt, and threw it at his suprised opponent. The sphere hit Tores in the chest and shattered, spilling its contents all over the man. Then, the contents suddenly caught fire, engulfing the man in flames. Tabus stood and watched as the screaming man was consumed by the flames, before stepping up to the center of the place.

"You have now witnessed the proof that the fire still burns strong in my family. If there is anybody willing to challenge me, speak now!"

There was an eery silence amongst the crowd, and slowly it started to disperse, leaving only the families of the two opponents behind. Fervus' son had won the duel by killing his opponent, and thus he would remain the leader of the tribe. Tores on the other hand, had both lost his son, and the duel here, dishonouring him and his family. And that was something, they would never be able to live with on this island...

***The evening of the same day, in the Aeris tribe.***

Word had spread over the duel in the Ignis tribe, and that Tores had to leave the island with his family, and not return before regaining their honour somehow. This was always quite an event in the Aeris tribe, as it meant that one of the families would have to take the Ignis people with them on their next trip. Falis was chosen, and the next day, he would leave with the Ignis people to travel towards the sun. There he would leave them to regain their lost honour, and hopefully do some trading too before returning to Proica...

Sho-A did not wish for his name to end in an -e, and he did not wish this retreat to turn into a rout. He shouted out "The Mountains!" in the language of the Shadani, and all at once they knew what he meant. They fled in their still great numbers to the mountains, being sure to take the weapons of their fallen brothers and sisters.

They knew the mountains and hills well, their people were born and died in them, and this they hoped would be a glorious turn of events for them. Sho-A followed his horde, keeping well behind them. The 'survivors' hid themselves behind rocks, under ledges, in holes and on overhanging cliffs. They knew cavalry would be next to useless here, and they were even more fierce in defence of what they considered to be the outer edges of their home.

They expected a counter attack, and most still carried their supplies with them. Wanting to avenge their fallen family, they grit their teeth and even the young among them gathered their courage for the battles to come.
Their leader waits out in the open, surrounded by his men in hiding. He thrusts his sword into the air and calls out a curse on the Mucro Vir and their mothers.

Two ships lay close to each other, both filled with warriors. Each ship was of the same configuration; Heavy wooden sides prevented anything but the largest bolted projectile from breaking through. Inside, dozens of men rowed the massive tugger along. On each ship, more than 100 marines were topside. They had large but light shields and swift swords. They wore light armor, but the sun still shone off them. Archers and ballistas were normally there as well, but for this exercise they were stripped.

"Engage and for glory!" shouted one of the female marines, an officer. The officers on both ships were female, though the bulk of the marine force was male.
Two large planks dropped from each ship, four in all, and they hit the other's ship with a loud thud. Marines from both ships bounded onto the planks and charged.

Normally, such a scene to a queen would be horrifying. As it was, this is just an exercise to show the queen the fighting capabilities of her forces. The weapons were blunted all around. There were to be three matches between the two elite troops from the Marine school. The first was standard combat on an even ground, as the planks were. During combat, it could be expected for both sides to attack the other at the same time and the fighting to take place between the two ships. The second exercise and third exercies were trading invasions.

The fighting was spectacular, the crack marines doing everything possible to impress Her Glory. She took mental notes. Of the twenty officers, more than half were superb fighters and leaders. Three were subpar. Four were incredible and would be worthy for further consideration. Two, however, were incredibly poor fighters and leaders. A disgrace.

As for the male marines, they fought well but without any worthwhile notes. Derdonian Marine training was brutal, and they commonly only graduated five-hundred for seaborne protection a year. The trade-off was that they were worth fifty souls, and were loyal to a fault. There was one male who caught her eye; he was in the back row and had fallen back to his ship. The officer called him back to the fighting and demanded he fight, but he had thrown down his armor, moved to the side, and launched over the water and latched onto the enemy ship and boarded it without resistance. He then attacked the rear of the second ship's line. He was skilled with a sword and took the shield of one of the soldiers he had hit. Attacked by three more, he fell back to their ship and drew a few more. Then, a surge from his forces broke their lines and the opposing ship was taken.

After the last officer of the ship threw down her sword, the Queen and her advisors stood up and applauded. All the marines took a bow and prepared for the next exercise.
"That one male has incredible skill and bravery." One of her advisors, Lucile Tuyi, whispered.
"Makes you wish he was born female. He'd make a great officer." Grumbled another.
The Queen? She was pleased. Watching fights was superior to ealing with troubles. She'd have to deal with that later She'd be briefing The Body, Old Bloodlines of the Throne, The Houses and representatives from the South. Busy day for a lazy queen.

Sheep sweat and dung scent filled the air and Lanaia wrinkled her nose. Of all the pleasant things in this world there were still some who chose to breed livestock in massive quantities. Her own people bred enough to survive, to eat and to feed the young droma while the older would either eat what was captured or traded. Tyyler’s tail lashed and black slit pupils narrowed in yellow irises. The soft melody of a flute hung in the air. She kept his head in check, Wind Totems flashing brightly on her forearms in fresh morning’s sunlight. The shepherd who played sat across a tup, surrounded by bleating animals that moved like a sea of cresting water. Occasionally, a lamb would peek at the edge of the herd and Tyyler would hunch as though to spring.

“Be calm.” Slender fingers patted his scaled neck, feeling the hardened tissue cord and flex with the muscle beneath. Behind her, one of the merchants commented on a mouthful of sharp teeth and the slender woman riding the beast that possessed them and Lanaia felt herself smile. While she hated a crowd, open traveling was far different, even at this pace.

Lumbering and slow in her estimate, the wagon train made its way towards Myzat and the Schydin. By noon, she had been offered something Angelus called a ‘Heroto’ that was mildly appetizing and Tyyler had been given his head long enough to stalk and kill a rabbit that had come within his reptilian sights. Kaluthia merely grimaced and tried not to look as disturbed as he likely felt, which made Lanaia’s spirits rise slightly.

“You may ride with me if you would like.” He would reject the offer, but it was worth the expression it might inspire to ask it.

Kaluthia stared until Angelus nudged him, nearly sending the man tumbling from his wagon seat. “She won’t let him eat you, thing won’t do half of anything without her telling it to.”

Someone in the caravan behind them made an over-dramatic scared noise, another man chiding him about Vir Universtitas not training their adepts for courage, only books and inventions that never seem to work. The entire conversation dripped of sarcasm and that none to gentle goading that often happens to the odd man out in a situation.

Lanaia’s smile widened and she circled the droma around, walking it backwards a few paces. “There is no need to be afraid.”

Shifting his robes slightly, Kaluthia took the bait and stood, nearly tumbling out of the moving wagon before Lanaia slowed Tyyler to bring herself by his side. A tattooed arm caught his wrist and she grinned, whipping the droma about to face the correct direction before pulling the hesitating scholar off of the moving wagon and onto her moving mount. His feet shuffled twice before he haltingly fell onto the strip of soft leather that served as a saddle. Only her arm, surprisingly strong for its narrowness, kept him on board. Tyyler danced a moment, feet splayed in the dirt, and dashed forward. By Kaluthia’s yelping noise, Lanaia had accomplished her purpose. She laughed as his arms found their way around her waist, clinging to her.

“Do students not ride much?”

“Not lizards.”

“He is a droma.”

Sometime later planted fields began manifesting from the hills and open plains surrounding the merchant path. Canals drew water like man-made streams from the mountains to irrigate and feed the green plants that rose in checkerboard patterns across the landscape. Here and there, a sentry stood watch and within the taller plants, an occasional droma with a mounted rider could be seen when the beast’s rider shifted to take a drink from a flask at his side. Those who guarded were men, as were those who stood watch and more than one greeted Lanaia and the passenger who clung to her many-toothed mount. The droma here were Tyyler’s size and slightly larger, but as they neared Myzat the size began to grow increasingly larger. Nothing large enough to consume a man, but definitely warhorses of a different breed. Scales of varying shades of green shimmered where sunlight caught them, brown and yellow-tan stripes blending those within taller harvests into near invisibility. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the planting pattern, at least when viewed with the untrained eye. It would take living with the Schydin to view their planting techniques.

At the edge of a shorter range of crops, likely peppers or some sort of bean, a cliff face dropped off below. An ocean breeze blew in, from this distance nothing but waves and clouds with the occasional black winged bird calling out as it dove for fish and came up empty clawed. Tyyler rode to its edge as though intended to walk off the precipice before Lanaia drew him up short. Looking the long distance down, one could see the small specks that signified what might be game fowl of some sort scratching and pecking a greener area that might be grass before it faded into sandy beaches and eventually the ocean. The cliff face they stood upon, as well as a second face to their right made two walls and a third fence built of what might be stones made a neat pen for the fowl as well as other specks that moved like pigs or perhaps some other four-legged food animals when combined with the ocean. From the height, it was impossible to tell what exactly they might be. Rope ladders dangled over the cliff face, which appeared to be pocked with hundreds of holes of varying sizes. The only visible buildings were a few square structures near the livestock at the base of the cliff and buildings that women and children were bringing the season’s vegetation into for storage.

Aphinimeropolis, Akronessos

The Senate meeting concluded with the apointment of the new imperator: Fabius of house Gaeia. That was interesting, for the god referred to as "Shody" was not at all recognized in Aphinimer. The other Imperator, Ixilus of House Lux, was shocked: the priest would not be happy at all.

The first Imperatorial Meeting was a mess. The two Imperators contuously annoyed each other, but the traditions of the Momajos made them come to terms. They were the rulers of Aphinimer, the Lords of the Cliffs, the Sovereigns of the Sea.

OOC: Sorry for the long response, I have finals this week and in the words of some famous guy, let's roll.

Etanu had come into the fort. It was a nice fort with what looked like pretty comfortable for the leaders and decently comfortable for the soldiers. He had come to expect this from the Kolmyran, very nice places for all citizens it was another reason why he was thinking about doing what he was doing.

He then sat down with Ras-Sagansu, and said, "We can talk about the slaves later, Is there a way I can move in with the Kolmyran?"...
----------------------------

Nebech was now doubly worried. It had been 3 days since he had sent out his merchant Etanu to with the Qessai slaves to be sold to the Kolmyran. He was usually quite reliable and was one of the better merchants as he was able to get out of trouble and not get captured or killed as much as the other merchants. The fact that he was not back yet though was the least of his troubles right now as Geldramai had come back from his raid and it had been a failure.

The raid was against the city-state of Alea. Well not really against the city itself but more a swoop on the farms to get crops and run back. They had done it before and Nebech knew they could do it again. He remembered the year back in his teens when they even managed to get tribute from Alea in exchange for not raiding them. Well that was not now and right now Alea had upped it's defenses and beaten them back pretty badly. Gelmarai was a disgrace and soon Beldrinot was about to try a power seizure.

Nebech then hit on an idea, "Have Beldrinot find Etanu and raid whatever city he is in." It's probably Ras, as that's the closest but, eh let's make it simple let him raid Ras. Beldrinot could never ever ever do that. He just simply wasn't that good of a commander and after he failed then Nebech knew he would be ok for the time being.

He also had another trick for the time being. He would send out a messenger and give him a message in code, that the Ekpak will strike. He knew that Ras will know what to do and all will be well. He was right that establishing good relations with the Kolmyran was a good thing. That messenger will also need to have a two horse escort and...

Well he had secured power Nebech was happy.

Athrio dockside

The man appears a bit tired as he bows in greeting to the supplymaster. He is of a somewhat short and muscular build- ships are no place for tall folk- his complexion a deep tan, the mark of weeks spent topside hauling lines, setting sails, and guiding a ship. His attire is simple- short leggings and tunic dyed a simple ruddy brown, and his feet are bare. "I am Veturo Khosako Nigri. My ship is in need of resupply, and we bring many things to exchange for fresh food and fresh water."

Outside the door, two children, both obviously with the Tordi whisper excitedly. Both are clad in the same fashion as Nigri, simple attire and bare feet.

"I want to look around, Aiala! Look at that!" The bolder of the two, a lean boy with sun-bleached blonde hair and bright brown eyes gestures excitedly up the cliff face. "Have you seen anything like it?"

The other child is a similarly blonde girl, clearly the boy's sister. "Tordi says we have to stay with him, Liini! We'll get in trouble!"

"Tordi is busy talking to the tero. He won't miss us. I bet you could see all the way to Hejmo-Kvar from the top of that!" The boy, Liini grins.

"Nuh-uh. Ghento says Hejmo-Kvar is too far away to see even from reeeeeally high up." Aiala protests, knowing full well the slender Liini would have his way and explore the harbor despite her best efforts. "It's not safe to go far from the Laughing Girl!"

"Fft. This is our first time seeing tero up close. I'm gonna go explore!" Liini takes off running, the curious youth laughing as he peeks in doorways, between buildings, anywhere and everywhere an inquisitive urchin might be interested by. And for a child who's entire five years had been spent on the sea, a port held many such things.

"Liini-!" Aiala yelps, taking off after her brother. Such was the pattern of their troublemaking- Liini would overstep his bounds and get into trouble, and Aiala would invariably be drawn into it trying to talk sense into the boy. Even in the cramped environment of seagoing life, Liini was notorious aboard the Veturo for getting into trouble.

"So what's the plan now that we've sailed past NeikenRynn?" asked the first mate

"Didn't I tell you?"

"No."

"Oh, must have been something ultra secure then.. anywaym, our plan is to sail down to the Antoris stock up on some goods then find our way south... So say the stars."

"Aye, so say the stars.but what does the stars tell us is down there?"

"You should be thrown overboard for that! but... It's something the the stars have not told us... We will find what we find. It's a matter of faith. The stars will reveal it to us in their time."

.....

Many days later... they where approaching Antoris...

The balistae ships where given orders to wait out at sea while the Aurora barted for goods. The aurora landed at the western port on the island and the captain went and started back for some goods.

<Delete>

OOC: Kindly check your tm box and get back to me ASAP. Thank you in advance.

OOC: Bump for edit I guess. Sorry for any and all misunderstanding yet again.

Ras-Sangasu glowered at the other man for a very long time. "You may come with us." The Cataphract commander was dressed once more in his gleaming armour, and his ornate sword was in his palm, "if you tell my scribe the location of every well and river in the territory of the Albele that you know of." The Cataphract ground one of his fists into the other, producing a rasping of metal squeaks.

Somehow, this summoned the scribe. The small, nervous man walked in, twitching, and lay a large tablet on the ground and picked up hammer and chisel. On the slate already was a map of the albele lands, copied from one that had existed before the Albele had arrived. Ras-Sangasu leaned forward and smiled at the Albele, Etanu.

Two spearmen stood in front of the entrance to the tent now, their long,thick and sharp spears glinting in the firelight. The Cataphract Commander made a sound that could almost be described as a purr. "You serve our city well, Ras-Etanu, and we will fill your mouth with gold."

"If you fail us, we will melt it first." Sangasu leaned back, rubbing his sword gently. He glanced back at his raven-haired, triangle faced wife, as if awaiting some sign. She nodded slightly, a thin and smugly satisfied smile on her face. Sangasu turned back to face the albele. "Well, Ras-Etanu? Will you help your city?"


Out in the fortress proper, Ras-Etana the Slave-Merchant inspected this take. A pretty measly one, by all accounts. Such news that drifted towards him suggested the Qessai were becoming harder targets to find, suggesting renewed activity on the part of the 'Hordes'. Naturally, of course, this suggested to him... but what did it matter what it suggested to him? He wasn't a soldier, just a merchant. "Well. Some bored soldier will pay well for you, child." He told the woman, a bored yawn on his face. "Honestly, what they see in you Qessai I'll never know." He jerked his finger to one of the cages. "We'll have you all inspected back in Ras."

(OOC: It looks like a lot of stuff is being moved here:http://z7.invisionfree.com/Iron_Ages_of_Talene/index.php?act=idx, and there doesn't seem to be a link in this thread yet. Anyway, I'll be following suit, but if anyone currently doing things to me prefers to ramain on NS-Proper, I'll stay here and just copy stuff over, bitch though it may be.

At the moment, my threads are: Slaves from the Sunset Lands (The RP which looks likely to involve Ras being smacked) (http://z7.invisionfree.com/Iron_Ages_of_Talene/index.php?showtopic=13))

Collapse of the Hegemony (http://z7.invisionfree.com/Iron_Ages_of_Talene/index.php?showtopic=14)

At the moment, just because I feel like being precise, the people involved in the first are the Albele and maybe the Qessai. The people involved in the second are...whoever, really. Maybe Kalus and a couple of other people like Baz and Hakaa.)