New Civilizations (IC, Closed)

[G-Tech Corporation]

Part 3, Chapter 13: Stone and Wood, Not Gods

May 5th, 63 AG

Atop a low hillock before the advancing host I made out a small stone structure peaking above the trees, the dark dense forests of eastern Germania that occupied this region in these years. Around me men sharpened weapons and tightened the straps of armor, those who had marched with their gear in the baggage train or on their backs retrieving the parcels to arm up for war. As I sat on my horse peering forward at the primitive keep in curiosity, a young man bearing the light garb of an outrider rode up to the ring of the Blackguards, and after a short discussion with the captain was allowed to pass inwards to where my horse stood.

His fist over the heart I returned in equal measure. Formally I stood outside the military chain of command here, within the Fifth, but as the Hegemon of all lands from the Bosphorous to Warsaw and beyond there was implicit weight in my position that spoke for far more than mere titles. Not all men would have returned the salute, but it was my duty, and had been for more years than I cared to voluntarily remember, to instill discipline and order in these ancient peoples. For if I did not respect the traditions and strictures I myself had inaugurated, who was I to ask other men to do so?

Formalities out of the way, the scout spoke. His words came tumbling out in a rush, falling over each other like a line of men shoved forwards- nervousness, no doubt, a mix of the anxiety before combat and the fact that he addressed the most powerful men in the known world, by several measures.

"H-Hegemon, Lord-Commander Hadrian awaits you at the front of the column. He sends word that the scouts have reported a vast host of Germanics marshaled in the woods on the far side of this stretch of farmland, and would take council with you."

Ah, not a scout then, but a messenger. Would that we had the capabilities to communicate more readily than the relay of word of mouth, but Rome was not built in a day. That too would come, with time, with the turning of wheels I had already set in motion. It served its purpose though, for now, and I nodded to the young ginger-haired warrior bearing the Great Anchor.

"Very well. Tell the Lord-Commander I shall join him presently."

The messenger turned his horse with another hurried salute, and with a slight kick it sprang away again, bearing my words. About us the Great Company was almost completely armed for war; regulations and drills required each man to be able to be fully equipped for combat within five minutes of the report of the scouts, and indeed they were, greatbowmen in their companies with quivers filled, crossbowmen and pavises marching forward in squads, and heavy infantry in gleaming plate intermixed with lancers and knights that could crush any primitive force in a rush of horseflesh and forged death. Between them I espied a new addition to the host, one I had brought from the Imperial Arsenal at Mara on the hunch that it might be necessary. It's time would come later though, and I hoped it need not be used at all.

But these pagan men of Germania were more sophisticated than the Neolithic savage bands with which we usually dealt. Though still given to tribal confederations and societies where the chief ruled all, they were sandwiched between our growing borders and those of the Norsemen in Danemark and beyond, and had picked up several tricks over the years since my arrival in this timeline. Commerce between the Imperium and such bands was restricted in items of military import, but in truth our borders were porous enough, and the price the savages were willing to pay high enough, that the gradual osmosis of our technologies and advantages to the indigenous could not be helped. And so new weapons of war were needed to ensure we retained our edge, to ensure lives of good men were not needlessly wasted.

With a touch of my reins I urged my destrier out of the encampment, between the marshaled blocks of soldiers in black and white, my guards following along and sweeping before me as a second skin of flesh and steel between myself and any would-be assassins. Many men cried out greetings or asked for blessing in the coming battle as I passed, and I raised a hand to company after company standing ready for the time of blood and bone which would soon beckon. Thousands trained and hammered in to the Sword of the Imperium stood upon this field, with thousands more in support, and thousands aside also eager for war. To our numbers in the last month had been added many subsidiary warbands of our allies in the region, those chiefs and wise men who had embraced the truth of the Light and were incensed to hear that the brigands of the federation of Cansivar were slaughtering the faithful. Their weapons were crude, their discipline ragtag, but they were of stock very similar to those who marched under the banner of the Emperor of Man, and their eyes burned with intelligence and fervor which bespoke them more than willing to do what needed to be done despite their lack of means like ours.

Several Sisters of the Sword watched as I dismounted just inside the line of stakes at the front of our position, meant to be used once combat was joined as a bulwark for our greatbows to prevent a cavalry charge. They stood in their fighting sections, preferring to go to war as squads of battle-sisters instead of the great blocks of infantry shoulder to shoulder which were favored by the Great Companies. The Order of the Willing Martyr had sent these women to prevent iniquities against believers, and even I, who knew many of them and could tell they were wise at heart and true Christ-followers, would not have wished to go blade to blade with either if they thought I had harmed a brother or sister. Their mouths were touched by smiles now at my coming and that of my retinue, for they had a martial rivalry with the Blackguards, but I knew those eyes would be hooded with hatred and vengeance come the battle.

The Lord-Commander stood just inside the stakes, a small folding table with a rough sketch of the battleground laid out before him, his captains and masters of thousands also in attendance. As I strode forward he looked up, and inclined his head.

"Viktor. It is good you are here." Hadrian's finger stabbed down at the map at several points as he spoke. "The scouts estimate that we face some one thousand warriors from the Confederation, and there may be more besides, perhaps one in five of which can marshal some form of mount. The open ground before us would be one place to give battle, but I think, and the captain of horse concurs, that they meant to draw us forward towards the woods and their fortress so they may put to good use the hornbows reported by the Hall of Whispers."

It was a problem, and no mistake. Steel armor would turn most shafts with little difficulty, especially the jointed plate worn by our heavy infantry, but when a foe had enough time to shoot and enough men with bows even inferior weapons could cause casualties that we did not wish to bear. Armies of ancient times had born horrible losses, true, and the morale of our men I was sure of. But just because my ancestors had triumphed on a field carpeted with the bodies of friends and comrades did not mean that was a price I would willingly dismiss. Part of my return to this world, I was convinced, was to forge a better one than that which I had been taken from.

"You think the terrain is rough enough to prevent investiture with cavalry? Even light lancers?"

Those words came from my favored friend, Gaodon, grandson of the man who had been my foremost ally in the early days when Mara was barely a city and the Imperium had never even been spoken of. Commander of the Blackguards which were charged with the protection of my family and myself, his grasp of the strategic direction of the Imperium and the world I wished to forge was second to none save my dearest Tanya, and his tactical acumen was a quality I respected in the utmost.

Hadrian shook his head, tracing a line about the base of the trees with a callused forefinger.

"The scouts report earthenworks along the line of the forest, enough to hold up any riders long enough for a volley or two. We could slay them, certainly, but the cost in horseflesh and soldiers would be indeterminate, and likely grave."

I pondered for a moment, then resolved a solution for myself. As I explained several faces around the table drained of blood, but by the time I was finished my plan was reluctantly agreed upon. It would cost many lives, that was for certain. But these men had taken up arms to kill all God-fearing men, women, and children they could lay their hands on. Indeed, I had heard rumors some were burnt alive as sacrifices to heathen deities out of the north. Little pity did I feel for them. I would not judge, but they had better hope the Almighty was in a good mood, for they would be meeting Him soon.

With the blare of warhorns our host moved forward in to the fallow fields before the enemy army, several hours later. I rode near the head of the column, halting out of bowshot from the foe, but close enough for them to hear the bellowing of our herald. They were many indeed, though the ranked lines of the Fifth made an impressive show behind me too. If anything I would say the scouts had been injudiciously conservative in their estimates of the force the men of Cansivar had rallied; I would have said two thousands, at the very least, if not three. Their riot of dun and ocher colored banners and surcoats told me exactly how organized they were, but all the same, two thousand men with any type of weapons were not a force to be trifled with. They wore their beards long, not like men who could shave easily in the Imperium, and bore a hodgepodge of copper plates, bronze armor, even the occasional piece of ironmongery in their train.

I stood forward, and spoke to the herald, then rode a bit farther forward myself. My eyes flickered over to where statues of their northern gods had been graven and carried in to battle, and soon I warmed to my work as my voice boomed across the space between our armies. In their own tongue I addressed them, which gave many in the front lines pause; their dialect of Indo-European Germanic was much like what the Germanic of Mara had been ere my coming, but my own miraculous gift for languages carried me through their guttural words with no difficulty.

"Men of Cansivar. You have slain your own, blood-relatives, daughters, sons, for what? Gods graven by your own hands, gods carved of wood? Your chieftains deceive you, the North-men deceive you. Odin is silent. Thor does not speak. When the sons of Christ came north to speak to you of His power, they did so out of love, out of a desire not to see your souls perish forever, to give you the gift God so freely bestowed upon them. But you have spat upon that gift, spurned that gift, seduced by the lies of gods who promise what they cannot give."

"They promised security. They promised prowess in war. That if you raised high their idols, as the North-men said, if you gave them gifts of your best they would return your worship with riches and prosperity. These are false promises, men of Cansivar. I am Viktor Nemtsov, Sojourner from beyond the veil of years, and I tell you as I have known from the beginning, that the worship of only one God is pure, only one God who is real. The tale of years speaks only of your gods as deaf and dumb, superstitions abandoned by their worshipers as the world changed about them and they saw their idols for what they were."

"Your chiefs tell you to trust in the fortress you have raised. To trust in stone. To trust in the gods you have carved from the bowers of the forest. To trust in wood."

My mien was grim as I pronounced the doom of the assembled host.

"See now, then, how empty your trust is, how empty the words of those you lead are. The blood of those you have slain cries out for justice, and I carry the scales of order. You have been weighed, and found wanting."

I lifted my hand, and let it fall, and as it fell the heavy bombards spoke.

From where I stood, forward of the main host, the noise was not earth-shattering. Many of the enemy simply fell over in shock though, or cast themselves down in wonderment and fear at the voice of thunder which spoke from a clear sky louder than the greatest storm. Even in the ranks of the assembled allies of our host many cried out in fear at the speaking of the immense guns, and with the sound of whistling death the balls of polished stone arced high above me.

As I watched three cannonballs crashed against the walls of the fortress in the distance, and it gave as if it was composed of wood and spit, not mortar and stone. Designed to resist arrows, even light catapults that some of the tribes now used, it was not proof against the sheer kinetic energy indolent in the speaking of gunpowder and fire. The walls shattered where they were struck, and in the distance I could hear men shouting in dismay as in the first volley part of the ramparts caved in on themselves. I could not tell from here the true extent of the damage, but the message was clear enough; this fortress, in which they placed their trust, was no more than a false savior.

Then, even as the thunderclap of the bombards echoed and reverberated in the woodlands, the creaking of rope and machine was added to it, trebuchets launching cargoes of destruction in high arcs that ended in the forests behind the enemy host. Where each burden fell from the five engines of war that the Great Company had assembled, it burst in to flame against tree trunks and branches, scattering their payloads of sickly burning devastation across the sheltered canopies. In to that stillness after the firing of the cannon faded then came the screams of those the battle-fire touched, bowmen who had been hidden to slay warrior of the Imperium now become living candles as gouts of death clung to skin, clothing, bone, burning without ceasing as their comrades tried to put out the flames. Swiftly the flames spread, the new growth of spring fodder to the flame, and what was spots of flame in the canopy became a burning forest from which men on fire fled out in to the main enemy host.

I could tell they were unnerved. As they should be. No man wanted to die, but there were better ways to die and worse ones, and this was definitely not one of the better ones. Shouting came from the host of Cansivar, chiefs asserting order, men quailing at the deaths of brothers in battle and seeing the woods behind them which were to have been their refuge turned in to an inferno from which there would be no escape. In a few moments the front lines of the enemy began surging forward, some semblance of their martial spirit returning, shouted war-cries and oaths hurled at the waiting lines of the Great Company.

With a slight pressure in my knees I turned by horse around, and rode back towards the front of the host of black and white, the herald at my side. Men's eyes were wide and their faces pale as they looked upon the burning woods where their foes had laid in ambush, and the crumbling fortress they had thought to be protected from retribution within. The screams of the damned behind me were not pleasant to hear, but I crushed the pity that started in my heart, and nodded darkly as the trebuchet-arms creaked upwards again.

Turning in my saddle to look back, my vision refocused just in time to see the skins of battlefire burst in the rear ranks of the foe, some of their range long, but others deadly accurate. Men kindled like torches, and it gave me a certain black satisfaction to see one of the graven images of Odin covered in luminous battlefire, burning merrily. The barbarians surged forward now, less in lust for blood than in desperate desire not to be in the rear ranks which death was visited upon, and even as the first men came within range of the bows of Hadrian's command the weight of their fellows behind them kept them from turning back. The gruff commander's voice barked orders, and with the crash of crossbow and thrum of bowstring hundreds in the first onrushing warriors fell. Caught with fire behind and unwavering steel in front, dour Sisters of the Sword eager to slay and men with veins full of righteous fury, they really didn't have a prayer of victory.

It only took an hour, really, to see all the men assembled by that infernal Confederation either put to the sword or taken captive. I walked the battlefield as the sun sank towards the horizon, and inspected the charred remains of their battle idols with something like vindication in my heart. Those gods of wood, in which they had placed their trust, had been nothing more than false saviors too. There was one true God, and those who harmed his faithful upon this world would answer to me as long as I had breath in my body.

Firstman's House, Sar Nanil, Ernwash Province, The Imperium of Man
Late Winter, 62 AG

Heldan the Firstman smiled at the prospect of more trade from the east. "Aye, we would much enjoy trade, as long as the folk who come from far Scythia are as behaved as yourselves. This village has been more than happy to hear somesuch of the doings of the wider world, and your strange furs and goods have fetched prices much in favor of the Almighty farther west." As his wife came up to stand beside Heldan, the elder stroked his neatly clipped black-gray beard.

"Hmm. As for an escort, I do not believe I can spare any of my kin or those of the village; soon the spring planting will be upon us, and the roads right now are open, but slow to travel. I do have something you might find of interest to know though; our detachment of Outlookers, the captain who you know well, are due to be rotated over to another settlement come the thaw. It is the way of their commands, to ensure the rule of law is upheld impartially, without favoritism towards any man. When they leave they will be riding back to the city of Bas Jaran, where the headquarters of their organization for the eastern part of this province is located. From there you might find caravans leaving for north and the west, where Mara the Golden lies. Though, I warn you, the journey is long. It is the better part of a fortnight's walk leisurely, even on the Imperial Highways."

[Conwy-Shire]

Amadeus Mulcahy | Part 1, Chapter 6
March 15th, 63 A.G.
March 15th, 1 C.R. (Colchian Reckoning)

The final tile set itself firmly onto the end of the roof, resisting the testy prods that tried to discern whether it would hold over the Winters to come. With the roof complete, the Garrison-house finally stood freely and securely, the only indication of its refurbishment being the scaffolds that were soon-after disassembled and put to work elsewhere. Amongst the ageing and worn houses of Uruzriam, the tile-roofed and brick-set building now occupied y the Ashturi garrison stood out like a sore thumb, a beacon of progress and architectural soundness sorely lacking in the area. Passers-by stopped to assess the new structure that had cropped up in their town, and from the gleam in their eyes I could tell a difference in their attitude from one of suspicious desperation to a more welcome, if more apathetic, indifference. They were certainly glad for the nourishment Ashtur had provided in aid, but it had come at the price of their town's autonomy, a point they sorely reflected on with noticeable frequency.

It was with a whimper, not a fight, that Uruzriam had surrendered its power to Ashtur. With the food and supplies that ferried themselves down the coastal road between the two towns, protected by regular patrols of my Ashturi guards, Uruzriam soon became dependant on the flow of goods and services from its north. The solution to this was the implementation of the very same reforms I had wrought upon Ashtur, the reformation of ancient practices and principles into an intensive, yet sustainable, series of practices that the Uruzriami were uncomfortable with, to say the least. However, as was the case with modernisation, the onslaught of innovations and progress inevitably overcame the stubborn defences of traditionalism, and on one quiet and dry night in the council house of the dependant town, the remaining elder agreed to my terms, and entered into union with the town of Ashtur.

The terms were simple, Uruzriam would send a delegate to Ashtur to sit upon deliberations in the union's council, alongside the four elders of Ashtur and myself, whilst the day to day governance of Uruzriam would be held in trust by their elder. The advancements of industry and technology in Ashtur would be disseminated to the other half of the union, and until such a time as Uruzriam became independent in terms of subsistence the aid currently streaming southward would continue. The union itself came to be known as the League of Helios, a convenient by-product of the shared theology of the region, though I still had designs of syncretism upon the local faith. All of this, in fancier terms and clauses, I wrote down a simple mat of stringy paper, for as news of the towns revitalisation came to spread, so too did the trade that once sustained the town as a regional market centre return to Uruzriam, and with it the cotton - and now paper - that had been so desired by Ashtur in the beginning of this escapade.

With a sigh I noticed that the scaffolds that had once scaled the sides of the new guardhouse had fled to new construction sites. The greatest cost of reflection was the passage of time, and even though I was awaiting the passage of time, for the next caravan from Ashtur to arrive with a rather special delivery, the transit of the sun across the Spring sky still materialised with a pang of regret. Soon enough the locals would gather at the council house for some rudimentary congregation as the tranquil Selene would overcome Helios, only to be replaced by Eos and Helios anew with the coming of the new day, a cause for wonder and concern to these townfolk. It was a primitive reason to be religious and gave no answers to some of the greater questions in life, and so for now I shunned the mass of Helios in favour of my private, and more personal, prayers.

But such ethereal matters melted away as familiar cranking and squeaking of carts filtered through my ears, a caravan from the north had arrived, bearing a new shipment of exports from Ashtur. I eagerly waited at the fringes of the mass of porters standing ready to offload the goods into the town's warehouse, remaining behind as the last of the part-time labour force disappeared into the looming structure to sort and stack the temporary lifeblood of the town. The cart-driver himself stepped out from the tray of his vehicle, a box clasped between his two calloused hands. In it was prize I hadn't laid eyes on since arriving and, though by no means of any import to these agrarians, would come to define the landscape as much as the plough or the people who toiled in it. It was as much a testiment to the great skill and mastery of the dyers, weavers and spinners of Ashtur that such a piece could be crafted, the co-ordination to produce such work would have tested even the expertise of a feudal economy.

I smiled tentatively as the box lid came off and the material came out, a large monstrosity with smaller copies neatly folded beneath it. Taking the largest of the textiles and pinning it to two fixtures placed on the main façade of the guardhouse, I stepped back expectantly, and the tentative grin morphed into a beaming smile. Now crowned with the flag of a white yew on a blue background, the guardhouse - and Ashtur's growing influence in the area - were complete.

Amadeus Mulcahy | Part 1, Chapter 7
April 13th, 63 A.G.
April 13th, 1 C.R. (Colchian Reckoning)

The stench of burning flesh pervaded the burial grounds long after the ceremony had concluded and the people of Ashtur returned to their homes. Twilight had fallen long before the ceremony began, and now all that remained were the closest amongst the family of the deceased, and the now-diminished council of the League of Helios. Though I had few dealings with Elder Syrouz, his passing affected all of us on the council, bringing our numbers down to five of the original six. His funeral and cremation had been simple affairs - though lavish by the local standard - and his passing had been felt all the more keenly for the relative prosperity Ashtur was now enjoying. It was assumed that he had passed the threshold of old age, the point at which it was assumed you could die at any second, but my closer inspection - standing feet away from the corpse as it lay in state on a pyre - told me otherwise. Though the cadaver was scant a day old, it reeked of infestation or some other bodily complication I couldn't possibly fathom.

For now though, the five remaining councillors were gathered near the smouldering remains of Syrouz' pyre, huddled around a pale imitation of the inferno we had silently watched before. All five of us wore our headscarves wrapped tightly to ward off against the cold, even Juyr - the Delegate of Uruzriam - after the inhabitants of his town were absorbed into the cultural norm. The Uruzriami was the first to speak up once the fire had risen to a cheery level, his husky tone belying a shortlived attachment to the deceased Councillor.

"With the passing of Syrouz, it seems that we have some business to attend to, in the selection of a new Councillor - " Around the circle veiled heads nodded in unison, myself included, but it was Mishar who spoke up and, to my surprise, countered the proposition unexpectedly.

"Perhaps, but might it not be best to continue our business as usual? Bringing new blood into the council may create an internal divide within the council, and that would spell the end of our young league." By now the heads within the circle had swivelled towards the young Ashturi Elder, sets of dark eyes peering out from under white headdresses. "What I would propose is that Amadeus be granted full status on the council, as opposed to his advisory position as is in the current moment."

At that my body pivoted dangerously from a seated position to face the man. Though he had virtually grown up to become my foster father in this strange land, I had never figured the feeling to be mutual, courtesy of my rough treatment in the early days near-on half a year ago. Though I had already earned my citizenship, and sat as an advisor to the council, to be counted as one of Ashtur's leaders never crossed my mind. In the weeks following my first return from Uruzriam I had fallen back into the business of pottery, spinning larger and more complex works than I ever had at the encouragement and request of others. I was also the unofficial leader of the town guard, but that task required little more than receiving a verbal report on the status and number of patrols, as well as the ever-increasing number of guards within the towns. But by now the others were making approving noises, noncommittally of course, and in due process I was invested as the replacement Councillor - that process being a handshake shared between each sitting member of the council and a number of faint "thank you's" which seemed to tumble out of my mouth as a reflex.

The remainder of the council went smoothly, a public works programme I had sponsored in Ashtur were taking off, consisting of a waterfront precinct and shipbuilding facilities to expand our trade networks across the seas. Of more pressing concern to the other elders was the creation of irrigation channels, spreading the reach of the Phaesos river in watering the cultivated land under our custody. Juyr reported that the renovations of Uruzriam were progressing well, but that there were rumblings of hunger arising due to the improper distribution of certain foodstuffs, an issue he said the resident elder could smooth over. In all of this my thoughts drifted back to Syrouz, and his supposedly natural death. It was unsurprising that bathing in the League - Ashtur and uruzriam both - consisted of little more than irregular swimming in the sea or the Phaesos. My own practices has sharply degraded to scrubbing with a crudely bristled dowel, and though painful it created a noticeable difference between the fragrance of the agrarians and myself. I resolved to bring up the notion of heated bathing at a future meeting - soon perhaps - for now that I had the means and desire, a hot bath really did sound enticing.

[Holy Tedalonia]

Part 1, Chapter 2: Rise of the Pale Boy

Somewhere in Italy, Time Unknown
Ted had meet the people of the village an hour ago. They were unsure of his intent and were untrustful, but the chieftain assured them that he meant no harm. Ted didn't care what the villiagers thought soon they would realize his worth for better or worse. Ted had told them that he need time alone and started to check out the outer area. There was many things he recognized that reminded him of Italy, but with no site of a city he had his doubts. He soon finds a plant with grapes petruding out of it. He looks at it and squishes one. Dark purple juice squirts out of the grape creating a sticky juice. He wipes the juice onto a nearby plant and continues explore the outer perimeter of the village.

After thinking while he was walking he realized he could help out. The problem was that the tribes were not united under one banner and to do that he would need influence. Ted devised a plan. He would introduce sanitation, construction, and weapons. He didn't know much about structures, but he knew sanitation and weapons. He would first introduce the infamous scutum shield, and then the javelin. Construction and sanitation would have to wait, since he had no idea how construction would work.

Ted had returned to the village and requested wood, starch grains, a sheet of metal, and copper. He knew copper wasn't the ideal resource, but the majority of the iron in Italy was in the alps north of Italy, and until he gains control of that region he won't try and use iron. He made the shield by using three woods, put the metal sheet in between two of the three woods, and glued the together with the starch grains. This allow the shield to be light, flexible, and strong. He had also made the javelin by using a copper arrowhead and glueing it upon a long stick. This was not an ideal weapon, but it was a start; it just lacked the iron. If he had iron it would be a force to be reckoned with.

He showed the weapons to the chieftain. Many tribespeople watched to see what the mysterious boy had made. The chieftain was not pleased. He must have not liked the idea of weapons. Ted knew this was a bad idea right when he saw the unpleasang reaction.

The chieftain spoke, "I asked you to share the knowledge of your people and you show weapons?"

Ted tries to counter with a truthful arguement, "most of our tech is outside of your current resources. If you want to have better technology, then you'll have to head north. I can do this much right now."

This insulted the chieftain, but he calms down and observes the weapon and shield, "interesting design... why design this like that?" He lifts the shield up.

"The design is intended to protect the wearer; only the finest weaponary can break through the shield and it can block all arrows as long as it makes contact with the shield,"

"Atleast it's not all weapons... I'll tell you what; this shall be sufficient, but try and do something other then weapons next time."

"Will do," and with that Ted departed.

Their was no telling what would happen next, but he would have to think of something other than weapons.

[Oudland]

Six Months Later
New Sheba, West Yemen

Donovan (called Shahib Maharib or Yamat by the tribe) stood on the shore of the Red Sea, looking out over the waters. He studied one of two small fishing boats as the men aboard pulled their nets. A modest catch, from what he could tell. Still, it made him proud to see. He turned to survey the village behind him.

There was still much work to be done. The village was comprised of several huts, a forge, a common house, stables, and a sizeable wheat farm. The irrigation had been hard work, but between the wheat and fish, nobody was going to go hungry. He and Yob had designed a wall, the construction for which had only just begun.

The only thing his people really lacked was copper for more tools and weapons. Some of the men had suggested a raid for supplies on a nearby tribe, but Donovan had consulted with Yob (who never left the village anymore, as he became weaker with each passing day) and tried to formulate a better plan. He had sent scouts, and they had returned to him with their report. The neighboring settlement had a copper mine.

Donovan had a grave decision to make. The men insisted they assault the tribe and take the mine. Yob was also of this opinion, but Donovan hsd suggested a more diplomatic approach to facilitate trade. Yob had pointed out, to Donovan's frustration, that they did not have anything to offer.

New Sheba only boasted sixty seven warriors, along with approximately thirty four other people, a mix of women and children. He was loathe to send them into battle. Especially for resources. He realized, though, that ruthless force might be necessary for his people to survive. He took the rest of the day to decide.

The next morning, he gathered his warriors and announced his decision.

"Brothers... in these recent months we have struggled to overcome the harshness of our situation. We have suffered at the hands of those who would take what belongs to the men of Sheba, of New Sheba."

The atmosphere was tense, rife with anticipation. The men locked their colective gaze upon him.

"No more. I say it is time that we take what is ours. And what belongs to us?"

One of the warriors thrust his worn copper spear into the air and shouted, "Everything!" The men cheered their approval.

"That is right, and true! What belongs to the warriors of New Sheba is everything under the sun!"

Their cheering turned to savage roars. Donovan lifted his copper sword. Sunlight glinted across the blade.

"Tonight we shall ride for the neighboring tribe of Ula, and offer them a choice: join us in our conquest, or die!"

Yob watched him from the shadows of his hut, a grim but approving smile on his face.

The ecstatic chanting of the warriors could be heard around the settlement. "Praise be to Yamat. Praise be to Shahib Maharib!"

[Imperial Idaho]

Washington D.C, Piscataway Tribe, North America

The world paid little attention to its newest arrival. While one would expect it to be a newborn, it was far from it. A grown man, from a reality no longer possible came into play. In an almost comatose state he laid on the grassy hill. Frank DeWitt. He ever so slowly came to his senses, effectively slapping himself awake. The cool grass felt oddly comfortable on his exposed back. He slowly pushed himself off the ground and onto his feet, at this moment realizing he wasn't where he was supposed to be. He was on a hill, in a forest, presumably near a river. Very different from his former home in Colorado.

He spun around, completely naked, if it was still the modern day he would have been arrested for public indecency. Around him was purely nature, excluding a few small structures he saw off in the distance. He tip toed his way over, hoping to not get anything stuck in his bare feet, and saw several wigwams. He approached cautiously, hoping to not get spotted. It was an oddity for him to see these old, primitive buildings. But they were buildings regardless, and buildings meant people. After some quick looking around, nobody seemed to be home.

He carefully snuck into one of the wigwams, finding a misfitting set of clothes made of tanned animal hide. It would have to do. He put them on, they covered most of his body. He definately wasn't anywhere modern to say the least. He heard voices coming, speaking an strange tongue, and so he crept away. A group of people wearing clothes similar to the ones he just stole, approached, carrying bows, spears, the whole hunter-gatherer look. At the very rear came two men carrying a deer, they were returning from a hunt it seemed. Strangely enough, Frank was able to understand their foreign language, he understood it completely, strange for a man who could only speak English originally.

With his new foot wraps, DeWitt carefully approached the tribals. At 6' 1", he towered over them to say the least. They raised their spears at his sudden arrival, but Frank told them he meant no harm, oddly switching to their tongue when he spoke, surprising himself even. Words were exchanged between the two groups, but they came to a deal. Frank had nothing better to do, and these people for all intents and purposes, were cavemen. And so, since he rather trusted their authenticity as Hunter-Gatherers, he made a deal with them. He would be able to stick around, but only if he helped them.

With that, Frank DeWitt came into this brave new world.

[Kelmet]

Valkenheim, Throne room

I stood on the sidelines while "connor" sat on his throne hear testimony of a refugee from the south. We had thought that the Imperium was the greatest threat to our civilization, we were half right. This most emergent power to our south sandwiched between Norscia and the Imperials was the Cansivar Confederation. Their bloodthirstiness exceeding even the most brutal of tribes and they had the numbers,technology and desperate location to back it up. Yet the most dangerous trait of this confederation was our shared faith, we may have shared the names of our gods but they were not us. We viewed them the same way a 21st century christian would view 12th century Christianity, they had to be stopped. The refugee went on,

"We had heard of the Confederations fight with the imperials to the south but we never thought we would be involved. Our tribe was a two day walk to the Norscian Border my lord. We though we were safe, we are Norse like they are we never thought (At this point he breaks down in tears) The Cansivar's came to our village, the demanded a blood sacrifice for the god's.They took my wife, my sons they slit their throats while chanting our prayers. (At this point he became a mess of sob's and tears, no longer able to speak)"

"Connor" Immediately stood from his throne and went to comfort the man obviously moved by his speech. "You and your people are welcome here, and can stay as long as you need"

After that everyone save for the primary members of the Court and a handful of generals and admirals, along with a few high ranking members of the landsmeet filed out of the throne room.

"My son, take the royal army sail to Schwerin and end this. These savages make a mockery of our gods and will bring the full might of the imperial military down on our heads. They already don't like us and want to convert us but this will push them over the edge and they will march up here and burn everything. So while the imperials attack from the south you will march to their self proclaimed capital and burn it to the ground, leave nothing left of their corrupt interpretation of our faith."

"It will be done your grace"

1 week later.
In the port fortress of Schwerin the royal army gathered, the 3,500 strong Royal army put a strain on the city's reserves but the claming effect on the local population many of whom new the violence of the Cansivars first hand. Yet here the perfect plan came to mind, while the bulk of the Cansivars military were engaging the the imperial forces to the south the Royal army would march from the north and arrive at their capital in two days.

[Anowa]

Lower Mainland of British Columbia
Christine Buryak

Christine had been following footsteps in the ground for about an hour now. Wherever the hell she was, she found comfort in recognizing the plants that surrounded her. Pine trees, oak, the shrubbery was beyond her, but it was recognizable. It meant she was near home, and that meant the footsteps in the ground could lead to a camping ground.

Despite her level of nakedness, the ache in her feet, and only armed with a rock, Christine couldn't help but feel hopeful. After all she had the trail of multiple people, so it would only be a matter of time before she encountered some form of humanity. Little did she know...

Roughly another half hour of walking later, and it started to rain, doing little to ease her no likely blistered feet. Another ten minutes and she found the humanity she was searching for, all wrapped up in animal skins, all armed with stone and wooden weaponry, all of them shorter than her by a significant amount. Add onto that fact, all of them were first nations. No signs of any form of modern day tech, as if they were Amish Canadians.

Shivering, cold, naked, and currently in front of a literal tribe of people if the leather lean-tos were saying anything. Christine, exhausted, more than shocked, and likely at the verge of doing so anyway. Chose that point in time to faint.

---

Christine awoke with a start, hoping with all her might that she was just having a fucked up fever dream. Looking around, the hope was harshly slapped away, as Christine became aware of where exactly she lay. On a single layer of some kind of fur, with dirt flooring, and leather acting as a roof, walls, and door. Yup, definitely stuck in some tribal bullshit.

Shifting she couldn't help but sigh, at least the native went so far as to wrap her feet with some sort of wet cloth, and gave her a fur poncho to wear. Literally nothing else though. The red head did admit that it could've been worse, she could've woken up wet and alone in a clearing, or in some random guy's basement. Though she supposed the latter situation was similar in waking up in some random person's bungalow, though it being a leather home made it less... creepy, she supposed.

The flap to the tent opened and in walked a rather young child, perhaps five or six if she guessed right. The child locked eyes with Christine for a moment, but just that, a moment. He bolted from the room after a small gasp, his voice carrying through the walls, "Mama! Mama! The blood-haired woman is awake!" It wasn't until the second cry for his mother that Christine could understand what he was saying, was she that tired?

But the words then registered fully, and Christine couldn't help but furrow her brow, 'Blood-haired?' she thought in confusion, before realization dawned on her. Red hair was not ordinary among first nations... Now that she thought about it, neither were freckles nor green eyes, her pale complexion likely wasn't subtle either. It was a miracle they didn't cannibalize her like the Africans do albinos... Did? Will do? Fuck it. Who knows when they started or when albinism first became a thing.

Other thoughts started fleeting through her mind, first came what she could do to occupy her time, then came what had happened to her to think like this. Then came the stark realization of something she learned in school, or rather spent several years learning. She may have been slowly killing them just by being present. After all whatever sicknesses she had in her body stored in her appendix or wherever could be something they have literally no immunity to.

As a notably older woman walked in with the previous child in tow, her hair was graying, and despite her still youthful face lines and crow's feet crisscrossed their way across the canvas of her skin. It was obvious she was middle aged, and for what the age was like, that was impressive.

Though Christine was more worried about killing her and the child with smallpox. She tried standing, though her feet gave an unexpected flash of pain, as a cool liquid squeezed out of the wrappings. She fumbled a bit, as the woman stepped forward, grasping her arms sternly, and gently shoving Christine back into the bedding. "You're hurt child. You don't want to be walking around on those feet of yours. Could risk them rotting off."

Christine couldn't help but struggle, "I could get you sick, I can't stay here."

The woman pushed harder, "The Shaman won't let you leave, and neither will the chief, the old fool. They seem to believe you're some form of god made mortal, and that you'll lead us to glory. Most of us think your just some kind of bad luck, that you'll get us all killed. I mean look at you, hardly anything but skin on you."

Christine frowned, sitting up, all but knocking the woman off her, "I'll have you know I'm more than healthy for someone my size."

The woman frowned, before hurriedly getting up, "That remains to be seen. I'll help you with your feet, but everything else is on you." With that, she stormed out of the tent.

Christine figured more than anything that she could live with that woman dying from pox. As well as feeling that the first encounter could've gone better. Glancing to the side, Christine spotted the child from earlier, making a basket in the corner of the tent. He looked up, smiling. Christine couldn't help but wave back, before setting down prostrate onto the bedding again, her mind once again filling with thoughts.

[Oudland]

Tarut, West Yemen
Foot of the western mountains

Donovan and his warriors descended on the sleeping settlement. They wore harshly painted wooden masks depicting the snarling visages of jackals and eagles, clad otherwise only in their dark robes. His warriors moved quietly through the grass, cloaked in shadow. A group of men wielding spears and clubs stood talking quietly together among the squat huts. Donovan gave a signal, and his warriors began slipping little black ovals into their slings.

A moment later they loosed their lead projectiles at the oblivious sentries.

After the enemy had finished being pelted, several of them lay dead or injured. Those who had survived were taking cover just as another group of warriors were led onto the scene by an older man hefting an ugly stone maul along with a small but stout wooden shield. His hair and beard were both long and dark, his skin dark and weathered from many years under the sun. He moved confidently and directed his fighters to charge Donovan's position. They were assailed by the slingers the entire way, and Donovan waded through the entangled mass of warriors to find his true adversary.

He was shorter than Donovan by a head but well muscled, barrell chested with thick arms and legs. Their gazes locked and the man barely got his shield up as Donovan's spear soared through the air and lodged itself firmly in the wood. Donovan was on him then, stabbing furiously with a long, jagged knife of flint. The older warrior backed up a few paces and swung his shield around, slamming the shaft of the spear into the side of Donovan's head. Donovan reeled in pain, his ears ringing.

He barely dodged the maul as it made an arc in front of his face. The man had dropped his shield and was pressing the attack, forcing Donovan onto his heels. Donovan dropped into a sudden squat, ducking under the maul before springing suddenly forward, driving his head into his enemy's gut while simultaneously digging the knife into his leg. The man grunted and fell backwards, but not before attempting an awkward downswing with his maul that caused him to lose the weapon.

Donovan was straddled atop the old warrior's chest and arms now, pinning him and readying his knife for a killing strike. He became suddenly aware that the fighting around them had stopped. The man pinned beneath him was shouting curses at Donovan for his hesitation, urging his warriors to fight on.

They returned his cries with blank stares. Some of them shook their heads. His raving took on desperation as Donovan turned a calculating gaze upon him. The knife plunged downwards, into the old warrior's juggular vein. Blood spewed from the fatal wound, covering his mask and soaking his robe. The blade broke free of the handle and remained lodged in his neck. One of Donovan's men stepped forward as the man lay gasping and choking to offer his club, which Donovan accepted. He stood and finished the job.

At his command, his men rounded up the rest of the village so that he could address them all. They offered themselves as slaves, begging mercy for their women and children. He offered them an alternative.

The men of Tarut fell over themselves to offer their allegiance to the masked warrior of New Sheba, who his warriors named Shahib Maharib. Donovan inquired about the copper. A few men volunteered to show him the mine, and Donovan took a few of his warriors to accompany him. The rest he ordered to help tend the wounded and bury the dead.

[Conwy-Shire]

Amadeus Mulcahy | Part 1, Chapter 8
May 2nd, 63 A.G.
May 2nd, 1 C.R. (Colchian Reckoning)

Day by day, the rumblings from Uruzriam boded worse and worse for the young League of Helios. Each caravan that rolled through the gate of Ashtur brought news more dire than the last - and the reports of light dissatisfaction Juyr had given in the wake of Elder Syrouz' death were shown to be ever more false - to the point where civil unrest was nearing a tipping point. The garrison there maintained order, but there was apparently a practice amongst the local caravan porters based in the struggling town to appropriate some of the foodstuffs and goods meant for the market or granaries. It would not do, and though I had found more pressing matters to procrastinate upon, the time had come for swift and just action.

Hallur's forge had grown expansively since the last time I had visited - some fortnights prior - even though I maintained a friendly relationship with the smith. His monopoly on Bronze production in the early days had weakened into a disproportionate market share, yet even still he was able to maintain a large household, with his four eldest sons serving as apprentices around the smithy. I had approached the forge earlier in the week and through one of his sons Hallur had given me word that the task I had set was complete. The smith himself proudly showed me the work, pointing out every detail and mark that he had worked personally upon; It was a coin die, with the obverse of a yew tree cut from a metal cylinder. Alongside the die lay a number of planchet stacks - unmarked or blank coins - as well as one that had been struck and cooled prior to my arrival. This solitary coin, the first of its kind, was a far cry from the minted lifeblood of my 21st century world, but there was hope yet for its future.

My solution to the so called 'bread crisis' of Uruzriam hinged on these rounded metalloids which, along with an increased presence of Ashturi porters, would discourage the local porters from their breach of trust. There would also have to be a census, across the entirety of League territory, to determine the fair distribution of coinage to the families - and whilst I was not loathe to extend the control of a state apparatus over these relatively naïve peoples the thought did give me pause on more than one occasion. But it was necessary, and the journey towards civilisation demanded it to be so.

* * * * *

During this time period it had also been brought to my attention that many refugees and migrants were appearing in the area, almost exclusively arising from the east and transplanting themselves as far west as they could. Such people were of course welcome to become citizens of the League, but concerns raised by our allied pastoralist communities on the frontiers of civilised society had brought a sour note to the pleasant news of population growth. It seemed that isolated incidents of theft and even assault upon the outer communities had resulted in a tightening of societies on the fringe of our league, frustrating the liaison between many of our farmers and their mobile neighbours. The thoughts plagued my mind as I steamed off in the bathhouse which had been erected near the newly developing Ashturi waterfront district, a luxury I indulged in every seventh day before leading the dawn service to herald the return of Helios and his younger sister Eos to the world. Though my temperament was not well suited to the cause of public worship it was imperative I began shaping the doctrines and canon of the Heliadic faith practised here, and the lack of regular worship was once such blemish upon the religious tapestry - albeit one of many - that I felt compelled to repair.

On the issue of the pastoralists I was hard-pressed to provide a solution, but as they were my charge now I resolved to do what such fledgling states as mine did best - centralise. The pastoralists, by virtue of their occupation, were some of the hardiest peoples who called themselves consanguine ('of the blood') with the peoples of Ashtur, and their experience with the lowlands and forests of the land beyond our ever-growing fields was priceless to any frontier society. It would be no issue to arm the groups without fear of the equipment being turned on my people, but it was the cost relative to gains that demanded some form of return on the investment. Were they to send their young men for a period of military service, perhaps in a cavalry corral no less, then both parties would be satisfied, one getting the means to defend themselves with the other receiving an efficient - and mounted - elite fighting force to augment its power projection.

Perhaps, I thought to myself whilst rising from the steamy depths of the tiled bath, it might just work. There was no time now however, and with a purple bruise spreading across the sky I hurriedly redressed and made my way to the Hall of Faith to celebrate the coming of the new day.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Part 3, Chapter 14: The Butcher's Bill

May 20th, 63 AG

The man blubbered and pleaded, his garbled northern Germanic impossible for anyone save me to understand, and I hardly cared to listen. His tawny beard was coated in tears and snot as his eyes rolled back in his head, but the soldiers at his side gripped the miscreant firmly even as his legs threatened to give way. My verdict must have been obvious for him to see, the weight of the condemnation of those he had called neighbors clear even to the accused. Over the man's pathetic mewling I spoke, voice cutting through the hubbub of the town square, and the debates at other judgement stands.

"Felman Ingurson, you stand guilty of the crime of murder with intent, guilty of blood-sacrifice, guilty of the murder of a minor. For your crimes I sentence you to death. May the Lord have mercy on your soul."

Almost I wished I could recall those final words after I had said them. They were, perhaps, what ought to be said, but my mouth almost felt dirty for uttering them; mercy I wished none of for Felman, another wretched heathen who in his black superstition sinned gravely. Mercy I did not grant him, save the release of death. Barbarian kings might have drawn out his punishment, burned him alive, had him drawn and quartered, or other such draconian measures to persuade others who might walk in his footsteps to reconsider their options. But a more enlightened world was what I was trying to forge, and a civilization steeped in pain and misery, even of the dregs of society, was not one I wished to bear responsibility for.

Besides, that would have taken longer than the headsman's axe, and there were many trials still to come. Through the jeering crowd the blubbering child-killer was dragged by two stony-faced warriors in black and white, before they hauled him up a short flight of hastily erected stairs to a dais of rough-hewn fir wood. There I grimly observed the executioner, hood over his head, great axe ready for the next to be condemned. Already his weapon had had to be cleaned three times today, and the bonfire where the dead were being burned was growing high indeed. The stink of death was barely perceptible here, for the bodies were dragged beyond the settlement's borders to be committed to the flames, but the whiff of burnt hair and fear-sweat was enough to make my nose stink slightly in the spring air.

This ought to have been a season for planting, the breezes touched with blooming flowers and fresh earth after the rains. Instead now blood and offal were the harvest being reaped. I did not relish this task, but the blood of the innocent and martyred I would not let lie silent. Justice, however harsh, demanded payment for crime. It had been over two weeks now since we shattered the host of Cansivar, and the march north and west towards the capital of the Confederation had been a slow one, for at each village black men stood to oppose us, knowing the price their deeds would require.

Indeed, in some ways it was well that men knew their iniquities. Each band of desperate bastards cut down before the walls of a new petty town or village were dozens of men who did not require trial, who we did not have to waste the time to determine if they bore guilt or were merely being accused by jealous neighbors. The dead had passed judgement upon themselves, and only had now to wait for the weighing of the Almighty, not the scales of law that the Imperium wielded. I turned in my seat, asking one of the pages there for a glass of weak wine, which returned anon. It was thirsty work, questioning witnesses and accusers, defendants and tribesmen who swore no ill will towards the Faithful.

I sipped lightly on the glass as another villager walked out of the docket, seating themselves in the questioning chair before me. As the crier proclaimed the crimes of which she was accused, including witchcraft and the burning of her own firstborn son to give his father strength in battle, the baying of the crowd near the executioner swelled to that of a bellowing beast. As I looked up from the defendant momentarily I was just in time to see the blade fall with unerring intent, and the tawny-bearded man's head separated from his shoulders. With a sigh I returned to assessing the woman accused of committing her own son to the flames, and began questioning her.

This day was not uncommon, unfortunately. At each new village the bastard religion of the Northmen had to be uprooted fully, leaf and branch. The worst offenders, those who slew the innocent, the believers in their midst, their own blood, those did not live long. Pyres marked our trail north and that of the lesser bands and Fatebinders dispatched to bring the folk of Cansivar to atonement for their sins, pyres marking the deaths of those who no longer deserved to draw breath. How many hundreds met the axe were recorded scrupulously by scribes of the Administratum, how many hundreds to be deported, how many hundreds to make compensation for their iniquities in the mines and on the highways. I did not doubt that in some places innocents perished alongside the guilty, for justice out here beyond the records and knowledge of the Imperium was by necessity less than exemplary, borne on witnesses, testimony, and scant physical evidence.

But that did not keep me from sleeping at night. Indeed, what haunted my dreams was the thought that we had been too lenient, that when the armies of white and black subsided like a tide ebbing we would have not scourged all the filth from this landscape, that in secret places in the woods those who worshiped the darkness would continue their profane rituals, and send their own daughters and sons screaming in to the flames or staring lifeless up from sacred stones in order to reap some earthly reward. And so I drove my men forward, their hearts filled with hate like my own, and the pyres grew taller.

---

May 28th, 63 AG

Across the inner plains of northern Italy- as the guardsman heard this region was called- the Great Company wound like a snake. Markus appreciated that this region was warmer than up north already, despite his squad leader noting that spring was still technically not yet turned to summer. Here one could tell that the sea was not far afield, the great body of water named by sailors and schoolteachers as the Middle Sea. As the infantryman trudged along, he appreciated the solid marching sandals that the company logisticians had secured for the Fourth; these southerners barely understood the concept of a road, and though the rains had not come recently enough to make this dirt path in to pure mud, it certainly wasn't anything like the smooth paved flagstones of an Imperial Highway.

But, then again, Markus understood that this wasn't Kniepper any more. As the crow flies, the scuttlebutt was that they were now nearly a thousand kilometers from Mara, so far afield that even the wizards of the Administratum were complaining about the difficulty of keeping up with the column. Oh, there weren't any shortages yet, but with nearly twenty days march from the nearest railhead back in Cirdan, it was well that it was summer and the road crews could at least try and lay stone. The infantryman didn't like contemplating what it would be like pushing wagons and supply caravans through the snows of his homeland for twenty days on these dirt tracks.

His meandering thoughts were cut short as blaring deep horns sounded from the head of the column, a few sections in front of the Markus' squad. His ears pricked up as two long blasts announced the presence of other people on the road ahead, and then three short blasts denoted a settlement.

"16th! With me, forward in primary formation."

The shout came from Adricus, the sectionleader, and the infantryman picked up his pace and neatly wheeled out of the column at double time. It was the 16th's turn to sweep the small village which Markus rapidly picked out ahead of the advancing Great Company. Nominally these lands belonged to the people of Fenis, or so the few maps that the campaign had captured said, but the main correlation that the soldier had noticed appeared to be a language more than anything. These Italians sounded like their were drinking out of a cup too quickly when they talked, though it was apparently not too unrelated to proper Imperial, according to the translators that had picked up the tongue in the last few months.

Hefting his shield and shortsword, Markus joined with the other four squads of the 16th, and fell in to a loose staggered line with the other close-combat specialists. Sounds of people crying out in alarm came from the village up ahead, borne on a slight western wind, but to the warrior's somewhat practiced ear they didn't sound like martial warcries, more like surprise and a bit of shock. The warrior supposed to see a host beyond counting of men in glittering steel this far out in to the outer end of nowhere would be surprising, after all. They could be forgiven their consternation. Here the dwellings were simple, scarcely more than rough huts of hewn wood surrounded by a short ungated palisade.

Within another minute the section approached the gate, and at drummed command of spear on shield the military unit halted. Behind the rumbling sound of over five thousand men on the march filled Markus' ears like unto the music of an onrushing river, but only a few men with weapons stood forth from the small hamlet, and they appeared more to be holding their arms for show than any real desire to fight. Indeed, the half dozen warriors were as white as sheets, ghosts in the failing afternoon sun; to stand as one against a thousand was not what you could ask of a mortal man. Perhaps even the Hegemon would be loathe to face such odds.

But there was no need for bloodshed. From the section Tavian stood forward, casting his voice in that odd glug-glug language to the defenders of the farming community, and as the leader of the men with spears answered in the same tongue the locals seemed to relax, at least a fraction. That was good enough for Markus, who sheathed his sword. There had not been any villages since that weird wood-fortress near Kar Undol that had resisted the tide of the Imperium's finest, for as the infantryman heard around the fires at night, the locals had heard little from their masters in distant Fenis in the mountains, and what little news there was pointed to an ongoing civil dispute, if not war, to determine which of the former seconds of the king of Fenis would succeed him.

Out here in the plains of Italy, such matters little concerned the humble farmers and foresters. Indeed, the installation of Outrider garrisons had been welcomed in many places, for banditry was already flourishing where the rule of law had been abandoned. Thus the march of empire continued, and that which had been was subsumed by that which was and would be.

[Holy Tedalonia]

Part 1, Chapter 3: They Made Ready For War
Somewhere Near Rome, Time Unknown
Ted was decided his next move when he saw some traders in the villiage talking to the Chieftain. The traders claimed that a power from the northeast is seizing the land, and subjugating the people. They said they had heard this from the other traders from across the mountains. The Chieftain discussed with the traders that it was none of the villiages concern yet. After the Chieftain finished his discussion he went to his house to think. Ted did not like the idea of giving up land and perhaps this could prove himself. He follows the Chieftain to his house.

Ted began, "I heard the discussion about a power seizing the eastern lands."

The Chieftain who had been sitting in a chair at the time turns around to face Ted; he said, "so what? It's not your villiage, and last time I checked you were found naked in a great field."

"I have a interest in this as much as you do, and I'd hate to see this place subjugated by this power."

"The traders claimed this, 'Imperium of Man' who is run by a 'Emperor', wield weapons that use the thundering voice of the gods; how can you rival that?"

This alarmed Ted. He understood that loud noises in his old life was typically guns. Maybe it was the modern world invading a small pocket of a tribal community, but he doubted that. The modern world had colonized the plains in flat areas of the world, and the mention of a mountain confirmed it was likely not an island. Most islands are typically jungle like and forest like, but here he couldn't see a coast. Plains and small forests were all he could see. He concluded that this was a italian-like location, and many features were similar. Perhaps this could be another universe or something. He smiled.

"I have something that can beat them, strategy."

"How would you rally a force to rival this power," the Chieftain asked frowning.

"I intend to ally with the tribes and create a force to defend this land. It shall be called a legion, and for convenience purpose we shall call it the, 'Italia Legion'."

"I will not support this idea, but perhaps you can get people to believe in your goal. I don't intend to sacrifice my people's lives for your goals, unless you can convince them yourselves, however I will inform the other villages of your intent, and invite them here, so you can discuss your plan. If they arrive on time they will be here in seven sunsets."

"Thank you sir."

A Week Later
The meeting was held in the Chieftains house, and many village leaders came curious of the idea Ted had. They stood in the room ready to hear the young boys speech. They eyed the boy curiously and suspiciously. Ted was nervous and did not like speeches, however he had gotten use to them from his time at school, however this did not stop his nervousness.

He began, "I think this power threatens each of your villages stealing and destroying your cultures and way of life. I think this would kill your people's legacy and freedoms. The way you live and run things are under threat. This power is a enemy to your way of life! They use weapons that are claimed to be the weapons of gods that can make a man bleed from faraway are just a cowardly method! I- we will make these 'servants of god' bleed like we do! I intend to push them back and show them the pride of your people!"

Many tribe leaders weren't convinced and one asked, "how do you intend to make these 'servants of god' bleed?"

"I intend to stop this power from invading this land. The plans I will use shall be consisting of knowledge and ambushes. We will 'hit and run', however to do this we need to be careful. We will bribe the traders with gifts for information on the enemies expansion, and whereabouts. They will be the key for information and knowledge. The second part will be ambushes and attacks consisting of strategy."

A short number of tribe leaders laugh at this plan, while many who did not intend for their homeland to be taken by a foreign force were convinced, but not supporting.

One tribe leader asked, "if we are to support your cause you will need to prove yourself. I will give you a small number of men, and give you the knowledge you need to battle them, but if you fail to prove yourself consider my support no longer existent."

"I will sir. By the way, is there a nearby mountain tribe leader here?"

"I'm from the mountains in the east," said one of the tribe leaders.

"I need you to start mining and give us grey ore, I call the ore iron."

"Yes, but those metals are impossible to use, because they are so hard that you can't create something out of them."

"Don't worry, I'll teach you how to make them."

"We will do that, but take note that we tribes do not like outsiders, so you will be a strategic advisor not a leader. I will send my warlord down to lead this 'legion', and I expect you to follow him."

"Then I'll be an advisor."

The tribe leaders departed and began to do their jobs Ted had given them, however the leaders who didn't agree with Teds plans left without offering assistance. With a small force of 250 untrained men given to him by several different tribe leaders, a source of intel, and a source of iron. Ted will finally be able to begin an army. To make an army, however Ted will need to give them training, and weapons; both of which he does not have himself. In order to make a capable army, Ted teaches the local metalworker how to create iron. Even though he does not know what tempeture to mold the iron, perhaps he can give close enough idea to the metalworker, so he can figure out himself.

While waiting for his intel and iron; Ted prepared the soldiers by using sticks and teaching them how to use a shield and common discipline. Ted did not know much about armies, but he knew that getting men to follow tactics were important. He also needed them to get familiar with their Ted, so they can learn to trust him. The time he had was as long as the Imperium not crossing the mountain range. He had an idea to stop them though. He would inform the leaders to farm wheat and collect a certain resource that was common in Italy. It would be used to trick the Imperiums armies, and allow them to steal weapons in the chaos. Men of the owners of the land, those of noble sons of the fertile region went forth; they made ready for war.

[Ulls]

Nearby Village,
Army of Ego

The months of training went by, the basic understanding of medieval combat and discipline was drilled in the heads of the tribals. To many of the warriors, it was hard to understand to form armies, communication, and basic formations that Jeb reenacted in his world. One good thing about them though was that they were stronger and faster than him so that they were able to be more than a match for him in sparing if they had the same amount of discipline that Jeb shows wielding a club and shield. He showed the warriors how to form up and soon they were doing things faster as they showed some sort of trust with their new chieftain.

When it came to the range weapons, there was some signs of transitioning. Throughout the primitive's life, the atlatl ruled the life but now that has changed. At first, Jeb thought of trying to make a sling but he didn't know how to use such a thing as a range weapon. Instead, he continued on teaching them how to use the self bow. Jeb told decided to use the women as they were smaller and would be more possible to sneak in order to take their shots.

Jeb decided to use widows for this task and trained them. He knew that not all of them would be able to take up the call but if he wanted to forge a mighty warrior culture, both sexes must be able to serve in some way. He taught the women to sneak in the way that he did. He believed that the world he was in was mirrored in some way but he could give them some pointers on how to make navigate between the primal landscape. He also taught them a little about range and geography as the hunters taught them about tracking.

Now they are ready somewhat, they had the weapons, the training, and now they need practice. Jeb sent scouts across the nearby villages and found one of the weakest of in the region. The village was full of farmers and were kind of poor when compared to Ego. Jeb decided to take Three-Feathers and decided to take the village as their own. Jeb wanted to strike at night and told them to not kill as many of the warriors unless they are stubborn.

Jeb snuck with a small host of warriors to the nearby village. The women had been able to take a few but they were spotted and two of the bows' strings snapped. Jeb had to call on for the charge as warriors raised up their improved shields and prepared to march. Jeb saw one of the warriors get pelted by a atlatl, Jeb told them to get in a shields wall and prepare to move towards the throwers. Women archers were able to give support and lighten the casualties of the warriors.

Eventually the defenders regrouped to the entrance of the village. Jeb had a copper spear in his hands and as he held up the shield in the formation as they moved forward slowly and started to encircle the defenders as the archers started to aim at the defenders.

" Surrender and you will not be harmed!" Jeb screamed to the defenders.

" We will not let you raid us!" One of the defenders screamed back at Jeb.

" We are not here for your resources! We are here for your allegiance! I will say it again, surrender!" Jeb said to the defenders.

Jeb's warriors completely encircle the defenders and the started to close in until the defenders drop their weapons. Jeb put his spear up and his warriors did the same. The Jeb walked up to them and looked at the defenders. They show fear but he looked at the one who spoke to him.

" Are you the chieftain of this village?" He asked.

The native gave him a nod," yes I am, I lead these men."

Jeb slowly looked at his men and then at him. He was shorter than him but his muscles were more defined. He had tribal markings on his body and he looked tired from the fight. Jeb was also tired but he was controlling his breathing.

" I will tell you this, I'm not here for your goods. I am here for your tribe." Jeb said to the chieftain.

" You are here to take my women as slaves? To sacrifice for your spirits?" The chieftain asked worryingly.

" No, I serve a spirit that cares not for sacrifice and we already have enough women. What I want is you to join me and forge a new nation that your village can prosper from." Jeb said with the same serious face.

" Why should I join you? Why don't you just take my land if you don't want to burn my village?" The chieftain asked.

" Because if I wanted to then you wouldn't be standing here and won't be offering you to join me, become stronger for not just you but your generations. Your village will become something greater than what you have now. If not, then your lives and your village will be burned to the ground. I will slaughter everyone and not even a babe will escape the choice that you decide today," He said in an deep, dark tone.

Jeb's very words wringed to everyone, both friend and foe, were struck with fear in what he was saying. Three-Feathers especially heard those words to his very heart, he didn't know that Jeb was like this but he took it to heart. The chieftain said nothing but his body language said everything to the Author.

Jeb looked him in the eye and stared down into his soul as he saw the fear in the defender chieftain's face growing.

" So, will you join me or do you wish to see if I'm bluffing?" Jeb said in the same town to the chieftain.

" We will join your tribe as long as you don't hurt my people." The chieftain said to Jeb.

" Then welcome to the tribe chieftain, I want you to come to the village northeast within a couple days. I will need your soldiers, your widows, and you as a leader. We have things to do and a Mountain to topple."

[Republic of the Cristo]

Bhumidol, South of Scythia

The rolling hills of Bhumidol appeared as seas of snow, an endless landscape of white, with the back drop of dark blue in the far northern horizon, indicating mountains. Bhumidol was scarce not only in trees but in humanity as well. For three days the royal entourage traveled to these southerly lands, not bearing witness to a single settlement or human being of any kind up until this day. Tents had been set up at uneven intervals along the roadside by the native Bhumidols. In front of one tent sat an old woman in front of a cooking fire, stirring into an iron pot. She stared up at the passing entourage, and Prince Edward stared back at her.

Prince Edward road atop the brownish-black Kelvarri mount, Cerrebus. The Kelvarri were magnificent beasts, having been bred since the times of Issac's first arrival. Through six generations of cross breeding and selective breeding, the Kelvarri had become the fastest, strongest, smartest, and toughest breed known in Scythia. Their immense power and functionality made them beasts of great luxury, thus very few acrossed Scythia could pride themselves of owning such creatures. Edward's was the only of it's kind in the entire entourage. At his sides road his aide, Michael, and the official Bhumidol Mission Priest, Alexander. Behind these men were about sixty more men, carrying along with them extra mounts, carriages full of supplies and gifts, a number of dancers and eastern musicians, as well as several scribes. Prince Edward ware the ceremonial white tunic and cloak that his grand father often wore for important occasions. Edward was nervous, for he was to baptize the Bhumidol chief into Christendom, and thus integrate these lands into Holy Scythia.

The reason for Edward's nervousness was his inexperience, this was the first time he had ever undergone official state business without his grandfather by his side. Edward was 18 years old, and was among the most beloved faces in his Kingdom. His face held a youthful handsomeness ( a trait which he took from his mother ), but he was strong and tall, more so than most men ( a trait he picked up from his father, and in turn from Issac ). Since his youth Edward could always remember his grandfather, who was almost always by his side. His father, Aaron, had died when he was only 5, so much of his memory was forgotten. His grandfather though, he was always there. It was he who taught him how to ride horses, and it was he who taught him how to wrestle, and how to shoot a bow, and most importantly... how to be a man. Looking back on it from time to time, Edward would think it funny. His grandfather was always very kind, but very stubborn, he would only ever help Edward at something once, before expecting him to get it on his own every time after that. When he was young he thought he had done it to be mean, but he understood now.

When he reached schooling age, he was given the best tutors that Scythia had to offer - men of experience and hardship. He was given to a group of westerners for three months in the hot summer, to learn how to ride like they - furiously and without ever tiring. He was given to hardy sailors in the Volg and at Akran to learn the ways of the water, and the hardships of the living on a boat. He had been assigned an eastern hunter of unparalleled skill to be tutored by - it was through him that he learned how to live off the land, and how to fend for himself when he had nothing. By the time he reached the age of 14, his grandfather had decided that he had no more need for tutors, and sent him instead to the schools.

The schools, a peculiar and exclusive institution within Scythia. Each school acted as a kind of guild for their respective branch - training new members and coordinating with his grace in affairs of the state. Their were four schools: Thought ( dedicated to experimenting with natural sciences ), Rhetoric ( dedicated to the training of priests in diplomacy and oration ), Administration ( dedicated to the training of governors and bureaucrats in how to manage the law and taxes of the kingdom ), and knowledge ( dedicated to the training of scribes in how to record information, and how to categorize information ). Edward would spend at year at every school, learning from the most gifted and respected minds that his homeland had to offer ( he rather hated it, but with his teachers and peers spying on him for his grandfather, he didn't have much room to rebel ).

After leaving school, he was officially taken under the wing of his grandfather. His intention for it all was quite clear - although he did indeed love Edward, he also had a practical intent upon all of this affection: he was training Edward to take up the throne, should he ever perish. Edward rode past the women and her cooking fire, looking ahead once again. A town was coming into view, consisting mostly of tents, but with some wooden buildings being sighted near the center. This was the seat of power within Bhumidol, the residence of Chief Khurezk. Edward had been briefed by Alexander about the situation in Bhumidol, including this Khurezk character. Priests held a double function within Scythia. Not only did they spread the message of God, but they also served as diplomats and as intelligence officers for his grace. Knowledge was power, and power was necessary for all meaningful change within the world.

Alexander had informed the prince that though Khurezk was volunteering to be baptized and brought under the Cross of Scythia, he was not a true believer. His decision came from more internal pressures. For one, a great many of his peoples had already converted to Christianity thanks to local priests and previous missions. Second, the numerous trading caravans had brought immense material wealth to Khurezk and his countrymen, but were informed that greater boons from Scythia were reserved only to Christian tribes. And thirdly, and most important of all, his favorite wife, Chirzen, was a convert. Alexander had the privilege of baptizing Chirzen himself, and the two became very close friends. The friendship of Chirzen gave Alexander a voice within Khurezk's court, one which he used to the fullest. Chirzen would constantly petition for her husband to, find Jesus. Through enough.... nagging, and after reviewing the situation in his own lands, Khurezk eventually relented, and invited the baptism.

Through traditionally the job of the head priest of the local area, Issac himself demanded that it be Edward who do the baptism. Alexander was more than happy to comply with the will of his grace, and traveled to Scythe to retrieve his lord. It was now but moments until the entourage entered the village, and Edward's heart was beating furiously within his chest, to the point were it actually hurt. He kept his face still, and his breath even, choosing only to face forward. It was an act, intended to emanate calmness and control to the Bhumidolians whom were beginning to amass along the road and follow the entourage into the town. The appearance of control and determination was very appealing, and even a bit scary, traits which were very desirable when engaging in talks with others. It also would motivate his own men into believing their leader a man capable of the task at hand. His time in the School of Rhetoric had been useful, as it allowed him to now conceal his worry and fear... except to Alexander. Alexander had gone to the School of Rhetoric too, as well as having served as a Priest for ten years. His experience and knowledge of school techniques allowed him to see right past Edwards façade. He chuckled slightly, loud enough for Edward to look over at him. Alexander smiled as he looked the prince in the, and winked - reassuring him that what he was feeling was normal and that everything would fine.

Edward nodded and looked ahead again. A short time later, they were in now within the tent town of Bhumidol. Surrounding the entourage was at least 150. The town itself was about some 800 people. Bhumidol itself held some 3,100 people, most of whom were farmers ( a technique picked up from the Scythians ). They made their way through the twisting and turning alley ways established by the tents. It reminded Edward of the mass tent city set up by traveling merchants outside of Scythe, though Bhumidol was much smaller than that. Eventually, they made their way upon the town center. At the center of the town sat a long wooden lodge, the residence of chief Khurzek and his family. Standing front of the lodge was Khurzek, his own personal entourage, as well as numerous townspeople. Edward locked eyes with Khurzek from a distance and tried to send him a message through this contact, listen heathen - we both know you do not believe, but by God I will claim Bhumidol.

Sar Nanil

Erit smiled and greeted Heldan's wife as she entered. As to Heldan's proposition, Erit smiled once again and clapsed his hands together. " Yes, that would be more than sufficient. I must ask that you please run this by the captain first. I would not wish to ask myself, out of fear that I may sound out of order in such matters. But otherwise... thank you Heldan. Your kindness and that of your people have been very welcome with my own people. I will ensure that the next Scythians whom cross here will be of the highest caliber - only fair to repay you for your generosity. " With that Erit stood up and nodded toward Heldan and his wife. " I would love to stay and discuss with you further about matters pertaining to things other than business - but I am needed else where. I am sure you understand. Thank you both. "

[The Grim Reaper]

Djedsut (Memphis), Egypt

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

A thin piece of linen hung off the side of the cot, droplets of cool Nile water disappating as they made contact with the hot, mud daube floor. A young woman knelt at the cot, watching intently as it shifted under Vijaya's weight. The hot African sun played off the moisture that had gathered on her lightly-coppered hands, combining at her wrists with the thin streams of sweat that ran down her entire body. As Vijaya came to, he could distinctly hear a collection of muffled gasps - not from the woman, who had been entirely aware of his little movements for several minutes now, but from well behind her. A small cadre of children peeked into the little hut, only now noticing his hand instinctually search for a bedside table. The gentle embrace of the Nile still lingered on his skin, as if it had kindly deposited him where he now lay. He knew it only as 'iteru', the word that had lodged itself in his mind from the frequent conversations between those in attendance as he flitted in and out of consciousness, its relationship to the mighty Nile still not even a thought. Yet, a rose by any other name.

As if the floodbanks had burst open, his mind burst into lucidity, as if roused from a deep slumber within the embrace of God. Suddenly, words in an idle mind to which language was of no concern gave way to a mind that could comprehend all of Babel, and he was crowned with the Gift of Tongues. It came naturally; instinctually, for the rational mind had to still negotiate its presence in the spirit.

"Shoo, shoo - he is waking!"

Vijaya's portly nature shifted slightly, opting to stay reclining. He was nothing if not cautious (well, when the condition of his body was at stake). Stopping to take note of his body, he ran through a mental checklist as his eyes acclimatized to his surroundings. Well, his eyes were still there, at least. His hand definitely was, although his phone was not. For that matter, pretty much everything important seemed to be in order. His face fell as he realised he was substantially nude, although it seemed - gratefully - that at some point a loincloth had helpfully been gifted to him, between being found and waking up. His mind ran over the many conversations he had been but a quiet bystander to in the past - however long. It seemed about an hour. He began to gather his thoughts. This place was Djedsut. Specifically, he currently reposed at the home of Menes and his children, the youngest of whom was Neith - the woman attending to him. The feeling of the sun started to recharge him, as its dull heat began to break through the layer of moisture about his body.

"Are you with us?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm here."

Neith seemed to be a reasonably reserved person, although a sharp intake of breath showed she was taken aback by his response - whilst he could speak their language fluently, his tongue seemed to have retained a distinctly English anunciation for the moment. He took no small pleasure in having been able to surprise someone so easily, before realising that this situation was not exactly one which made sense to him. He was, after all, quite avowedly monolingual. Sure, he'd tried to learn other languages - French, Japanese, German, Italian, Mandarin Chinese - but he'd generally been incompetent, unwilling, or both. And this certainly wasn't any of those. In fact, he was pretty confident that this wasn't in any way a European language, nor perhaps even an Asian one. The only word he knew that started with 'dj' was 'djembe', if one discounted 'DJ'. Also, he didn't think he was supposed to speak this language.

He swallowed his tongue for a moment, before continuing. At the moment, he didn't want to cause any more confusion, so he decided to stick to the establishing facts - the go-to icebreakers, if you will. "Where am I ... and, what would you like me to call you?"

Neith was put at no uncertain ease, as she felt compelled to let the strange thing from the depths take the lead on the conversation. It was a far better alternative to simply sitting there, at the very least, trying to pin down his accent to one of the (very few) she had heard in her admittedly short life.

"I am Neith, of the house of Menes. I ... suppose you are also of our house, for now."

"And where is our house?"

Vijaya didn't generally like outstaying his hospitality, but it seemed reasonable to attempt to try and build some sort of claim to a roof right off the bat.

"It is...in Djedsut. You are not from our people?"

Cat's out of the bag, good work Neith.

[Conwy-Shire]

Amadeus Mulcahy | Part 1, Chapter 9
June 1st, 63 A.G.
June 1st, 1 C.R. (Colchian Reckoning)

A round of applause and approving murmurs arose from the small crowd - the well to do of Lachkhutam - as another copper peg was uprooted and carried to the end of the cleared field. The huszar who had succeeded, a slight-built man of barely nineteen cycles, turned his slab-sided horse at the end of the clearing and gave a clumsy salute to the crowd, his spear wobbling dangerously as the movement nearly upended him. He's only as old as me, I mused to myself, startled at how quickly the younger pastoralists had taken to his training and equestrian tuition. Though unsuited to any real combat for the foreseeable future, the exercise gave the young riders some much-needed practice, as well as demonstrating to the peoples of Lanchkhutam the wisdom of joining the League of Helios. As the first rider walked his horse back to the starting point, dropping off his uprooted peg as he passed an ever-growing pile, another huszar edged his steed up to the starting line and awaited my signal.

I turned my head slightly to appraise the spectators and, noting that their hubbub had died down, waved the next rider towards his awaiting peg down the range. Simple bronze spurs were set to horseflesh as the huszar shot off dramatically, halfway towards the peg before I could blink. This time the rider, a more experienced and slightly older trainee, leant as far sideways in the saddle as his stirrups would allow, letting the horse carry his lowered spear towards the peg. As the spear connected the peg flew up in the air, a technical success if less impressive than the earlier demonstration. One of the Ashturi footmen strode out to the field to collect the uprooted peg, before returning to the ranks of his off-duty brothers-in-arms lounging apart from the local crowd.

Those guardsmen on-duty were busy working in Lanchkhutam, erecting a preliminary garrison on a plot the town's elders had allocated once the terms of trade and common defence had been agreed to. Situated as it was in the foothills due east of Ashtur, this town would provide much needed raw materials of the land, the secure access to which Ashtur and Uruzriam lacked. Hallur himself had accompanied the expedition, his metallurgical specialisation being paramount in the region, and the towering Ashturi now watched the riding exercise with a hint of bemusement and satisfaction - his role complete in this expedition. The tin and copper supplies of Lanchkhutam had been quality enough for his discerning eye, whilst some other metals the locals had offered for his appraisement were too difficult to work, too strong for his fire to mould or even weaken.

Just as the previous rider crossed the crowd on his way back to the line of waiting huszars, a commotion arose from the town, easily heard from across the intervening town-commons. The locals quickly moved towards the disturbance, their concern universally palpable, whilst I ordered the off duty guardsmen and curious huszars to form up in marching file and follow at a slower pace. Once within the confines of the town we linked up with the duty guardsmen, who had dropped their tools and donned gear at the first sounds of alarm. Together we marched at quarter-time to the open space of the town that an archaeologist looking back in time might designate as a market square. Once there the crowd parted before the press of armoured men, and we gained access to the source of the disturbance.

Talking to an assemblage of the leaders of Lanchkhutam stood a man attired as I had never seen, though his face was framed by a wound cotton headscarf as we were. A ragged cloak rested upon his close shoulders, and the crude image of a sun was etched, burned even, into the course fabric and leather of his shirt, such as it was. Behind him two more men stood, guards who appeared in all aspects the same bar their obscuring helmets, and weapons of copper. The speaker of the trio, a messenger I could assume from his limited armament, stood a few paces from the receiving dignitaries of the town, and the body language of all present indicated that this was not the first, nor the most pleasant, of circumstances in which they met.

"Are these the guests you speak off?" The messenger snapped at the group of elders ranged around him in a semicircle. As they nodded he sighed tiredly, "then I shall deliver my message to them also." He paused, collecting his thoughts, before turning to the front ranks of the guardsmen now arrayed amongst the crowd of townspeople. " Men of the valley, it is unfortunate that time and circumstance have not allowed this meeting to take place sooner, but with the passage of recent events I now feel it is acceptable to secure peace and stability in this land that we call home. As such I would call upon you to present yourself, or some dignitary or elder from your peoples, at the foot of the throne of Helios in Kutaizsur. This message was authorized by his divine will and presented by his humble servant and comes with a warning - should you not fall before the throne of his radiance in the near future you will be dealt with as a threat the security of his valley, an ignoble end to which there is no alternative." As the messenger cleared his throat to indicate the message was delivered, the mutterings around the crowd grew darker, rising to the point where the intruders realised they had overstayed their welcome and left the town soon-after in haste.


I conferred with the elders of Lanchkhutam that night, eager to hear how they would respond to the demand of this god-king from Kutaizsur. As newly accepted members of the League of Helios they would send a dignitary along with my expedition - for I had already decided to at least lay eyes upon this supposed divine incarnation, this blasphemous pretender. I excused Hallur to return to Ashtur with a small retinue, his expertise was required back at the smithy, and of course the Council of the League needed notice of the unfolding events. The rest of the expedition would make their way "Nor-and-Ost" as the locals put it, following the Phaesos river to its source to confront this new threat from the mountains.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Part 3, Chapter 15: Beheading the Serpent

Evening, June 6th, 63 AG

I took supper in my tent with the commanders of the thousands, as was my usual manner, and with Hadrian. At the small wooden benches and canvas tablecloth we set to the earnest business of fueling the body, a pastime which I had come to somewhat dislike, at least as compared to my former enjoyment of fine foods. The body, while immortal, was in truth no more than the chariot for my mind these days; not a bad thing on the whole, for it was necessary indeed, but I did not derive as much pleasure from the finer things of wine and meat and mead that I had once savored.

Perhaps it was just age. Perhaps the realization that I only had one body to sustain me through the long eons to come, and abusing it in the present would see me reap the whirlwind. My supper was far more utilitarian than that of my fellows. Where they consumed legs of fresh venison, seasoned with herbs from the south dried and crumbled over the marbled meat, I dined on a repast of carefully cut greens and slices of mutton with little flavoring save salt from the Middle Sea, accompanied with a side dish of roast turnip basted in the tiniest hints of oil. Where my men drank and discussed the rout of our foes, I neatly dispatched my meal in half the time of any other, and sat back to enjoy the conversation at hand.

Cansivar was close. Only some three hour’s march, as the crow flies, though somewhat more marching overland on the dirt tracks and clapboard thoroughfares that these people of the north called roads. Our main strength was all drawn together now, the various outriding contingents and those guards assigned to the Fatebinders the Fifth had brought north returned again the bosom of the Great Company for the final assault. Hadrian scoffed in a voice laden with vintage when I put the question to him of resistance; though he bowed respectfully in his chair at my words, I could tell he was spoiling for battle, as were the other commanders that had taken dinner with me.

“My liege, the scouts and merchants report less than a thousand warriors have marshalled to the hill-city of Cansivar. They have nought to defend themselves against the mighty bombards your eminence and the Arsenal have composed for our use; their walls will splinter as reeds before the winter winds of storm, and we have left the flower of their manhood as food for the crows and the flame in our wake as we march. What have we to fear?”

It was true, though my natural caution challenged that assumption even as my own thoughts gave it voice. Yes, my misgivings were logical enough; if the chieftains rallied their levies en masse, we might be fighting four thousand instead of eight hundreds. But they would not do so, not if all the reports that I had poured over earlier today were correct. The worshippers of these northern gods were sequestering themselves in some great pagan temple in the heart of Cansivar, ready for their last stand against our cleansing fury, but from the walls of the city others were melting away. Men not committed to dying for recently adopted gods, secret God-fearing Christians pressed into service to save their families, even followers of the old shamanisic ways which put little stock in this talk of ‘Odin’ and ‘Thor’, preferring instead the spirits of wood and forest and star.

Providence favored us in that at least. As the night wound on we discussed the plans of attack against Cansivar, which mainly relied on breaching the wall in the first watches of the morning with bombards and then forcing the gap with heavy infantry. Though the warriors of this Confederation had some iron, they had not the numbers, nor indeed likely the morale, to stand against the soldiers of black and white when arrayed in battle formation.

There was the matter, of course, of the army marching south even now to Cansivar, bearing banners from frozen Norsca. Outriders had borne word of them for the better part of a month now, marshalled beneath the banner of their crown-prince, the man I suspected was more than just another Northman. If the projections were accurate, they would be upon the capital city almost by tomorrow, shortly after our assault, for they had not had to contend with the armed resistance that the Great Company had crushed in the march to Cansivar. What they intended I knew not, but it was something to be accounted for, certainly. If they meant to aid their coreligionists I had instructed the commanders not to hesitate, for our cause was certain, and my purpose would not be denied. The foremost objective, though, was ending this heathen Confederation.

Hours it would take, in all likelihood. And then the headsman’s axe would be busy indeed. Most of the city we would preserve, as is proper in warfare, but I had every intention of consigning their great temple to the flames of destruction, along with the bloodthirsty savages that had erected it. With a final prayer for victory in the coming days, and safety for our men, I dismissed the assemblage and committed myself to bed. Orders I left with the captain of my guards to wake me ere dawn, so I could watch over the first wave, and countenance the performance of the guns. Victory, and death, would come soon enough.

---

That Morning,

“The Imperials number in the thousands my lord, row upon row of archers and infantry all supported by cavalry. Their horses are stronger and faster than our own, they can ride them into battle. Yet the most disturbing thing I saw were these great tubes of metal and stone, seemed to summon the fire of the god’s themselves they were so loud, blasted the earth and trees. The casivars never stood a chance.”

I nodded as I dismissed one of my rangers, one of the few hundred I kept as my personal guard. I had heard a great many things and seen a great many disturbing things of the empire. Not disturbing per say but to me, my kingdom absolutely. The threat of cannons however….What they could do. I rose to address my war council using the aid off maps and scouting reports I painted them the only picture that came to mind.

“We originally came here simple to protect our southern flank from this confederation, they mockery they make of our gods, selling their own people like cattle. But this news changes everything, these imperials are on a holy war for their god, and we can’t blame them these savages burned and raped their way through the imperiums north all in the name of our gods. When they reach Cansivars they won’t stop, they will keep marching north until the Norse faith is but the dust of our temples. Unless we give them something, Our latest reports show that their chief and war leaders, along with the fanatics they have the gall to call priests are all located in the main temple at the heart of the fortress. They have left the old, young and sick to guard their walls while they have kept the few remaining warriors to themselves. That’s why we won’t attack full force all at once.”

The council erupted in disbelief, for the first time the royal army had marched completely as one and they weren’t to be used?

“Quiet. (Using my sternest most princely voice) Myself and my rangers will infiltrate their fortress by roping over their walls in small teams of men, then we will split off into groups and take the gatehouses here, here and here. While the rest of the main force silently approaches. Once we take the gate houses we will open the gates and only then will the enemy know of our presence. Dismissed.”

The Night of the assault.

I could see my breath in the cool night's air as we approached, silent as the wind in the tree’s. In the distance across the plain between the fortress walls and the woodline I could see the torches a few sentries and lookouts on the walls, their faces old, some so that the rested against the battlements in an effort to stay awake. As we slowly stalked our way across the grass our teams broke off into their own unites each knowing what to do. Mine approached the far right watchtower, as the silent death of our arrows took the few men on watch we tied our ropes to axes then hurled them between the points of the palisade. One man at a time we climbed up each assisting the one after him, hiding the bodies and taking our position in the tower as we awaited the all clear from the other rangers.

As the other two locations threw a torch outside the wall as conformation we did the same, the signal for the rest of our force to emerge from the tree line and silently approach their assigned gatehouse. As my forces moved into the outer parts of the city the rangers took out the few road patrols they had using their own battlements overlook against them, before the Cansivars sounded the alarm the Norscian force had already spread among them like Hel herself. Casivarian resistance came in desperate ill organized attacks quickly made work of. A few fires had started mostly from the panic of the families of the conscripted warriors who still fruitlessly fought on. The women and the children would be spared, but for this plan to have any hope of working the men, all of them needed to be dead or in chains by morning. The next hour was long and bloody, as groups of desperate warriors were cornered and take alive, then at last the last few remained at the gates of the great hall, their chiefs and their band of fanatics.

“Surrender” I shouted hoping for them to see they had no chance “You few men are surrounded, your fortress has fallen and your false worship-” I was cut off by their head cheif “You Norscian dog! You will never enter Valhalla! You men betrayed the god’s!

“No” I said dismissively “I offer you one chance, face me so your men may live and die like a warrior or….” I said as hundreds of rangers all drew their bows in near unison

“Very well prince At least I will kill one more traitor before I die” He then charged like a man possessed his large double bladed axe swinging wildly with anger. I pitied him, as a sidestepped his attacks on after another after another, this fight would not be my last. Yet I also admired him his fierce angry driving him past the point of exhaustion before I finally ended it by stabbing him threw the knee with my dagger and slamming my plated knee into his forehead, unconscious but alive. The remaining Cansivars threw down their weapons as was the deal.

“Secure the prisoners, dose those fires, and place our banner at the gates, the Imperium must know that they do not face Casivars here.”


The Southern Ramparts of Cansivar
Daybreak, June 7th, 63 AG

Up the roads from the south the host marched. I sat atop my destrier, armored for war, though the visor of my helm was up as I gazed upon the wooden palisade that barred the Great Company’s passage. The rumble of thousands of feet upon the earth filled my ears, almost so loud as to be felt in the blood as with the rumble of drums rank upon rank of glittering soldiers bearing the Anchor that was my sigil advanced.

But there was something which gave me pause as the army marched on Cansivar’s battlements; a flag waved above the crenelations there, a device that was familiar. I gritted my teeth, and called for a messenger to make haste to Hadrian. The Norscans had arrived faster than anticipated, and now their purpose could be clearly divined. Where I had hoped they might be men with which reason might prevail, here that hope was dashed precipitously.

“Hadrian.” The commander had arrived, his milk-white gelding veritably prancing with anticipation for a charge. “It appears our assault may be more serious than I originally anticipated; the Norscans have arrived, and seem inclined to stand fast with the heathen bastards.”

A snarl formed on the Lord-Commander’s face as he cast his gaze towards the citadel, noting the flag as I had.

“Whoresons. No matter. If they choose to bind their lot to that of the child-killers and perverts we have slain for a fortnight, I will take pleasure in ordering their demise. By your leave, Hegemon.”

I nodded. His fighting spirit matched my own, I reflected as the dour man rode back to the fore of the host, shouting orders in terse battle-speech. Out of the range of siege equipment and even the heaviest of bows the gleaming wall of steel halted, not willing to risk casualties from the Norscan archers, who might have weapons superior to those of the Confederation. Towards the front the heavy bombards rolled, their wide wheels spooling with the heaving of dozens of workhorses and watched over by a score of skilled artisans and engineers.

If they chose war, they would have war. Their defenses would be shattered by the fire I had claimed from the future, and their heathen gods would be consigned to the flame. Perhaps I would finally meet this Connor in person, albeit in chains. His mind might hold useful insights, if properly encouraged.

City square
Daybreak

“My Prince the Imperials approach!” A look said from the closest watchtower as a sat helping myself to our hosts ladder, Ham never lost its taste for me.

I tossed aside the bone and grabbed the chain attached to the collar around the Casivars chiefs neck and gave it a slight tug “Come now Cansivar, smile a little, you're going to prevent a war” The gaged and boned man struggled to get to his feet barely keeping up with me as I strode out the front gate towards the Imperials, the black flag and white wolf flying above our victory.

“My lord what if they kill you let me go in your stead” one of my favorites Alger said to me before I exited the gate “If they kill me, then tell my father I love him, and to let any war with the imperials die here. If we fight them we will lose.” I then exhaled all the doubt and tire from my voice and approached the imperial lines. My left hand on the chain of my prisoner and my right held in the air I yelled as soon as I thought they could here me “Hold Imperial I come to parlay!”

---

“Lord-Commander?” Hadrian turned his head from the sketch of the defenses, and I looked up as well as the low voice was pitched toward our steeds. One of the engineers was looking through a spyglass towards the walls, and motioned our attention towards the city.

I followed his arm’s arc, and my eyes opened wide for a fraction of a second as a most unexpected sight presented itself; the gate of the city, such as it was, was opening. Creaky to be sure, and slowly, but as I watched the passage was unbarred and through the space between heavy fir panels a man strode, dragging another behind him in chains.

Curious indeed. The man strode closer, and a terse command to the archers saw them lower bows which were already nocked, and the engineers hold the fire of the skorpions. Whoever Connor had appointed as his representative had balls, that much was clear, to come within range of so many weapons without even a flag of truce. But I did not order the men to open fire- the matter of the second man stumbling along in the first’s wake was an enigma which I would see unraveled.

From the man came a voice, carried thinly over the gathering summer heat, but clear enough.

“Hold, Imperial! I come to parlay.”

I exchanged a glance with Hadrian, then shrugged. It couldn’t hurt, at least. The guns would still need several minutes to be sighted and loaded, and delay would not aid the heathens. If they wished to surrender, I would not spend lives unnecessarily. And, again, that enigma.

Hadrian took my meaning, and sent a herald forward, a rider on a tall roan stallion who swung out of his saddle as the representative approached from Cansivar.

The herald spoke, his voice unaccented North German, the tongue of the people of this Confederation and that which was shared with the Norscans beyond, though they called it ought else.

“What speech would you have, man of Cansivar, with the representatives of the Imperium of Man? Your iniquities cannot be washed away by words alone, but my master would hear what you say ere he rushes to the spilling of blood.”

---

“I am no man of Cansivar, I am Prince Monroe of the Kingdom of Norsca Here to avenge the innocents this men slayed both Nord and Imperial and to show you these beasts do not speak for our faith.” The blood from a head wood lightly trickled down my face

---

I heard the words of the representative who spoke to the herald from afar, and a doubt sparked in my heart. Interesting, very interesting. I had been very sure that this Connor was another Sojourner, a man out of time like myself, but that did not seem to be the case. Or, rather, he was of an inclination much unlike mine.

Make no mistake- I had slain my hundreds in the days of my youth, and my body was riddled with scars like a map composed of battles that had come and gone. Technically, I still retained that vigor in my bones, but as I had realized my own immortality my own perception of the worth of my life had much increased. After all, before to risk my life was only to risk a few decades of mortality. Now, to risk my life was to risk the stability of an eternal future, and uncounted centuries and millenia that could have been mine. To walk out of a fortress, against a host arrayed for war? No, perhaps this Connor was not an immortal. All the same, his words made me realize the fatal error we had just avoided.

A few words passed my lips to Hadrian, and with two of my guards I rode forward, the ranks of the soldiers parting before me. To where the Herald stood I rode, and then I dismounted, looking this Connor up and down in curiosity.

“So. You are Connor, the crown-prince of which I have heard much. I did not look to see you so far south.”

A youth he looked indeed, slightly younger than myself, but looks could be deceiving. Though my face was somewhat weathered by age and the warfare of decades, my body still looked as it always had, frozen in crystal time as that of a man in his early twenties.

My gaze touched the man bleeding next to him, swaying in his chains. It was a face I did not know personally, but which I had heard described before by our spies amidst the folk of the Confederation; this, then, was the chief of chiefs of those who had bound themselves to Cansivar.

“I see you have the prize I came here to collect. You must forgive our display of war, then. We did not look to see men of Norsca here to slay those who worship your gods; I had thought that you wished to defend these bloodthirsty dregs, not bring them to heel.”

---

Placing my right hand over my chest in typical nord fashion his slightly bowed my head “My lord”
Before putting on my friendliest face and looking him in the eye “A pleasure to meet you.”
Handing of the leash to one of you guardsmen “If you liked this token you should see the rest.”
Smiling lightly at one of your female guards before bringing his attention back to you “This beast and his lot don’t worship our gods, they worship themselves and use us for cover, for any offense they caused in the name of our faith I am deeply sorry” Before bowing his head again.

---

I frowned at the words of the Crown-Prince. “Perhaps it is as you say. But the apple does not fall far from the tree; in the rites and rituals of your faith did these abominations find fertile soil, though perhaps a part of the responsibility for these iniquities is held within these men themselves.”

One of my guards shook his head, and I nodded, taking his meaning. “Indeed, there is much danger in the polytheism that you endorse. There is only one God, and though not all other beliefs are evil, they are at best misguided.”

I did not speak the second part of my thoughts out loud; for misguided thoughts grow in fertile soil in the darkness, leading to twisted actions that choke out all true virtue. Even the cynic and atheist, though he acts not directly against the truth, denies it merely by his being. And that is dangerous, for even inactivity could breed abomination.

A smile ghosted across my face though as I pushed those thoughts aside. They were a matter for another time, mayhap. To purge the great sickness was more important than to treat the chronic discomfort.

“A token, you say? That is good to hear. Many men must answer for their crimes and the darkness they have led many thousands to commit. And I have a temple to burn.”

From my right hand a low cough came from Maria, and I started partially. She was a snarky one, the flaxen-haired soldier, and a short chuckle was startled from my throat.

“Ah, yes, my apologies, Crown-Prince. I am not used to people not knowing my name: I am Viktor Nemtsov.”

---

A large smile took root across my face “It’s a pleasure to meet you Victor.” It had been so long since someone greeted me like a normal human being, It felt really good.
“You and your soldiers are among friends here, Within the walls are a few hundred prisoners guilty of crimes against your empire, there's plenty of food and drink to go around and I heard you have a certain something for fire, so I had the (Swallowing his disgust) Temple doused with lamp oil and a torch for you personally to light it.” Offering his hand to Victor “Come let us walk as two leaders. I feel as if we have a lot to talk about.” Noticing the evil eye I got from your body guards “I swear on my honor that no harm will come to Him.”

---

An eyebrow flew upwards in my forehead. “As much as I trust a Nord’s honor, my bodyguards would never let me hear the end of it if I waltzed into a town which the enemy held yet a day gone by without proper guard.”

I nodded back towards the army which still stood at the ready behind me. “I trust you don’t mind, say, a small force entering the city to see that all is secure, and that all is as you say? Perhaps we are indeed amongst friends, but this would not be the first time I have sat at the head of a column and been offered wine mixed with arsenic.”
The thought of that bastard temple drenched in lamp oil and going up like a torch made a certain something glint in my eyes, though, for I could see the highest spire of that blasphemous edifice poking over the walls of the city. To tear it down would be a pleasure indeed, and I itched to do so, but even that promise of joy was not enough to make me drop my guard.

“For the sake of Maria and Tomas, I am afraid i will have to wait here, at least for a little while.” I turned to the bloodied chieftain, now remembering his presence, and I smiled, showing teeth that to his eyes would look like nothing so much as a shark circling its prey, if he knew ought of what those beasts were.

“While we wait, would you care to take refreshment?” I gestured to the herald, and the tall man remounted his steed, making for the lines of soldiers. “There is also the matter of this chieftain. Do you have plans for him?”

---

My eyes light up at the sound of refreshments “I would love some, as for him he is my personal gift to you V” Playfully throwing him a wink “ As for your soldiers of course, whatever you need to do to see that I am trustworthy.”

---

At the Prince’s words, I wasted little time. This moment I had waited for many weeks now, the knot of hatred in my heart curling tighter with each broken body of a child that would never grow up discovered, the heat of my revulsion steeped in the empty eyes of the martyred which the heathens hung from the trees of their sacred.

It was a smooth movement, one informed by decades of use of weapons, and one which I had contemplated as soon as I understood who the prisoner was. From one of the compartments inside my hauberk I drew a small length of woolen cloth, and from my belt came a knife, wavy with the dappled steel of a blade forged in the biting winds of winter that lashed the heights of the Erzgebirge.

His eyes looked up at me with fear as I stepped over to the chief, not fear of death, but in that moment a fear of what lay beyond the end of his own mortal existence. I had seen that look before, many times. Even those who denied the existence of my God, the one true God, knew in the instant of their demise that something stood waiting, that justice stood waiting.

And this chief, ah, I did not fancy his chances before the righteous Almighty.

With a flick of my wrist the knife opened the chief’s veins at the neck, my other hand clamping the rag over the wound in an instant, minimizing the mess of the death. Slowly the white cloth turned scarlet under my glove as the man mewled softly in the throes of one who gasped for another second of life, only to find it missing. Then, as a minute passed, his body grew still. Fortuitously this time the executed kept control of his bowels. A more petty man would have tortured him, made him feel as much of the suffering he had inflicted on others as was humanly possible. But I knew what awaited him.

And nothing I could do could even hold a candle to the eternity he now faced. I did not pass judgement, save that he was no longer worthy of life. I merely sent him onwards, to be judged by the One who was more worthy of condemning the condemnable, and rewarding the faithful.

As the pulse of the chief faded, I gently laid his body down on the brilliantly green grass, rising after closing his eyes to see some servants bearing forward two chairs and a low table, as well as refreshments.

Tomas took the cooling corpse by the hands, and dragged him a short distance away from where I stood with the Crown-Prince while the servants set up the seats and poured some fine white wine to be matched by some honeycakes.

Behind them a detachment of three companies marched at a clip towards the gates of Cansivar, now standing open to receive them. With steady hands I took a glass from one of the servants, appreciating the beauty of the clear cream liquid within, before bowing my head and allowing my eyes to close for a brief prayer of thanks.

Opening them anew, I silently proffered the Crown-Prince a glass of vintage, poured from the same bottle.

“A dry from Kalgar, one of my favorites.”

---

Taking the galls, letting its smooth sweetness flow down my neck, after a night of battle this fantastic beverage and these cakes could have been food for the gods as far as my tastebuds were concerned. “Just like that, a simple slash of the knife, I thought you might do something more. Either way not my call. This is all amazing by they way so much more flavor than we have in the north.”

As the Imperials approached the city the Nords were completely at ease, all the prisoners were ushered to the front closest to the gate, everything cleanly presented to show that Monroe was truthful, the Imperials were among friends.

Main Square of Cansivar
Evening, June 7th, 63 AG

The Great Temple burned merrily, decorated with the corpses of a hundred bloodstained priests and many chieftains. High the flames reached as I leaned back on the side of a nearby house, and with a crash one of the main beams crumbled down into the gathering inferno.

“A nice companion to have on a chilly June night.” I mused, a statement which got a startled laugh out of Hadrian as he began nodding off. The Lord-Commander stood, his reverie broken, and with a nod he departed back towards the encampment, the last man of the high dais to turn in for the night aside from myself and the Norscan Crown-Prince.

I pulled at my glass of beer again, enjoying the rich tones of hops from inner Denmark, or whatever these Northmen called their main dominion. It was certainly a change from the earlier wine, but I was not going to complain; variety could give life a pleasant spice, after all, and I was in a good mood. Funnily enough, the death of evil men could make my day a significant margin more enjoyable.

A thought passed my mind, and I took Connor’s mug, refilling it alongside my own, before raising my mug high with a slightly inebriated grin in a toast.

“To peace, and the end of disorder.”

Gladly taking the refilled mug “ For the world will flounder without structure and discipline”
Before toasting with a load clank as the two mugs hit.

I nodded at the sentiment. These Norscans might have some funny customs, and need a good dose of proper religion, but at the very least they understood the right principles of governance and the path mankind should tread.

The serpent had been decapitated. Cansivar would never rise again. Together, we would make sure of it.

[Oudland]

New Sheba, West Yemen
3 weeks after the battle...

In the darkness of Donovan's hut, Yob lay on the floor upon a mat of grass and fur. Each ragged breath from the old man drew a little wince from him. A young woman was wetting a cloth in a small basin of cool water and using it to wipe Yob's arms and legs. He stank like shit and sweat, but Donovan hardly gave it a thought. Yob had been his guide, and his best friend since... his arrival.

Donovan kept thinking that the old man would open his eyes and weakly beckon him closer for a few last words. Like a story. Yob never opened his eyes again. When his friend stopped breathing, Donovan emerged into the warm, humid night, leaving whatever came next to the woman inside.

Slowly and without purpose he walked through the village. A few of the men greeted him and aknowledged his passage, but Donovan did not hear. He was thinking of the ones who had died. The ones he had killed.

"This isn't a story."

But he had treated it like one, hadn't he? In the battle for Tarut, he had enjoyed the primal ferocity of it all. He kept telling himself that it was necessary, that he had done it for New Sheba, for her sons and daughters, and for Yob and for poor Layala laying in the dirt with her breasts exposed and the fires were burning, and the children, oh god, there were the children--

"Yamat, there has been a man found. He claims to know you."

Donovan whipped around with such fury that the startled warrior retreated a couple of steps. He gave Donovan a confused and startled look.

"Where... where is he?"

The warrior relaxed.

"He is being held for you in the commons."

Donovan grunted and gestured for him to lead the way. His mind was still awhirl with images and his ears were ringing. Didn't they say vets sometimes came back all messed up from war? Wasn't it like... PTSD or something? In a daze, Donovan climbed the steps and entered into the common house. Six men stood in a semi-circle, in the center of the large room, around a kneeling man that Donovan did not recognize.

The man knew he was in trouble. Donovan could see it in his eyes. His lie was over. Donovan smiled warmly.

"Fasir?" Donovan feigned surprise. "Let him up you dogs, this one is known to me."

The kneeling man's mouth was agape. He stammered a moment but managed to respond as the imposing warriors around him eased back a few steps.

"I... did not think you would recognize me."

"Of course I recognize you!" Donovan laughed. It sounded real.
"Fasir, from bandcamp!"

"From... bandcamp?" The man's face was so confused, Donovan almost laughed.

"Yes." Donovan beamed. "Bandcamp."

Donovan dismissed his equally confused warriors and watched them leave. When he turned back, his smile was gone.

"You have no weapons?"

The stranger shook his head. Donovan stared at him.

"Your men... they are yours?... they took the things I had."

"Yes, and you were spying on us, correct?"

The man began to respond, but Donovan interrupted him.

"Choose your words carefully. I will have your eyes burned out with hot lead if you lie."

The man did pause to consider his words carefully. "I... was sent by my master."

Donovan asked simply, "Why?"

The stranger explained that someone in Tarut had slipped away and gotten word to a neighboring settlement. The master there was in turn planning on taking back the mine in the name of his ally, whom Donovan had stabbed in the neck and subsequently beaten with a club.

Donovan began to chuckle. Once he started chuckling, he began to guffaw. Then he burst out with laughter, much to the horror of the enemy scout. After a long while, Donovan stopped laughing and wiped tears from shining, bloodshot eyes.

"I am going to pay your master a visit. But first, you will tell me everything about your village. Starting with the name of your father."

The man looked absolutely apalled and began to refuse. Donovan's fist crashed into his open mouth, busting his lips wide. Donovan was pretty sure he had felt some teeth give way. The man fell to the ground and groaned, spitting blood. Striding forward, Donovan stood over him.

Outside, the men heard muffled screaming. They only glanced at eachother and looked on. Donovan finally emerged hours later. His hands were bruised and swollen, covered with blood. His robes were covered as well, and the thin wrap that served to cover his blind eye had come away. Donovan addressed the two that remained on guard outside the common house.

"He was a spy. I did not know him."

[The Grim Reaper]

Djedsut, Egypt

"You do not know where you came from, nor how you got here."

"Well, no."

A few moments to speak to Neith had set Vijaya substantially straight on the matter of exactly how foreign he was to these lands. They'd never heard of Australia; nor of the various other countries that Vijaya had claimed to visit. There was a hesitation on the mention of the 'United Arab Emirates' - it seemed that the word 'arab' was, at least, similar to something of their language's. However, to what extent, and with what meaning, Vijaya was not sure. It was too simple a word to draw any connotations from - 'arav' - and he had no conscious familiarity with any of the languages related to the one he now spoke as a native. Certainly, he had the faint idea that even within the language's own family, 'arav' had a multitude of meanings.

Whereever he was, it was not familiar territory.

He had spent some hours acclimatizing himself to the environment - the people he was with seemed to have absolutely no familiarity of even rudimentary technology. In most places, isolated natives had at least become aware of modernity; the cargo cults, the various Amazonian incursions by corporate loggers and other such miscreants. Here, though, there was no idea of what it meant to ride a 'metal bird', or for that matter, any vehicle. From there, he had attempted to consider myths and legends. On Earth, he seemed to recall, virtually all oral traditions had a memory of a 'great flood' - Noah's flood, in the Abrahamic tradition; or for the South Americans, their apocalyptic world cycles. At that, Neith had shrugged her shoulders; "Maybe the doctor will know."

The doctor had turned out to be of the marginally witchy kind, making remedies of herbs, plant, and animal blood. It seemed that he was more a combination of a gravetender and an augur than anything else, with much of his work being effectively welfare checks upon the gravely injured and the soon to be deceased; followed by putting them to rest. But in the troves of his mind, he held the voice and heart of a storyteller, and the memory of a reasonably well-kept SATA harddrive. His presumptive prediction had, at first, set Vijaya off his balance - until he remembered that what seemed like the entire next generation of the town had listened into him telling Neith exactly how little he knew of the moments before his awakening. He assumed they had related this story to the soothsayer.

"And you have a question for me."

"Yes. I wish to know if we...share stories. Do you know of a great flood?"

The soothsayer looked at Vijaya quizzically. Nodding his head slowly, Vijaya's smile gave way to a frown as he realised it was a look of confusion.

"Yes, but...no, you cannot mean them. The floods down-river? In the delta of the Iteru."

It seemed that in 3000 BC, Egypt had not yet developed a flood myth - at least, not one documented and well-known. Vijaya was roughly where he had began - except, at the least, he knew that there was a delta downstream.

"A delta? Is it well-populated? How far is it?"

"Of course. The soil there is rich and moist; it gathers life from upstream and is easily farmed. It is not far, especially if you are willing to risk the crocodiles and go by boat - Djedsut is at its mouth."

So farms still existed. This was a great relief. Thinking of the terrain about him, he started to come to some cognizance about his surroundings. He'd already become well-aware that he was in the desert - not the red sands of Australia, as he'd expect, but something with much more a golden burnish to it. So too, he knew, that there were floodplains about. But this confused him. The only 'untouched' peoples he knew lived in the tropics, in the jungles that were difficult to navigate and offered low visibility - the people of Indonesia, and the Amazon. Other than that, even nomads in central Africa had been subjected to the peripheries of modern warfare, whilst the unclaimed lands of Bir Tawil in eastern Africa was only home to a transient culture.

He stopped to consider how odd it was that he currently struggled to locate where in the world he was. He did not remember flying across any oceans recently. Yet, this was fairly resolutely nowhere near any of the cities he once called home - which had to cover most of the modern Eastern hemisphere. Not to mention that when he had questioned them on their distance from Europe, he had been met with equally blank stares.

But then, he had a moment of realization.

"Wait, what is the word for black?"

Whilst he, of course, used the word itself, he felt compelled to indicate his jet-black hair. He had a passing interest in proto-Indo European. Well, that was an exaggeration - he'd watched a video once about the evolution of the word 'black' - how it had become the root of words in many indo-European languages, both meaning black (the colour of charcoal, from fire), and white; in those languages that had derived 'blanc' and similar from the white light of fire. He knew that if they could identify either white or black with a word that sounded vaguely familiar, he'd at least know he was somewhere on Earth.

"Kmt."

What.

"We use it in our name for the delta. 'Kemet' - the black land."

Wait, what. Vijaya had definitely heard the word 'kemet' before.

"Does the word 'pharaoh' mean..."

"Par-aa? Great house?"

[Ulls]

Village of Ego

It has been some time sense Jeb came back to the village. He had been going around the region and conquering the smaller, peaceful tribes to strength Ego's rising army. With each victory, the army started to become sharpened, more disciplined, and were finally ready. Jeb slowly, but surely, instill a militaristic culture to the tribe. Under the tribe of Ego, the nearby villages had started to trade contribute in a much more developed way then what they previously did and it started to show upon the village itself.

Wooden walls and palisades were made and reinforced. The warlord established crop rotation and minor forms of irrigation to get food and herbs as a means of making more variety of a diet for the people. The various villages also share with the teachings of mandatory bathing and to allow more mixing of genders as more women became warriors for Ego. Most of them were widows but it showed that there was a discipline for the warriors that both sides chip in for Ego.

This prosperity didn't go unnoticed. News came up north to Green Mountain about the new chieftain and Ego's rise to power made him angry. Green Mountain wasn't pleased about this. Not only was the tribe that he ruled over was taken over by the nomad, it had been getting powerful. The threat needed to be dealt with swiftly. He gathered up a host of warriors and marched to Ego to see if it was true.

What the tyrant saw was something he didn't like. There were warriors in shields and copper spears, wooden walls with women archers with their bows trained on them. Jeb came out with his own host of warriors and crossed his arms.

"Green Mountain, what a pleasant surprise." Jeb said coyly.

" Where is Three-Feathers Nomad?" Green Mountain said.

" You mean my second-in-command? He's overseeing for my villages to become prosperous in this region. If you wish to speak to the chieftain than your speaking to him." Jeb responded

Green Mountain got angry and he started to moved but an arrow stopped his path as one of the archers had her sight trained on the tyrant himself.

" Let me make this clear Green Mountain." Jeb said as he walked up to him then continued," I have conquered this region in the name of my tribe, Ego. I am not Three-Feathers or his father so I will not suffer you. So I will give two demands. One, you will not gain anymore tribute and you will allow me to have access to your lands. In exchange, you will be left alone and I will trade with you. However if you continue on doing this, then I will kill you here and I will deliver your heads to your tribe as a symbol of my power. I will then take over your tribe as it will become Ego."

Green Mountain laughed at his demand and Jeb just shrugged. It was then Jeb roses hand and the archers pulled the bow string back and Jeb let down his hand. A wave of arrow heads hit Green Mountain's warriors as spears and shields flooded out from wooden defenses to capture and kill the war host. Green Mountain try to react but an arrow struck him in the chest and he fell down, gasping for air. Jeb held up his fist in the "hold" position and his warriors stopped.

Jeb got a copper spear and was playing with it in his hands as he walked up to the moving corpse of the tyrant.

" Let me tell you something friend." The warlord said as he kneel down and grabbed Green Mountain's throat to stop him to move. " When I say something, make threat, or anything I say with some fucking authority, I don't lie."

It was then he plunged the dagger in his throat, using multiple attempts to cut into bone and finally cut off the tyrant's head. He held up the head as he yelled.

" Let it be known that I am no stranger to make my threats and my promises true! I have delivered him an ultimatum, and he laughed at it. Now his tribe will know why this happened. They will know why the warriors of Ego will strike them down. Your ancestors shine upon you, the Night Owl has blessed you and now I will deliver you from your poor state into an empire."

The warriors whoop as he ordered the warriors to cut the heads of fallen tribal warriors and put them in hemp sacks as Jeb marched with his army up north to end this. It took more than a couple days of continual marching to the large town. The town itself was larger than Ego, it shows itself as warriors as it had earth mounds, larger numbers of huts and even a large houselike hut that would belong to the dead chieftain.

Despite the casualties that Ego dealt on the enemy tribe, they still had a large number of warriors that did give Jeb and his warriors pause. Still when they came. Jeb just dropped the sack with the chieftain's head in it. The enemy looked in shock at what Jeb gave them and the other warriors drop the other head of the chieftain's host and Jeb spoke to them.

" Bring me whoever's next in line to rule your tribe. I want to speak to them."

The warrior look at each other and whispers were giving among them as they send someone to go to the small town and a women came with the messenger. The warriors bowed to her presence as she walked with some grace. She had markings on her bodies and had some sort of elegance as she stopped between the enemy warriors and Jeb. She looked at the pile of heads in front of the nomad warlord and she looked at Jeb. She saw in his eyes that it wasn't one full of anger, but it wasn't one of calmness. It was one of readiness and one of tiredness.

" I see that you have shown your skill in killing my husband." She said in a soft voice to him

" I told him to back off my tribe or I will slay him. His head is proof of what he and his men chose." He said with some tiredness in his voice.

" He was a strong warrior. He made this tribe strong and his people prosper as strong warriors against outside enemies." She explained.

" Just being strong and have a prosperous tribe doesn't mean you aren't untouchable. In this life, anything can happen." Jeb said.

" Yes, like a nomad that was found nearly drowned in a river has now became the warrior who has my tribe at the palm in his hands. Which comes to what you will you do to my tribe." She said with some worry but she hid it well.

" I'll give you the same choice as I give to the other villages I have conquered. Join Ego and become much better than you think. Don't and I will slaughter your tribe and burn your home to the ground. Nothing will be left standing and no one will remember your names as I have erase you from the realms themselves." Jeb explained with a serious look in his eyes.

" How much tribute does Ego want from me?" She asked him.

The warlord shook his head," I don't resources, I want you to forfeit your tribe. You may rule it on my behalf but you will be under Ego's laws and culture."

" Fine I will join you. But I wish to be your adviser, as I was to my late husband, I believe my advise can serve you well." She said to him.

" Not a bad idea, if your advise to be had then it can hasten the growth of Ego." Jeb said with some sort of happiness.

" Then allow me to make my first advise to you warlord. When the news of my tribe's conquest will spread in this region, the tribes that were under our tribute will try to take advantage of this and become a threat to your rule." She explained.

" Then Ego will crush them. After that I shall make my lands prosperous." Jeb said with a shrug.

" Very well, then my warriors are your warriors and I submit my tribe to the might of Ego."

" Good, then the first order of business is that I will like you to live with me, as I have need of you with me than away. I also would like to know your name." Jeb ordered her.

" My name is Paranhutan, also known as Clear Water. I will live with you and advise you should you need it."

Jeb nodded as he went to one of his lieutenants.

" Send word to Three-Feathers, tell him that he's in charge of snuffing out any tribes who will be a hassle to the development of trade and building for Ego."

[Kelmet]

Far northern outpost

The entire mission had been gathered together by this point ( nine men in total ). Among the mission members were Scythians, three westerners, and two easterners - mix of every race within Holy Scythia. With that in mind, they starred curiously at their foreign counterparts. The foreigners were somewhat larger than they, in terms of frame and height. Although pale like the westerners, their hair was blond instead of dark brown. Their facial structures were more flat as well. Their cloths though, although different certainly, were similar in many respects to some of the leather armors found in Scythia.

The two parties were positioned around a set of logs set up around a campfire in the center of the tiny camp. Their hadn't been enough seats for the foreign party, so seats had been quickly cut from the trees. Yerldov sat next to the foreign leader ( as far as he could tell ), Astrid. Yerldov had had the courtesy of changing his cloths for his guest. He had put on a light blue tunic and brown trousers. He had also tied his beard into a knot. If he was going to represent Holy Scythia, he was going to do so with some degree of class and respectability. It was awkwardly silent as the two parties stared at each other, unable to speak the others tongue. Sensing that it was time to begin, Yerldov revealed what he had been holding in his hand.

He unrolled a long scroll of stained paper. It was a map of the known world. He angled it so that Astrid could see it. The map showed Holy Scythia in the center, wedged between two seas. To it's immediate south was a great mountain range, to it's west, east, and north were great expanses of empty land. Small crosses were scattered all about the map, and at the farthest most cross, Yerldov pointed at this cross, and then towards the ground. He then pointed at himself and then pointed towards Scythia. He pulled from his tunic a thin piece of charcoal pointed at Astrid and then back at the map, handing him the charcoal....

Astrid took off her helmet letting her long blonde hair flow over her armored shoulders setting it on the found and grabbing the charcoal.

She proceeded to draw an accurate sketch of the Baltic sea along with its many islands, Including the M (Seal of house Monroe) as a marking for the holdings of the Norscan Kingdom. After a few minutes the M was scattered across the Baltic, focused mainly on Denmark, Norwegian and Sweden the closet however was the Finnish populated Port city of Helsinki.

"Norsca is a cold place, your Scythia seems quit warm on this map"

[Oudland]

West Yemen, Highlands
One month later...

Tarut was attacked, as Donovan had been warned. He had been ready for them. Thanks to the captured enemy scout, he had a detailed description of the attacking force, along with the routes that they would travel. Donovan's warriors defeated them quickly, taking only a few prisoners. There were casualties, but the victory in Tarut was decisive. He then created a council of men from Tarut and New Sheba and bided his time.

After weeks of planning with the new council, Donovan now marched a force of forty warriors against the village of Dedan, supplemented by thirteen young recruits from Tarut. They wore black robes and copper masks ornately stylized as jackals, carrying studded clubs, small wooden bucklers, and slings with lead weights as ammunition. Donovan's own mask was that of an eagle, and his club was capped and gilded with thick bands of copper.

Leading the procession of black clad warriors were eight prisoners Donovan had taken during the last attack. Each of them carried a red stained, sodden cloth sack and shuffled along. Donovan called the march to a halt and strode forward, studying the tall palisades that blocked sight into the village. A similiar force of men trickled out of the village to confront them.

Donovan raised his hand and gestured for the prisoners to be brough forth, each carrying his bloody sack. His warriors formed a line behind the eight prisoners, with Donovan taking center stage out in front of the spectacle. He turned and waved to the grim and nervous gathering of mundane looking warriors outside of the palisades. He called out to them.

"I have your sons. Parley with me?"

They deliberated briefly and an older man was sent forth along with five other young fighters. His beard was dark and full, hanging to his chest. His eyes burned, defiant and furious. He was draped in leathers and furs and wielded a crude axe type weapon. Donovan proceded to meet him, accompanied by five of his own men. The two groups squared off. Donovan was the first to speak, his fearsome mask glinting in the setting sun.

"I am Shahib Maharib, Mukarrib of Tarut and New Sheba. You are the master of Dedan?"

The old warrior winced at the title, then grunted and nodded his affirmation.

"Speak to me aloud when I address you."

Donovan's one good eye glared from within the mask, locked with the man's defiant gaze. He appeared unsettled by Donovan's demeanor, along with the appearances of he and his soldiers. His own men, upon seeing their leader falter, looked outright terrified as they eyed the dripping crimson burdens of their captured comrades.

The man flinched and said, "I am."

Donovan turned and waved at the bulk of his force. One of the men stepped forward and spoke quickly to the gathered prisoners, who in turn revealed the fetid, rotting severed heads they carried in the sacks. A few of them were weeping as they did so.

Donovan turned back to observe the stunned expressions of his enemy. They were pale, shaken. The master of Dedan yelled, "Demon!" and retreated from the masked men and their gruesome display. Donovan only grinned, his own warriors advancing from behind him. When the enemy tried to reenter the pallisades, they found that their kinsmen would not open the gate.

They had fallen for the trap. The elders in Tarut and Dedan, who now held seats on his small council, had been instrumental in coordinating the secret deal which would spare the bulk of Dedan from Donovan's wrath.

The few enemy warriors of Dedan who had followed their master outside of the village died alongside him, battered and pressed against the pallisades. A few hours later, Donovan and his masked men entered Dedan to rest amd dispose of the dead. Men and women look upon them with awe. Some had hate in their eyes, but a heathy dose of fear and even respect. He heard whispers of Yamat, and pale devil. The prisoners were freed of their bonds, as promised, and Donovan went to personally thank the elders. They recieved him warily, but after a time spent convincing them of the virtues and rewards of loyalty to a strong leader, he felt good about the meeting.

Much later, during the first stirrings of daylight, Donovan gazed north along the stretch of mountains. He drank lightly from a skin of water, enjoying the peace of his mind and the tranquility of the early morning. He turned his gaze south, towards a hill with a dozen figures hanging limply from tall wooden stakes. Written at their feet were signs, claiming their death to have been rightly ordained and ordered by Yamat amd his disciples.

His men believed him to be a divine avatar of some obscure, primal god. If so, his domain was death. They called him Yamat, or Shahib Maharib, the pale devil. Donovan was loathe to entertain this facade, and decided that he should redirect and organize this faith. He was done fighting for now. It was time to build. As the sun rose, so too did Donovan. For a final time he gazed northward before turning his back and entering Dedan.

[Holy Tedalonia]

Part 1, Chapter 4: They gave their men weapons and set forth to vanquish the storm

Ted sat in the chieftains house pondering on the current situation. He never been in a war, but had the knowledge necessary to enact strategies. He planned to save these people from the greedy and notorious hands of the Imperium. He was eating grapes he had found in the forest. If these were italian grapes which they do look similar to with their dark colored features, then they would be perfectly safe.

After long weeks of training the men were prepared. They were ready to depart and set forth to destroy the armies of this Imperium. The name was familiar to him. He had recognized it from a game series and its trademarks. To add to the irony of this name he decided the men to call him, "Tzeentch". The name was to mask his identity, while giving amusement to the invaders who or whatever gave them the name of the Imperium. This he thought would be amusing, and to further his plans of uniting the tribes he needed a target.

The target was simple. The Imperium developed and technologically advanced, however this power they have gives trouble. Being a empire of greatness that out does their neighbors makes an easy enemy, since their neighbors tend to be jealous. This allows a person like Ted to take power, and lead the counter-attack, but with great opportunity comes with great risk; if Ted were to fail his first attack, then support from the tribes would dissipate and be no more. He didn't expect he'd destroy the Imperium, but halt the invasion. His plan was to create situations that befitted his purpose by doing ambushes. If they attacked from range most would certainly die. He concluded that he must beguile his enemies into favorable positions.

As Ted got up and walked outside the house. He was flanked by a messenger. The messenger had reported to him that the men were ready to depart. After meeting up with the men a man greeted Ted and explained he was the warlord. Ted responded with respect and began to walk the long trip to the mountains with an army of 250 men behind his back.

The men carried a wooden container each on their backs. These wooden containers contained much grapes and wheat. The men didn't need it though. They could easily collect food from the land, but Ted had insisted that they should bring it. The men were also told to carry their copper spears incase a ambush were to happen. Ted was not going to take any chances, and he certainly didn't want to lose the resistance support. They the true lords of "Italia" set forth to vanquish the storm.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Mountain Village of Halois, Inner Appenine Highlands
June 24th, 63 AG

Matthew strode in to the village near the break of day, the first few farmers and goodwives about with the dawn staring at his party with eyes which betrayed curiosity, and a hint of caution. But the firebrand preacher bore no weapons, carried no symbol; indeed the only thing that marked him out as other than the traders that moved hither and thither upon the peninsula was the book he bore in his arms, a strange construct which none of the village of Halois could countenance as ever having seen before. His neatly trimmed face and clean-shaved appearance contrasted with the light beards worn by most of the men he saw, but that was neither here nor there; a shave was not unknown in these regions, though the folk would marvel at the gleaming iron razor the missionary used for the task every few mornings.

No, Matthew was an unremarkable man, until he trudged up to the door of one of the houses chosen at random, and rapped on its flimsy wooden archway. His bare knuckles drumming against the rough-cut timbers echoed through the main square, causing his companies to look around in some consternation, but the bearer of the Truth did not seem fazed. As the sound faded a young woman opened the door, her eyes squinting against the morning brightness, her expression one of confusion.

Clearing his throat, a twinkle in his light blue eyes, Matthew spoke in tones that were remarkably cheery for the hour of morning.

"Excuse me, young miss." He bowed slightly, an affectation which bemused the lass, coming as it did from a man who was both young and handsome himself. Indeed, Matthew had little right to call the villager young, for he likely outweighed her by only a few winters, but still, it was enough for him.

"I am called Matthew, a traveler from the east. My friends and I have come far, and our horses are thirsty. Does this fair village have a well we might water them at?" A small pouch appeared in the missionary's hand as if by magic, clinking slightly as he rattled it with a casual motion.

The villager hesitated for a moment, for the right of the guest was one not lightly put aside. Moreover, a small sum of coin for some water would do the village well. Her mind was made up swiftly.

"Certainly, Matthew." The woman turned about, calling in the thick local dialect back in to the house, a brogue which the missionary spoke but would not willingly utter due to his atrocious accent. The training at the seminary in Presna had included this tongue, for Matthew had chosen to be trained to go to the unreached peoples of Italia. But a humble traveler he was now, and would be for some time.

From the doorway emerged a tall man with a black beard turning to gray, eyeing the four travelers up with a weather eye before adjudging them as no threat to his daughter. The master of the household turned to Matthew, and spoke.

"I am Cordas, called by my kin chief of this village, of Halois. If you seek water for your steeds we do not ask much in return; indeed, we have food to trade, if you seek provisions, and mine and myself would be eager to hear any news of the wider world, if you need not move on at speed." Matthew nodded gravely. In these sundered villages of a hundred thousand primitive communities traders were more than merely purveyors of goods- they were the lifeline to what passed beyond the few hills and vales that a tribe called its own, full of the comings and goings of the age that swirled 'round such communities.

With heavy tread, the tunic-clad elder crossed to the local well, unlocking a thick band of copper chain from about a complex knot that barred the top of the life-giving repository. Fresh water up here in the hills, far from any river or basin, could be as precious as good metalwork, or men to work the mines. Matthew observed casually several men hauling sledges bearing heavy thick red-banded rock, and an eyebrow quirked up in his head at the curious presence. Perhaps these men didn't know what they had, but Matthew had been born on the slopes of the Carpathian Mountains. With a silent nod and a tap on the shoulder, the missionary indicated to one of his companions, the Explorator Vardis, the presence of the sledges.

The other man pursed his lips in thought as Cordas hauled the stone lid off of the well, and as the companions were watering their horses he spoke up in thick inner Italian.

"Master Cordas, forgive my curiosity, but your village mines iron ore?" With a glance at the suddenly talkative traveler, the chief weighed his words, glancing at the sledges himself to remind himself of their existence before shrugging.

"Iron ore? Is that what it is? Some man of the western lowlands asked my diggers to look for that stone, to send to his village. Truth be told it is somewhat of a nuisance, this iron, for it has forced us to cut back on the tribe's mining of copper, and few men will trade for dirt that cannot be worked with. Some trade goods we are owed for what we send west, but the merchants come infrequently..."

Vardis nodded, sympathetically. "Yes, iron is a fickle beast. I know of but few men who can work it, and they live far from here indeed. That said, though you receive but little in trade for it now, perhaps we should talk more; I know of those where I come from who would pay a good price for such stones and rock, and send regular caravans laden with many goods in exchange for such mineral wealth. Woven cloth, so your women need not work their fingers to the bone weaving, cut stone for building sturdy dwellings, exquisite trinkets of glittering gold and silver, even spirits and foods so exotic as to boggle the mind."

A laugh rumbled from the elder's throat, though it was tinged by the cagey tones of a man who perceived a haggle to be had. "Be that as it may. Formally, my tribe is committed to sending this stone to the men of the west, for a project that is said to include much potential for prosperity to my folk..." Cordas' words trailed off. Some material wealth had he gained from the transaction, but in truth his people could mine little, and the tribes which desired the stones had little to offer.

The elder nodded as the horses finished drinking, and Matthew handed the master of the tribe a few coins of stamped copper bearing the insignia of an anchor. "It is now near morning meal, and my house has room for many. If we are to talk business, I would not do it on an empty stomach, nor leave my guests or future partners with throats dusty from the road. Come. It seems we may have much to discuss."

That day a deal was negotiated between the tribe of Halois and the Explorator, a representative of the government of Cirdan which was slowly being extended to Italy. No longer would the thin stream of iron ore wend its way westward to the poor tribes that hoped to make a better life for themselves there. No, the iron ore would be carried east, to the coast, to be taken on knaars to distant Imperial ports and forges which provisioned a growing empire. Against the commercial might of a country-spanning entity, the few trade goods offered by a minor tribe were as dust. And the missionary Matthew found many ears which were interested in the word of the Lord which he carried; the blessings of His favor were obvious to the people of the highlands, for the faces of those travelers from the Imperium in the east were well-fed and spoke not of want, nor much disease, and the obvious wealth of their trappings and mysterious keenness of their weapons spoke volumes of the power of the God that Matthew called Father, as compared to the local spirits of brook and stream.

[Ulls]

Town of Ego

The region that Ego took was something that Jeb was happy. While the natives didn't know since it wasn't obvious, but there was a source of iron in the ground. Jeb forgot where the site was since it was years since he worked as a miner in Florence, Wisconsin. It wouldn't matter now sense he's in another world similar to his own. Still, he was at least somewhat happy that he was able to put the bulk of his warriors to rest for a bit as he made his next moves.

Ego had a large influx of population and it grew into a town. Jeb saw that his teachings were bearing fruit and he continue to make more teachings. He started to instruct the adviser to organize improvements to his regions. The regions had been connected with roads, while not the best, they were dirt pathways that showed civilization and streamline trade. This allow for the founding of the wheel and the wheelbarrow as a means of transporting goods.

The only question is, where do they get the workers for the transports? The only answer Jeb came with is to introduce slavery. The very idea made Jeb angry and sick to his stomach. He wanted the people of Ego to be free and slavery wouldn't be something that he would like to introduce to a Native American culture the idea of slavery. However, there have been other tribes that have been raiding or trying to raid the borders of Ego make Jeb have to make an example to potential enemies.

He decided to reform and structure the military to have war parties that are meant to ambush enemy warriors and capture them for slave work. This provided some influx of workers for transports and even for construction to build up Ego itself. The idea was to spook the enemy tribals and to form a border guard until outposts are made.

For now, he can rest, talk to the little girl that found him before. Her name was Little Star and she was one of the few children that bothered him at night to ask him questions when he wasn't dealing with domestic affairs. She told him that she wanted to be a warrior and started to practice with wooden stick and sword in helps of being some use to Jeb. Jeb felt regret when he heard of this, he knew that he would need to try and instill a warrior culture to even make the children strong, but he had already made the culture and laid down the lines for the future.

Jeb decided to tell Little Star's parents that he's seen her to be a great warrior and will personally train and teach her in the ways of being a servant of the Night Owl and to be something that will bring glory to both the spirit of the Everworlds and her ancestors. It was probably for the best, the girl showed potential and perhaps will be the future of Ego and the improvement of the culture.

Other than that, it was more in the way of improvements to the village. He finally had peace but one night he walked out of Ego and slept in the wilderness. To him it was one of the few ways to remind him of the old days. The days when he walked around the land, follow the asphalt road and embrace the wilderness. It was one of the main reasons he became a neo-pagan and follow some of the teachings. As he fell asleep he had a dream.

The dream was that of a owl made of stars that moved over him with talons out. It laid out a bloody path that Jeb walked. He felt sad but enlighten for someway. On one side he saw enemies that were growing in number, but the other side was treasure, knowledge, and supporters who whooped for him. The owl stopped and he saw a vast ocean beyond his feet. Over the horizon it shined greatly and he woke up with Little Star seeing if he was alright.

Jeb told him that he had a vision but he wondered if he drank too much or was it the herbs. However, he told the little girl that he his vision that Ego needed to go beyond the sea to get treasure and knowledge. He told her that there were other lands beyond a sea up north and that its Ego's destiny to do it.

Jeb went to Three-Feathers and told him what they must do. An army must be marshaled for a long-term campaign to march up north. From there was an opening to get to another land that was part of their world. It was there that laid Ego's future. He told them that Ego's home does not have what it needs to become a proper empire, but the land beyond does. Three-Feather's asked how did he knew this and he explained that the Night Owl told him. His second-in-command gave him a questioning look but he wondered how would he get to the north.

Jeb instructed him to build a dock from Ego, a large one so that the idea of longboats can be born. He also started to try and some form of paper from the trees so that he can start making maps and probably some means of getting messages. To Jeb, it was more important to get the longboats so that the idea of sailing can help exploring the Great Lakes, but to prepare them for sojourn journey to the land beyond the sea.

[Oudland]

Gilead, Southern Arabia
Black Sea-Gulf of Yamat Region
Following the coup in Dedan...


Before Donovan left Dedan, the entire council(comprised of elders from all three settlements) convened and decided to name the region Gilead. Admittedly, he had influenced their decision slightly. They seemed to like the name, anyway. Bringing respected elders into the fold of his rule had proven to be prudent. The people trusted these men, and retaining control of the newly conquered villages would require their help.

The warriors, though... they were loyal to him. Rather, they were loyal to the facade he perpetuated. The pale devil of the south, he who came from the sands. Ultimately, they called him Mukarrib, which roughly means King.

His word was law, ordained by his fabricated pantheon. It had three deities. Azaazl; god of war, and strife. This aspect was represented by a blazing sun of crimson on a green field. Nokta; goddess of learning, night, and death. Her sigil was to be represented as a pale crescent moon on black sands. Finally, Gan; a god of nature, labor, fertility, and innocence. His mark was a golden tree on a blue field.

When Donovan "revealed" the Gods, he did so craftily to a gathering of the Elder Council, as well as select warriors who had proven to be fervent followers and fearsome fighters. They coveted the knowledge of Azaazl and Nokta. He had expected as much.

He introduced Gan to the farmers and the builders, the mothers and the fathers, old and young. Gan's was a kind, subtle way. Most of them were enthralled with his tales. Without his mask, and in his element, the common people warmed to Donovan substantially. He walked with them, talked with them, and worked with them.

Tarut was beginning to produce a lot of sandstone, clay, lead, copper, and rock salt. He recieved word that a new metal had been found. When the messenger pressed the soft, dirty yellow ore into his palm, Donovan's heart skipped a beat. He slipped it away into his robes and informed his council that the ore was to be mined, but to hoard it in secret under threat of death.

In Dedan, they were perfecting their written language, thanks to an emerging sect of driven priests loyal to two things; their Mother of Night, and her prophet. They called themselves the House of Nokta. Donovan wondered at the liberties they had taken with his idea already. Despite all their esotericism, they were essentially a cabal of thinkers.

New Sheba itself had finished construction of several new structures, a stout wall of wooden palisades, clay, mud, and cobblestone. The former dock was now a small port with several small vessels out on the water. In his absence, many had migrated to the settlement. Food was abundant, from land and sea. They had begun to keep wild pigs, wild ass, and oxen. To Donovan, it felt like home. Still, they never overstepped their bounds. Here, too, they now called him Mukarrib.

He sent forth his warriors with the word of Azaazl, not just to his settlements but abroad. After a time, men began to trickle in seeking the Warrior Prophet of Gilead. Some days men came in two's or three's, some days they came alone. Now and again days passed when no one sought his teachings. Ultimately, though, his ranks were growing. He instructed his most capable warriors to begin conducting drills with the men, and sometimes presided over these himself to direct their training and instill his discipline.

Trade grew between the three settlements under the guidance of the Elders. Caravans were forming and the people were forging rough paths connecting their homes. Donovan had workers and traders assisting him in planning on turning these into sturdy paths he called roads, and had collected several rough maps that he turned over to the House of Nokta.

Donovan's beard had grown substantially, and his skin bore the kiss of the South Arabian sun. He kept his head shaved clean, and wrapped. He began to wash regularly and dressed constantly in long black robes, a patch over his maimed right eye. His bouts of rage and confusion ceased, and he found himself possessed of great ambition, to forge Gilead into a land of order, culture, wealth, and learning. When he looked out uponwhat was the Gulf of Aden, which his people called the Gulf of Yamat, he saw endless oportunity where before he saw only struggle and savagery in a foreign world.