New Civilizations [IC | Closed]

[Revlona]

Robert
Brittany
June 6th, 13 AA

Draw them forward into melee, that was our plan, with our superior ranged ability, they would be crushed if they stayed too far, already Robert could hear the horns of the Enemy sounding some order as another volley of rifle-shot thundered toward them. The horses of Robert’s lancers pranced in anticipation, as they knew something big was coming. Robert checked to his left to make sure that his Bugler was still beside him, he also reached over his shoulder and felt to make sure his Warhammer was still strapped to his back, as he would be using an Iron tipped lance in the beginning.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Part 10, Chapter 5: Eyes Fire-Bright

September 8th, 85 AG

Unconsciously I rolled one of the dun red coins between my fingers, my eyes far away from the counting room of the mint here in Tar Alesvar. Not even the polite cough of my companion, the venerable smith who ran the facility and whose gaze frequently strayed from his pile of gleaming bullion to try to read my expression.

Truth be told, I found the process of alloying the various materials for goldpieces fascinating. There was something about gold, the precious gleaming blood of the earth, that appealed to the dragonish nature that burned at times in my chest. Or, so I liked to think of it fondly, a desire to possess what was beautiful and of worth. But today my heart wasn't in it, in the examination of the new rose-gold blend that the minter was proposing be adopted for the most recent stamping in honor of Mikhael's coronation.

That was mainly because of the news; my grandson had made it to the New World, and established a military outpost on the Virginian coastline. The natives were friendly enough, perhaps because to be unfriendly would invite extinction, but by all signs there was little to no development of the natural resources and people groups. No influences from other men of my own time of note, that was, and thus a fertile ground for the ambitions the Imperium retained for the securing of vital goods for trade and manufacturing.

Of course, I knew this couldn't be the case entirely. Other news was that ships were arriving in the British Isles (the Norscan Isles these days?), ships speaking to have come from the west, over the Atlantic. Lord Visemar said that his agents found the ships of these newcomers dubious to have sailed the entirety, and so it was the opinion of the Rose Council that they must be making the trip from Iceland. Even so, primitive vessels or not, some society had developed in the Americas sophisticated enough to build longships capable of traversing the North Atlantic, at least in the summer. And the fact that they had journied east, a departure from the home timeline, told me that there was some hand behind their actions, a presence guiding them eastward.

It was a matter of concern, but not a great one. Those covert interrogations that had been conducted by the apparatus in Norsca of the merchantfolk spoke of a civilization barely into the iron age, a people divided, barbaric, scarcely better than the tribes of antiquity. Of course, there was danger in such matters anyway, but it was a danger that could be managed, like that of any uncivilized upstart power. The report from the spymaster in London was optimistic, since the reported dealings of the foreigners seemed more focused on purchasing breeding stock of the various domestic lineages that infested Europe, and they seemed content to trade away iron and other raw goods en masse for small amounts of manufactured elements.

"What do you think of this design, Lord Hegemon?"

A short bark of laughter passed my lips, and I turned my eyes back towards the coin-maker from wherever they had been staring into empty space.

"A thousand apologies Amdal. Please, may I see it?"

I took the coin, a weighty think stamped with the beak-nosed profile of the Emperor, and struggled not to laugh. It made him look like a witch more than a man. But I suppose these things were usually made to be distinctive, after all. A brief hmm sounded, rumbling in my throat, and I reached for one of the other stampings the master of the forge had showed me, straight from the smelters above the town.

"I believe this design might prove wisest, Master Minter. Elegant, descriptive, but complicated enough to be hard to forge."

The minter nodded at the simple coin bearing the Great Anchor on one side, and the scales of justice on the other.

"It does not bear the Emperor's likeness, but I see your point. The Emperor did not wish a commemorative edition struck for his crowning-day?"

I paused for a moment, considering the question, and Amdal hesitantly asked another question.

"If I may interrupt your thoughts, Lord Hegemon, what have you been considering of late?"

It was a strange question, and my face betrayed my confusion at the matter clearly enough that the forgemaster audibly backpedaled in an instant.

"It is only that your gaze seems strange, haunted. Hungry, even. Like a man considering a great feast, or a fell deed. Here at the forge, we would say you had eyes of fire."

Eyes of fire. I liked that expression. Nothing like ambition to keep the flames of the soul burning hot.

Southern Brittany
June 6th, 85 AG

With the crackle of distant gunfire the warrior next to Dimitrov dropped, head like so much mashed meat after the bullet passed through it, and the bandit leader snarled in frustration. Even in the light woods where he had arrayed the brigands, the massed volleys of the lackies of the Emperor made their presence all too felt.

"We can't stay here. Not dense enough. Get the lads moving back, and tell Uhor that he is to lead the rearguard. I don't have any desire to die today, and we don't have the numbers for a scrap, and the boys ain't up to dying just to kill some sable-wearing whoresons."

It was a crude command, betraying the rude upbringing of the warchief, but nonetheless turned into effective orders by his subordinate gang-bosses and trusted bullyboys. Back over the line of the hill the brigands trudged, away from the view of the withering direct rifle-fire, and once they were out of sight the band began to leg it southward, back towards the wild lands of fens and forests they had emerged from. Behind the ridgeline about a hundred men crouched and laid low, ready to spring on any foes who would crest the mount incautiously, ready to fight and buy their friends time to escape. It was a thankless task, and many of the would-be pillagers and plunderers were less than enthused about being detailed for the duty, but it was just a risk you took. If they didn't slow down the pursuers, it would turn from a retreat into a rout, and then nobody would make it away from the long arm of the law.

[The Hierophancy]

Colote

By the fourth week of me starting my iron "business", I estimated myself among the richest people in Colote - though that wasn't saying much. I, too, had become one of it's more notable inhabitants. Everyone had already known my name, of course - it was hard to go unnoticed as the pale outsider in a village of less than 400 - but now they seemed to know who I was beyond the "foreigner", instead I became that "bloodstone man" or "boss" (the decimation of Colote's farming industry had left me with a lot of cheap labor). The furnaces operated by my employees now numbered 5, with the newer bloomeries sporting taller stacks, thicker walls and better adjusted pottery air-ways. Our molds had too been improved upon - after my second batch of knives was distributed among the populace I'd been able to contract the services of Colote's local idol-maker, who'd been more than happy to create for me a series of simple patterns - spear points, arrowheads, even axes and, after I'd explained to him its purpose, a pick - all for the right price, of course. Already, most households already possessed a simple iron knife, most hunters few iron-tipped arrows, and those with goods to spare proudly displayed axes of cold hard "Iurhiritsakapu". However, the most iron-hungry customer turned out to be one of the traveling Zapotec merchants who, only a week prior, had traded most of his currency and many of the invaluable Quetzal feathers he dealt in for a fresh batch of iron knives and ax heads. Despite all this economic activity, profit and business, I felt I was doing a good deal less actual work than ever before - Cháalaxa had proven a brutally effective and efficient foreman. As a direct result, I was starting to grow bored, and after a few days even roast fowl and frothed chocolate ceased to elicit the joy they had within me back when I was scraping by on questionably fresh corn and thin chili sauce.

I decided that it was time to do something myself again after I spent a good hour playing (and losing) patoli with my so-far oldest comrades, Tlatli and Chimali, both of whom were more than happy to comment upon how my luck didn't seem to extend far beyond the sporadic vision. After losing a few axes worth of currency along with a few actual, physical axes, I decided that I didn't much like gambling, and needed a new distraction while I still possessed some of my new found wealth. I eventually settled on making myself a weapon, namely, a sword. Even before I ended up wherever-I-was, I had wished to forge a blade - unfortunately I had lacked the necessary materials, motivation, dedication, talent, and time. Now all I lacked was talent, and truly, how much talent does one really need to hammer a big iron stick into a wider, sharper stick? To start, I'd need to pick my iron, and luckily enough, the last expedition I'd sent off to my river deposit - some 5 men I'd guided to the area during my third week of business - would be returning to Colote with their precious cargo by sundown, if they had managed to avoid being devoured or otherwise dealt with by the forces of nature, that is. Thankfully, they arrived right on time, exhausted and practically dragging their heavy, iron headed picks behind them. Better yet, they'd been digging deeper into the stone, uncovering steel-grey chunks of ore which, I could only assume, were of a purer nature than the oxidized bloodstone collected so near the surface. The ore-crushing & smelting went a good deal quicker than last time with the aid of a now moderately experienced team working the tall, drafty furnace I chose in which to do my work, and it took only around half the day before I was smashing in the front of the forge and extracting the well-sized chunk of spongy iron and slag, this time with a wonderfully nonflammable iron hook. The metal was swiftly separated from it's less desirable elements by a few blows of the hammer, and whilst the furnace was reheated and brought to ever hotter temperatures by my employees for the second melting of the iron, I went off to begin creating the mold for my blade.

The type of sword I wished for remained nebulous - before it had been a real possibility, the closest I'd gotten to identifying my dream weapon had been "large". I was unsure if I possessed the strength to handle a true longsword or two-hander, however, and even if I knew I could wield such a sword, I wasn't sure if the iron I produced was even structurally sound enough to support such a long and heavy chunk of metal. Thus, I settled on something akin to what I recognized as an arming sword - an iron handle shaped similarly to a cross, a relatively long and heavy hilt to balance the weapon, and a moderately sized, straight blade with a hexagonal cross section that tapered to a clean, narrow point. This mold was a bit more complex than the last few created, as it required two halves for its full three dimensional glory, along with a path in which the molten metal was to be poured, though the master potter was more than happy to meet the challenge head on, and within a few hours he had completed his pattern. By the time I returned to the furnace I'd chosen for making my sword, unwieldy mold in hand, the melted down metal had already reformed and cooled into the rough circular "ingots" we kept what surplus we had in. I ordered the thing remelted - hopefully another roasting in charcoal would imbue the stuff with more carbon, which - I hoped - would make it stronger, if more brittle. The iron I currently produced was too soft, it bent too easily, like bronze or copper. Whilst the workers, grumbling about useless tasks, got back to tending the fire, I returned home for dinner and well deserved sleep.

By dawn, the iron was ready, once more melted and once more cooled to solidity in its stone bowl. Inspecting the metal with my haggard looking aides, the "ingot" looked pretty much exactly as it had before it's second treatment - dark, smooth, and dull. As I ordered the metal once more remelted - the groans were a good deal more audible this time - though they largely subsided when I mentioned the possibility of a bonus - but the laborers got back to work lighting and feeding the furnace whilst I prepared the molds - blade, guard and pommel. I had the pommel mold shaped in the shape of a donut or thick ring, crafted to fit an especially reflective chunk of carved obsidian I'd purchased a few days prior within its core. Hopefully it's role as a counter weight wouldn't be sabotaged by such articles of vanity, but even so, I could always pour a new one. Within a few hours the metal was ready, and under my direction carefully poured into each of the molds. As we waited for the metal to cool and harden, I sent one of my thoroughly exhausted employees in search of a wood carver, and another to retrieve a tub of water. By the time they had returned, I'd already set about polishing up the solidified guard and pommel with a small, finely grained whetstone, whilst my grumbling comrades worked at removing the great nub protruding from the blade, into which the molten metal had been poured. The carpenter set to work almost immediately, taking measurements of grips iron core and beginning to carve the fine block of mahogany he'd brought to the work site. The other, wearier workers, however, looked about ready to revolt when I ordered the furnace once again heated up - I took it that nobody enjoyed spinning one of those blasted "bellows" for hours at a time. After a few minutes of glaring, I gave them leave to return home and find some other metalworkers to take their place, and after I doled out what I felt to be an exuberant number of cacao beans, they happily set off to find their replacements.

With fresh workers and, after a few hours, a red hot furnace, I began the final steps in forging my sword by shoving the now mostly-smooth iron blade into the furnace and putting the finishing touches upon the other hilt sections, including the insertion of the smoothed obsidian orb into the pommel. Finally, I donned the thick cotton-padded-and-leather mitt and, murmuring a brief prayer to ensure my hand didn't immediately go up in flamed, grasped the protruding, glowing iron grip-core and, with considerable difficulty, wrenched the bright red blade from the great clay forge. With my hand already feeling uncomfortably warm, I plunged the bright sword into the waiting tub of water, doing my best maintain my grip on the blade even as the water around it immediately began to hiss and blow hot steam right by my head. Once the iron had dulled and cooled to my satisfaction, I knew it had to be tempered - unless it already had been tempered during the second heating? Truth be told I had no idea whether it needed tempering, or for that matter exactly how to temper it, but I did know that it was supposed to be reheated, and that it would change color when properly tempered, though I wasn't sure what color it was meant to be. In the end I simply had my laborers cease working the bellows and, once the fire was a good deal cooler than red hot, once more shoved the blade into it. Holding it there for a few moments, I pulled it out as soon as the heat reaching my hand began to become uncomfortable, and was presented with a surprisingly colorful blade of faint yellow and, near the tip along the edges, a more vibrant straw color, which all present agreed was quite wondrous to look upon. With that, I placed my blade onto the large, flat rock used for hammering sponge iron and left it to cool in the late afternoon air.

Hammering into place the hilt components and affixing onto the grip the intricately carved mahogany sections with a primarily latex glue, the weapon was finally complete. It was a good deal weightier than I had expected, and although the pommel did wonders in balancing it out, still front heavy. Nonetheless, it was a sword, and, frankly, quite a badass one at that, even unsharpened. It would only take an hour or two for said sharpening to be completed, a task I entrusted to a man Cháalaxa ensured me was a born natural, and when it was complete the blade was, if not razor sharp, good enough to at least hack into flesh. The final step was to get my sword blessed and, perhaps at the same time, named. During the forging process I had decided I wanted this blade made divine, or at least confirmed divine - after all, it had been made out of a divine metal, and I could only imagine the prestige that came with forging and owning a weapon believed to have magical, god given properties, not to mention one foreign and unique to Colote, if not all the Americas. And so I took my blade, wrapped in black-dyed cloth (a holy color, if Speaker Tsijiari's mantle was anything to go by) to the temple, where the revered speaker was, as per the usual, praying to the square-faced idol of Kurikaweri, though the middle aged man turned the moment I stepped past the fabric draped entryway.

"Ah, Uikixu-Úrhi, it is pleasant to see you - have you brought me something?" I made the proper gestures of submission and reverence before kneeling and carefully unwrapping my weapon, its edges now shining and reflective, its core still faint yellow. The speaker was clearly interested in the sword, and he took it from me wordlessly.

"A weapon, I suppose? And of bloodstone, too..." Tsijiari looked the blade up and down, turning it over and seemingly taking note of every square inch. "I suppose you received instructions on how to create this from the Gods themselves, as with your... ah... furnaces?"

"Aye, Revered Speaker - it is a blade Kurikaweri himself commanded me to create, see how it bears one of his divine colors -" I reached out and traced the faint yellow center of the blade. "- and one of the gifts he grants us through Chʼipirijuata, here, in the pommel." I pointed to the polished orb of obsidian, secured with a thin layer of latex, resting in the hollowed out pommel.

"That it does... and impressive weapon, to be sure." I nodded.

"I was commanded in a vision just moments before to bring it to you, so that it may receive the final blessings and magics that will make it worthy to bear the name..." I thought for a moment. "Jurhiatambamusku." Tsijiari gave a slight smile at the name.

"Sharpened Sun? Mm, an ambitious title for a weapon, fitting for an ambitious boy such as yourself." The "boy" bit was a little hurtful, but I remained silent. "Very well. As you come on the orders of Kurikaweri himself, I shall perform the necessary rituals to sanctify this odd weapon of yours. I hope you can do it's name justice, Uikixu." The painted priest re-wrapped the blade in its cotton swathe before walking back towards his god figures, waving me off whilst facing the wall before me. "The ceremony shouldn't take much longer than a day, pallid one. Return at twilight tomorrow." Taking that as a dismissal, I bowed and backed out of the stone structure, back into the receding daylight of late afternoon.

[Liecthenbourg]

Chapter I: Deliver Us
Part II: The Sting On My Shoulder
September, 2195 BCE

"You see, the man I called Aristotle - AH-RYS-TOH-TEL - spoke about cultivating one's own talents and virtues. To do good, you must learn to be good. Take, for example, an artisan of some kind. A potter. You would be a good potter by practicing. The same comes with being good, or so did Aristotle say." I tapped my head, indicating the mind. "He spoke of wisdom to find character in others." I turned to one of the men, named Yadaspati, he who had given my the cloth around my waist when I needed it. "For example, Yadaspati, within you because of your actions I know you are a good man, an honest man, a noble man, who acts with virtue." He smiled at that and beamed in pride and the others sat around the fire looked on in an approving manner; for they too began to correlate the actions of 'noble Yadaspati'.

"But Yadaspati, you might be good - but Aristotle says you could always come better. Your wife is skilled at weaving, yet with each day she becomes a better weaver, does she not?"

Yadaspati gave a quick and decisive nod, smiling at his intention. "She is, yes. She weaves fine fabrics into cloths and clothes, each one more fine to the touch and sight than the last."

"So you see what I am telling you all, then?"

The communal nod was evident and many conversed amongst themselves whilst I myself reflected. I had told the more than just philosophy; reaffirmed many ideas that we knew the Indus Valley Civilisation to have already; the notions of drainage and sewage, telling them the 'wise men' who they had become interested in; Kant, Aristotle and Plato each taught to not 'wash in the water that was drunk', 'bathe in the water that was used for sewage', etc, etc.

I stroked my dog, Lino, with my right hand as I held onto that staff I'd taken for myself in the other hand. I think too many watchings of Dreamworks' The Prince of Egypt had made me partial to the stick as a staff. The little dog yawned and flared its nose, staring intently at the fire before shutting its eyes in sleep.

"Aristotle too mentioned." I continued, as the enthralled listen with interest. "The right temperament and mentality in action, you see." They looked at this suggestion oddly, and Yadaspati's wife, Kannagi, spoke up. She nodded. "So Aristotle" she pronounced as best as she could. "Would say to control your emotions?"

"Exactly!" I proclaimed, aghast. "You learn quick, Kannagi - you weave and you are wise! Aristotle spoke of how we should approach each situation differently. We might be wronged, and wrong things we may have done many times."

The fire crackled before us, casting orange hues on our faces as the night sky was a deep blue that I had never seen in my urban life of the yester-years. In my home, the sky was always hued with orange and smoke at night; for light pollution had taken its toll.

"If I, Kannagi, were to break your fabrics on purpose, to ruin you, you have a right to boil and bubble in anger. The situation is adequate for it. You may shout and scream and call for my expulsion for such a disgusting action. Yet, if I were to accidentally break a fabric, or a cloth that you had made as I supped in your home, you should be upset and angry - but understand my intention was not to do so."

She nodded along with my words. "I should respond differently!"

"You are really learning this quickly!" Kannagi blushed and the fire painted her skin in a copper hue. The philosophical reflection was broken as food was consumed, flat breads and fruits of the land, with some fish from the river. I picked at pieces of the fish's flesh, giving it to my faithful companion as we dined.

They were polite and honest as we dined in this tiny community. They had refrained from calling me by name and I did not mind; "wise-man", was the best it could be translated as. They had taken much more to listen to my message than me. That is good, to me. I am not a tenth of the men I spoke of; of Plato, Aristotle and Kant. I could tell them more, but to me - these were the cornerstones of the thinkers of the world I knew. I was a foreign man, a traveler from a land I had not specified, but never had I mentioned the origins of my place. I had lied through my teeth as I helped dig a ditch to collect river water, like arteries in a man's arm, when they asked "what was I doing naked in the river." I had said that bandits had taken my clothes and that I required to wash and rest. I spoke to them about cultivating crops to their farmers, I field I wasn't particularly versed in, but knew some agricultural techniques roughly. Good soil, good water, sunlight, domestication, Mendel's proto-slicing. All intriguing stuff.

That land was hot, more potent than the Mediterranean I had called my home in the times before. But I was slowly adjusting. The clothes were cool and the river water clean and fresh, as the community was tiny, not more than 50 souls. I had done my best to integrate; standing out like a sore thumb with my paler olive skin, heaving manual labour during the day and then sitting by the fire in mitre and robe, speaking of philosophies.

They had become interested, attached, to the names of people who, in technicality, had not even been born yet. It was... a mind-fuck, in short. Would they come to being in this world? What would happen if people knew about them before they rose to prominence? These questions nagged at my mind - my brain told me to stop my transgressing on the webs of time, yet for the good of all I persevered.

"What would Aristotle say, of stealing?" someone asked.

I cleared my throat, wrapping my hand around the stick I called staff. And as I moved to respond, Kannagi spoke herself.

"Would he...?" she inquired, offering a suggestion and a query.

And I was pleased and happy.

[Pasong Tirad]

Arsenio Lacson, or Arsenios Thalassos
The Akrópolis of Athínai,
Eleven weeks since his arrival

Xylánthrakas

The next day, Arsenio got up, as he always did, before dawn. But this time the sun's reddish hue wasn't glowing over the horizon. It was still fully dark, and he could barely see anything. The days were getting shorter. Summer's ending, it seems. Manila was already awake, but her pups weren't. Arsenio refilled her bowl with water, but he could tell she was starting to get hungry. He had to take care of her meal before anything else. Luckily enough, he still had some hare (he was going to get sick of rabbit one day), and the fire's embers were still smoking. This sounds impossible, but Arsenio believes somebody came in here during the night (probably Kleomaki or Lysistrate, since he didn't hear Manila barking) to tend to the fire. He was able to cook Manila some strips of hare right as the sun's reddish hue was coming up on the eastern sky.

There was a large plot of land, largely devoid of trees and shrubbery, several dozen feet away from Arsenio's home, where he decided he would try to make charcoal with the wood he gathered yesterday. Not a lot of people used charcoal in Athínai, save for those several smiths who need to use furnaces for their copper and bronze metalwork. So, Arsenio thought, if he could make a business out of selling the Athínaíoi (especially the smiths) charcoal, he could make a lot of money (not really money, as Athínai still operates on a barter and debt economy), pay off his debts, and even get people to be indebted to him. Arsenio's reaching if he thinks charcoal is going to bring him a lot of money. But, winter is approaching, and people will need fires, and selling charcoal should be enough to sustain himself, Manila, and her new pups.

Arsenio tried to remember what he did, what his relatives did, and what that guy in that video on the internet did. His memory was very foggy, but he remembers a mound of dirt. "A mound of dirt. Does that mean the wood's inside it?" He was talking to himself in a mix of English and Filipino, his common vernacular. He started piling up the wood in a random pile. The bottom level of the pile was nicely arranged with the sticks all tightly packed parallel to each other, pointing at the same direction. The succeeding levels, however, weren't organized at all. Arsenio tried to pack them in as neatly as he could, but he knew that what he was making was a mound, and so this mound got higher and higher until, he finally ran out of sticks, with the pile being around waist-high.

And then he got some dirt and poured it on the pile. It wasn't making a mound at all. He needed mud, not dry earth. Lucky for him, the Akrópolis had a well where he could draw fresh water from. He came back to his pile of sticks with a large-ish jug of water from the well and he poured the water onto the dirt. He got to around halfway towards building the mound when he finally realized that he needed some way to set this alight, and lighting a fire on just wood without kindling was going to be too difficult, and he would probably have to spend the whole day tending to the fire if he had to do it. The mud was already sticking to the wood, so he couldn't really put kindling on the bottom half of the pile, but he could at least put kindling on the top half. That would, at least, make his job a little bit easier.

Now, with the kindling on the top half of the mound, he continued to pile mud onto it. He went back to the well a couple more times to make more mud, but he was, by the end of it all, finished. He left open a hole at the top of the mound, which would be where he would place the fire, and left for the better part of the morning to leave the mound to dry off.

He went back home (which, really, was like a thirty second walk from the mound) to see Manila, still awake, and still looking after her young ones. Not much he could do there. He went over to Manila to pat her on the head several times and let his hand be licked, and then sat down on the table, ate what was left of the rabbit and drank some wine. That would be breakfast - and quite possibly his only meal of the day.

Arsenio went back to the mound several hours later, at noon, and found that the mud had hardened well enough. He began lighting a fire with some more shrubbery, and then proceeded to put it onto the hole on top of the mound. It lit up well enough, and it should, theoretically, spread throughout the whole mound. This should give him plenty of charcoal. Perhaps it might even give him enough charcoal to sell.

An hour later, the fire started to heat up really quickly. It took longer than he thought it would, but the mound, to Arsenio's knowledge, was now fully on fire. The smoke rose really high, and luckily enough the wind was blowing it away from the Akrópolis. Arsenio's main problem, however, was that the smoke was now coming out from multiple parts of the mound.

The intense heat put cracks on the mound. Several, in fact, and some of them were already large enough for the smoke to escape from. Arsenio quickly went back to the well, poured more water on some dry soil, and quickly made some more mud to place on the cracks. But cracks kept appearing, and Arsenio thought that maybe now was the right time to plug the mound and stop the fire.

He got the remaining mud and slowly plugged the hole, layer by layer of mud rings, forming an almost pointed tip on the mound. He'd come back to that later, when it cools.

---

He waited a whole day. That was the first time Arsenio spent the whole day without leavig the Akrópolis. He was hesitant to leave, fearing that if he went too far from home, Manila might need him when he isn't there. He needed to leave soon, though. He only had enough food at his home for this day.

He woke up a little late that day. The light was already there. However, before he could get to his mound, he saw half a dozen people walking up to the Akrópolis. They seemed to be bearing gifts, and Kleomaki and Lysistrate were with them.

Kleomaki and Lysistrate were with four other women. Kleomaki was carrying a bundle of wood on his back, Lysistrate was carrying two fresh hares, while the four other women were bringing with them an assortment of meat, furs, and some fresh barley grains and cabbages. Arsenio thought that they must be here to see Elder Thespis.

But they weren't. Upon seeing Arsenio exit his home, Kleomaki said hello and he and his group went straight for him and not Elder Thespis' home. "What's all this?" asked Arsenio.

"These women and their families killed and ate some of the hounds from Manila's pack," Kleomaki said. The women laid down their gifts at the door of Arsenio's home, refusing to go in for fear of upsetting Manila. "They heard about what happened, and are here to offer gifts."

"Just them?" Arsenio asked. "I could have sworn there were more. I don't even know how many hounds from her pack are left."

"Very few, but these women and their families now believe your hound to be blessed by Athínaia."

"Ah, okay." Arsenio himself was unsure of how to react to this. "Um, thank you. I owe you all. I'll be sure to pay you all back soon."

"No, Arsenios," Lysistrate said, laughing a little as she said it. "These are gifts, not something to be repaid."

"Oh, no, please. I can't let you do that. I already owe so much."

"We insist, Arsenios," said one of the women, a pregnant middle-aged woman. "Your hound will need it more than me. My husband can always harvest more food. This is nothing."

And with that, the four women left as quickly as they came. As they left he saw Elder Thespis observing the commotion from his own home, seemingly approving of their gifts for Manila.

"May we come in?" asked Lysistrate.

"Yes, please. I'm sure she'd love the company. I have to go get my charcoal." They went inside, bringing the gifts the women and Kleomaki brought with them, and since Manila didn't bark or growl at the husband and wife, Arsenio deemed it alright to leave them alone for a bit as he went off to harvest his charcoal.

He was able to open up the mound easily enough, but he didn't get nearly as much charcoal as he thought he would. The neatly placed bottom layer of large sticks was burnt, but it didn't turn into charcoal. Plenty of the charcoal that he harvested wasn't even fully cooked through. He was able to fill one of the baskets one of the women gave him only halfway, but that was still plenty considering that the basket was the size of Arsenio's whole back. He took the charcoal into his home, and decided that, since those women gave him more food for the next few days, he would try again tomorrow, determined to make a good trade out of this work. He had to. Now, more than ever, he was beginning to see Manila not just as a pet or a companion, but as family. Like a daughter he's never going to have.

[Ulls]

City of Ego,
The Next Morning

For better or worse, there was peace in the sparse land. The people felt like there was a weight off there shoulders but Jeb still had to talk to Turner about his plans for Ego before he left back to Europe. A servant came to get the other Outworlder on the Messenger's behalf.

Jeb was looking at the sun and yawning. Despite the advancement of the civilization, the low population itself was still allowing for the forest and natural resources were capable of being around and grow so that Ego can use.

" Turner, I thank you for allowing peace for Ego to stay strong and I'm sure you have any questions so I can answer them to the best of my ability."

Illinois,
In the Future

The Mafia itself had been expanding its size and influence among the tribes of Illinois. Expanding its economical might to assimilate in a way of getting the entire state into one built to feed the Theocracy. Food from both the New World and the Old World were made to be transplanted here and invested into the potential of the state. The population that Chicago had were in the thousands and were rapidly growing as the local tribes of the state started to go there to find better food and even jobs as their reach had became ever reaching upon the state.

However, like every sweeping change, there were those who didn't want Ego to be here and had started to gather together and try to fight back. Those who wanted the sweeping change also came together and started to go to and ask the Mafia for support. The Mafia started to send their soldiers and supplies to equip their allies with iron weapons and train them to fight those who fought against the Theocracy's influence.

Minnesota,
Same time in the Future

While the Skulk had been in the state for some time to keep a watch on the Bison Chasers and any sort of chaos that could happen in the country. However, with the expansions of Ego to get the numerous stocks of iron and the new economic advancements in order to keep up with the Old World countries. The idea of having a large amount of iron that can fund the entire population many times over. The Skulk started to work with the Mafia as they could combine the organization and massive investment to administer the two territories.

The Skulk had started to pack up and move up north in the Canadian frost while the Coat of the Golden Grass handles the overlooking of the Great Plains and holds diplomatic meetings with the Great Plains tribes that they knew collectively as the Bison Chasers.

Isle of Man and Orkney Islands

Exploration ships came with both oars and oarless galleys came to the Isle of Man and the Orkney Islands. Ego had started to survey the British Islands. They had heard the stories of the mighty Norscans fighting the inhabitants of the land to a standstill for a long time, longer than Ego has been around perhaps.

Native warriors and explorers had started to explore the islands and even set up bases to those who were looking to contact the natives of the Islands and further explore Europe itself to map it out and find good trade among the nations.

[Ralnis]

Chapter 2: The Retrieval Job
Karlburg, Eastern Imperium
September,
85 AG/2915 B.C.

Bob had been showing progress with his training in learning the inner workings of the steam engines. He was also able to draw many things at home that made a complete steam engine for the factory. Vlad said that there were different ones but they were generally the same when it came to the factories of the Imperium and that was good for Bob if he ever wanted to keep doing factory work while he figures out what's happening. At night, his mind is plagued by nightmares of what or who sent him to this place and he also started to wonder if it was possible that others could've came from his world and why did they come in the first place?

If anything was a truer example of someone using otherworldly knowledge it seemed like the Imperium was the biggest. Though he had been hearing things such as Vikings in the British Isles, the Sami taking over their former cities, a coalition of city-states in Scythia, and even Native Americans colonizing Iceland. This world just got weirder for him as he can see the touch of his world effecting these but the people of this world, one parallel to his own. The questions were too much for him to think on just one day and had to get some sleep.

At break times during work he would ask just how old the Imperium was. Vlad told him that it was 85 years old that shocked the Arizona man. If the Imperium was 85 years old then he started to wonder about the wildmen and what he said about tribals in other parts of Europe. He probably went back in time but to when is the question and why wasn't he still in the Arizona desert but in the forests of Germany-occupied Imperial territory. It seemed that as he talked with Vlad on the history of the Imperium, it seemed that this Hegemon and others who were running the countries of the known world were interfering with it in massive ways. Because of this, he started to think of time paradoxes and figure he was both in another dimension and back in time.

The idea of such a thing happening to him by random was too much to wrap his head around but it was knowing nothing and something bad happening to him. This made him more focused on doing what he knew best, working on the drawings that he had and work on the steam engines for the factory. There's one thing that he could say about the Imperium, he can put his love and knowledge of the retrofutristic art to the test of making things that the Imperium had never saw before by using Steampunk as a guideline, a path to his achievement. If anything, he could at least be wealthy by selling his inventions but without the tools to craft them they'll only be drawings and ideas.

One night while Bob and his friends were drinking, someone managed to steal Parvan's purse with his month's pay in it. He didn't know who it was but by the time he was able to not hear the jingling of hard-earned coins, he went ballistic as he couldn't pay his taxes but the immortal himself had to do something. He started to investigate around the town while his caretakers went to the local authorities to report it. Bob had recruited the help with Bittertooth after he had an argument with Parvan accusing him about him stealing his pay.

Bittertooth was hesitant that Bob wanted to steal back the money and get something more out of it but it was better than letting the police handle it. Bob never thought that stealing something was the right thing to do but he wanted to try and get the money back. To Bob, this was his first "job" as a thief to get the money back. Him and Bittertooth followed the "paper trail" of the thief as he was drinking and partying with his friends. Bob and Bittertooth found his house and started to make a plan of action.

They started to get a pair of leather gloves, some masks, couple burlap sacks, and a lockpicking kit from the local criminal flavor to go and get some payback. However Bob made some rules; don't kill anyone, only code names, and get out with some silence. Bittertooth did notify Bob that he was a bandit and wasn't use to sneaking and stealing without killing someone. Still, the thief in target didn't live in that big of a home and he struck in the dead of night.

Bob surprised his former bandit partner with his skill with a lockpick as he quickly open the door and they got to robbing the house. They started to plunder the house in a slow, methodical process but they were able to clean the house out and get what's left of the monthly pay. When they left then they sold the loot to the black market which amounted to more than several months to a year's worth of pay. With this, Parvan can pay his taxes, Bittertooth got a nice cut of the profits, and the bastard got a big payback.

When the days rolled around, the local authorities were looking into the crime but they found out that the man who got robbed was also a man who stole from Parvan and got sent to debt-slavery while Parvan got his coin back from the thief. They didn't find the thieves but the local criminal flavor was a buzzed about this for a bit as it was a sort of poetic justice but some wandered who were the thieves. Bob and Bittertooth decided to keep their ill-gotten pay in case of a rainy day but Bob had started to think what would happen in case he got caught of his crime and got a journal.

As for the town of Karlburg, the town eventually got back to normal and died down a bit but Bob was looking more into the idea of being a thief, knowing that it was a very major risk for someone like him to pull off but he saw that there could some reason to make money and have the skill to produce a sense of security for him. Though the type of thief he would be was not one similar to Bittertooth, but one similar to Robin Hood, a gentlemen thief minus the richness.

It was a long-term plan that can be changed by a drop of a hat and only Bittertooth knew that he did the act because he helped with it. All he needed to do was to prepare and find a target for the next job.

Chapter 3, part 1: The Ancestral Prize,
November, 85AG/2915 B.C.
Karlburg

It had been two months since the two thieves had been able to struck at a thief who stole from Parvan. Bob had started to work on his gadgets that could make his idea of a thief that can be profitable. The only thing he could make were some goggles that he could see from but had the ability to enhance the sight and allow them to see people from a range that can help for their heist but he still wanted to have more but this was a step in the right direction.

Bittertooth usually talked with the false tribal about seeing if he wanted to do another robbery. Bob was thinking about it while he was looking into the history of the town before the factory showed up with the Imperium. The wealthy people are a mixture of Germanic tribals and Imperials looking for enterprise away from Mara. It seem that was one of the major ways on how the Imperium spread so much and that most of the country was rural and only 30% of it was urban, massively for its time.

The bandit chimed in that people like Kristoff hold some of the primitive relics of the tribes that were supposed of been destroyed in the name of God and his Hegemon. Bob turned to him slowly asking if the there's a large price for the relics. Bittertooth got a toothy grin as he said that those sort of treasures were enough to make them kings. Bob thought that such a thing would need to be carefully planned and find a good target to get working on the heist.

[Sil Arion]

Chapter I: First Light
Part I: A New Dawn

---

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

Courage to change the things I can,

And wisdom to know the difference."

- Karl Paul Reinhold Neibuhr

---

Blink.

Pause.

Blink.

Light. Sunlight. Eyes open wide as bright rays of day strike through the shade of emerald leaves, soft birdsong and whispering winds in my ears. Their warmth soothes my soul, but abates little the increasing sense of unease as I rise to my feet among many ferns and shrubs above a fairly level, mossy forest floor. For it is neither night nor am I in my bed where last I laid. Nor was I nude.

I stifle a laugh; this is no laughing matter, bereft as I am of all my gear and garb, with no food nor water nor weapons. No. Not good at all; only my knowledge and body remain. Fortunately, I feel no cold, if still the chill of early morning. Just after dawn, judging by the sun.

Questions flit through my mind, but no fear. No doubt. I am unnerved, but reassured as I breathe deeply; God, You are always with me and I remember my training. I trust You. I trust my brothers and sisters-in-arms. They will come for me. Until then, I must survive and evade; nothing else matters. Though through what means I arrived I know not...

So where am I? And when? I need information; time and location.

Crouched low, I survey the area meticulously. The earth below, the midst of coniferous trees, then their levels of canopied tops some twenty and forty meters up, the horizon beyond the small hill I apparently occupy, some hundred meters above a shallow valley five hundred distant. My search pattern spins, spirals, then returns by lines across and vertical. Nowhere lie signs of travel, nor any human activity among the low hills and rolling plains beyond. No footprints or man-made furrows despite the damp soil and moss. No branches broken, trunks marked or leaves shorn from rope, wire or an air-drop.

Nothing. Still nothing to reveal the cause of this circumstance. At least not by normal means.

I breathe in; I breathe out. If the ordinary is improbable, then expect the extraordinary. And accept it.

God, guide me; where will I go?

I mustn't assume too much, whether I'm in normal reality or some stranger still. Even a different time. A different world. Will the universe behave the same? Can I count still on my own knowledge?

I feel minutes pass, comparing my surroundings with memory. This forest is moist; the mossy floor wet with not only dew, but recent rainfall too. Numerous little puddles still lie in small depressions, water collected too on leaves or clefts made by roots. A few hours past, perhaps, but no torrential storm by the absence of soil erosion or surface runoff trails. I'm not wet either. Curious. And the soil beneath. Hm. A sample then.

I reach down, pushing my right hand into the dirt, focusing on the feel. Fingers dig deeper, plying about, then retract with a small pile, left hand cupping it too. I toss it lightly between the two, letting some fall and rubbing the rest. Pale yellow in color and normally coherent. Apparently homogeneous by looks, but breaks easily. Porous, almost powdery. Less clay, but seeming equal parts silt and sand to the touch. Loam then. Possibly loess.

Yes. Some success in identifying where. But I need more information to further narrow down my location. So I study the local flora. Hemp I see aplenty in the underbrush alongside various ferns. Bamboo, though what species escapes me; they ascend towards the topmost canopy, their blossoms interspersed with branches. And by those berries, juniper? If very variably shaped ones, twisting and turning towards the sun. Similar to the Colonel's bonsai. Hm. Another type of tree too; those spirally arranged leaves and little arils typical of a gymnosperm species. Some manner of yew then? Too, several firs towering above all else. Forty meters, maybe. Fifty at most. And on most trunks lies more moss, all facing one direction. A few spiderwebs scattered on the opposite.

North, then, following the moss if I'm still in the same hemisphere; south for the spiderwebs. Excellent. But I need to be able to confirm that. From among the ferns I take a fallen bamboo shoot and thrust it into the soil, then marking a line where the shadow lies with my right forefinger; the sun is still fairly low in the sky, a fist above my line-of-sight by measure of my outstretched arm. Early morning still? And spring? Hm. Flower appear to be budding, some in full bloom.

And my location. Hm. Barring a massive span of time passed, I'm in East Asia; China, Japan or Korea. Probably the former, though the latter two remain plausible. If I find people, then I'll know better; that, or more specific flora and fauna. I feel almost at ease; reassured, though whether I'm able to identify such is unclear. I'm no professional forester. Only an avid interest in the world, an addiction for reading and years of traveling, training and wilderness marches.

Current priorities are to acquire water, then food and shelter. An adequate weapon, tools and simple attire too; moving about without basic means of protection would be foolish in an unknown environment, and I'll need items to boil water and prepare food. Perhaps a shield too? Hm. I've the time while I wait for the sun and readily available resources for primitive tools.

That, or happen upon a settlement of some sort. Either course required exploration. Very well then; the latter represents the most cost-effective solution based on my apparent location. No need to waster time in finding resources and crafting tools when I can instead find a settlement.

Slow is smooth and smooth is fast. I move silently through the dewy underbrush in a straight line to the south, feet cushioned by moss and earth as I count my paces. Every ten meters I carve a line into an object; then every hundred, two; every thousand, three. Birdsong brightens, singers almost unseen on the higher branches where I've no visual. Rising with them, the sun warms the air as I march across country. While bare to the elements, I feel pleasantly warmed and the callouses on my feet prove tough enough when combined with a careful, steady step. My lips turn up in a soft, small smile. It's rather serene here. A forest unspoiled by the hands of man, primal and free. No sights of structures, nor sounds of aircraft or other machines; no smell of fire or food. No devices nor signs of travelers and settlement. No voices even. But I hear something else soon, an hour or so into my march.

Water. I hear running water. No rushing river, but a larger stream surely.

Following the sound, I find it swiftly only forty meters further, nearest the valley's deep. As I approach, I spot familiar foliage along the loamy banks. Very familiar, clustered there in lines and clumps of shorter shrubs. I reach into the earth for a second time this morning, pulling at the roots. At their sight, I almost laught to myself; familiar indeed after many years of off-and-on gardening and preparing tea in the traditional manner.

Ginseng. Notoginseng. Tienchi ginseng, lest my eyes deceive me.

Yes. Based on available data, I'm in Northeast China. Manchuria.

But this area should be heavily populated. Built up. Or, at least, venturing further south I should find people. I breathe out; a sigh of at once frustration and relief. Because I can't be in same era as I was born. Not by logic; my memories and observations don't align, yet I doubt neither's validity.

Therefore, I'm probably in another world. Even another time.

Blink.

Pause.

Blink.

I - I feel... strange. Almost lost. Isolated and alone. Then overcome as emotions swell in my heart. Fear for the future, one man transported across time and space to a new world. Sadness and pain from loss, possibly without a way to ever return to my family, friend and comrades. Father. My sisters. And outrage to never know marriage nor raising my own children, nor the wisdom and memories of old age in my home-world. Duties left unfulfilled, dreams now unfinished. My military career ended. My mission incomplete. My commander without his subordinate, my subordinates without their commander. A team minus one. A family missing a son.

It hurts. So. Much. Muscles tense, fists clenching and back arching. Teeth gritted as I resist the need to cry out in anger. In anguish.

God. Why?!

Now another question comes to mind as I try to accept it all. A question of purpose. And a whispered prayer as I fall to my knees on the mossy earth. Hands clasped. Head bowed. Eyes close as tears trickle down my cheeks as I let all go to God.

"God, give me grace to accept with serenity the things that cannot be changed; courage to change the things which should be changed; and the wisdom to the know the one from the other. Father, Your love suffuses all the universe, Your will all the world; it is Your creation. I know not the means by which You sent me, neither truly where nor when, but I don't need to; I have You, I have Your love, I have Your will. By Your hand I'm here now." I turn my head to the sky, eyes blinking open to view the line of bright blue and warm yellow light between the trees. So the tears stop as I ask my question, a wave of calm washing away all my worries as a new warmth rises at my heart. And a feeling.

"Lord, then am I to be Your hand here?" I stand then, here at the stream. Face upturned, arms outstretched as if to embrace the heavens.

"I offer myself to You, God; I may fall, I may fail, but I am ever Your loving son and willing servant. In Your promise I know purpose. In Your embrace, peace, for You know me better than I know myself; You knew me before I was born into the world and You will know me when I stand before You Son in death. You know my every virtue and vice; each strength and sin alike. You know all of me. I'm no angel, but I can be Your messenger. So as I pray, from this day forth to my last, let me be Your soldier still, proclaiming Your Word to all and acting to protect Your children as You protected me all these years. In the name of Your Son, Jesus Christ my Savior and Lord, who lives and reigns with You and the Holy Spirit, grant me guidance, O God, to be Your herald in this world. Amen."

So I rise and I march south by the stream, my step steadied; no doubts cloud my being. No fears at this first light in another world. Simply serenity and courage measured by wisdom. And a dream of a new dawn and its future.

[The Holy Dominion of Inesea]

Joseph
Dimi

The Battle of Aghonus made me realize that we didn’t live in an idyllic world. This was no Ruritania, no Acadia. This was a world with war and combat. And for our little society to survive we would need a defense force. Purely defensive of course, as one should never wage illegitimate offensive warfare. But how to go about it was the question. The people of the Sympagis could ill afford to maintain a standing army. A dozen guards in Delpha to maintain order, but nothing large enough to fight. Perhaps a Citizens Army like in Greece, my Greece. Everyman training part-time, an army of part-time volunteers. It could work. Ideally, we’d have muskets. But gunpowder alone would take half-a-year to make, just for a trial batch. Saltpeter, Charcoal, and Sulfur would all have to be sourced or manufactured. There were colliers in Dimi and Sesk already, so Charcoal was not a major issue. Their billet-and-clay system was not the most efficient but it allowed for massive upscaling. If they hadn’t already set up shop, I would have used the method I myself used uptime. A metal barrel filled with cured wood set in the center of a bonfire and let to simmer for awhile.

Sulfur was something that had to be sourced and mined. Thankfully, I had seen it traded and sold on the market as “Fire of the Gods” and there was abundant deposits all over Greece. It was mostly used as a religious instrument and in some areas for killing pests. I would have to find a deposit nearby and set up a mine for it, labor depending.

The real bitch would be making saltpeter. Not technically hard, but incredibly time and labor consuming. First, we’d have to make a large pit and set it with a waterproof floor. Then, and this was the super fun part, we’d have to gather human and cattle excrement. Some greenery would need to be mixed in. Some potash, easily made from tree bark or thistles and bramble, also needed to be mixed in. Put that all in the pit and cover it with double planking and thatch. About once a week, we would need to pour urine on it. That’d have to be gathered, cattle or human. After four months or so, yellowish crystals would appear and we could begin to process the Saltpeter.

Then the process of making gunpowder could begin. I’d have to set to it right away, for it was a lengthy process. But we also needed defense in the here and the now. The easiest way to do so would be to employ a shield wall mixI would talk to the elders and chiefs about getting on that. A combination of spears, shields, and archers would make a force capable of beating any of the savages that largely inhabited this peninsula. There was no cavalry to speak of, thank god. The traditional problem facing the shield walls of greece could be accounted for with axemen on the flanks and the use of spears and not pikes. Besides new training, the only new addition would be the shields. Copper-backed, diagonally framed wooden shields with a leather outer coating would work amazingly. It would not take long to make them, and I think the Chiefs would see the merit to these new fighting styles.

Alala
Byzantium

Professors Groethe and I had learned a lot from each other these past few months. For me, practically, I perfected my Imperial Common speaking and writing skills, especially in the technical arts. A lot of what we learned was mostly review for me. The Prophet, Praise Be Upon Him, had taught me well in the liberal and scientific arts. There were some interesting areas of conflict between what the Prophet said and what the Professors taught, most visibly in Anatomy and Microbiology.

The Imperials had little understanding of Microbiology and the functions of the human body beyond Gross Anatomy. We had grand discussions on the roles and identifications of muscles groups and their functions. I also explained to them the smaller levels of anatomy. For example, they were unawares that there were two layers of skin, the epidermis and dermis, supported by the hypodermis. They were intrigued by my knowledge and more importantly by the man who taught me, the Prophet Walker. They begged for me to send for him to come to Byzantium, but I knew that the Prophet, Praise Be Upon Him, was busy helping our people advance.

General schooling was going well as well. I was certainly one of the top students in the building thanks to the teachings of Walker. Most of my time was spent in discussion with the Groethes. I was working on a paper on the comprehensive anatomy of the human body. It would take some time and would probably be ridiculed, but it felt just to put a decade of Prophet Walker’s teachings to paper. The Groethes were eager to help me, with both language aid for the paper and to learn of new parts of the body. Some of what I wrote, especially the chemical reactions in the CNS and PNS, were surely to have errors, but eventually I would have Walker himself review it.

In the time I was not spending in lectures, I was busy on business of the Sympagis. Prophet Walker had given me several tasks while I was studying in the Imperium. First, I was to learn of the political structure here. Second, I was to work to make trade connections for the Sympagis. Third, I was to try and steer as many craftsmen south as I could. I was currently working on steering south. I approached shipwrights and carpenters, ironsmiths and masons. I usually approached the young ones, with families and an urge to settle down. Migrate to the Sympagis and receive a free plot of land. A booming land that had a voracious appetite for craftsmen. Don’t labor under the yoke of the Master Guildsmen here in the Imperium, ply your trade freely in Sympagis. Quite a few took me up on my offer and set off for the Sympagis. Others still denied me, for the comforts of home were too great to ignore.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

The Nile
Just south of Thebes
Early morning

It was early in the morning when the ship of Amenemope peacefully slid through the waters of the Nile. To the east, a red sun was slowly rising above the horizon, signalling the start of a new day. Not only a new day, but an entirely new era. From the deck, Bruno could just make out the earliest of farmers labouring under the cover of dawn. Some were dragging modern ploughs along, others were digging canals from the Nile. Some were using the new water cranes to irrigate their lands. Everywhere he looked he could see the impact he had had on this society already. One of the peasants looked up from his labours, saw the boat passing by, and gave it a wave. Bruno, spotting this, raised his hand and waved back. Amenemope, just returning from plotting the course with the captain, came up beside him. For a moment, they stared at the red horizon.

“Thank you, Amenemope” Bruno said shortly. He had a lot to be thankful for. Saving him from the desert, for instance. Giving him land. Always covering him in conversations with others. Being a friend, helping him in Egyptian customs. And now, sailing him to the far southern edge of the kingdom, where he would take his military posting.

“Don’t worry” Amenemope said, patting Bruno on the back. “I will take care of your estate until you get back. Huy-Pinhas won’t get his dirty hands on them yet”

Bruno nodded thankfully, but remained silent. His face was devoid of emotions, his eyes just staring blankly into the distance.

“Are you alright?” Amenemope asked, already knowing the answer. That question was enough to break Bruno, who started sobbing uncontrollably. His voice was cracked, broken, accentuated with sighs and tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I could… have done… so much more, Amenemope” Bruno said, almost choking in the words as he spoke them. His legs gave out under him, forcing him to rest himself against the prow of the boat, sinking his hands into his face. It was a far cry from the man who had defended Amenemope in court, who had spoken at length about justice, and who had revolutionised agriculture in Thebes.

“There was so much I could do, things you have no idea of! Every second that passes, people die needlessly that I could have saved. I should… I should…”

He couldn’t finish that sentence. Amenemope sat beside him, placing an arm around his shoulders. He tried to comfort his friend, but didn’t know what to say. He hardly knew what he was talking about, either.

“People are generally opposed to change, Councillor” he said, pulling his friend close. “Those in power have little to gain from the status quo changing…”

“And now, I am condemned” Bruno said. “I detest war, Amenemope. Every death diminishes me. I am forced to take a thousand lives for the glory of some corrupt degenerate hundreds of kilometres away. Whether I win or lose, I am condemned”

“But this is the final straw” Bruno continued. His sobbing had stopped, making place for a determined stare into the void. He was grinding his teeth, breathing heavily.

“Huy-Pinhas had branded himself an enemy of me, an enemy of justice, and enemy of the people, and an enemy of progress. He has transgressed against the natural order. He has proven the current powers are corrupt to the core and beyond saving. I will… I will…”

Amenemope was scared by this sudden turn of character. He had known Bruno as an easy-going, friendly individual, who forgave rather than holding grudges. This was totally different. It seemed like a dark cloud had come over his friend, wreathing his face in shade. Amenemope didn’t know what to say for a moment, but then helped his friend up.

“You better take a rest, Councillor. You haven’t slept since yesterday morning. You can have my bed below decks” he said, supporting Bruno as they walked down to his cabin. All the while, Bruno was making incoherent noises, talking about ‘law’, ‘responsibility’ and ‘innovation’. Within minutes, he was fast asleep on the bed, allowing Amenemope to go back to the deck. He now stared back north, where Thebes was slowly disappearing from sight. He had always known that there was something different with his friend, more so than his eye colour being unusual. There was something beyond foreign about him. He shook his head and wandered off to the bow of the ship, looking towards the endless desert. He knew the future held something, and he knew this wasn’t the last he had seen of Councillor.

Aswan
Southern border region
Late morning

A few days later, they arrived at Aswan. It was the southernmost point in the empire where the Pharaoh still held sway. Further south, beyond the First Cascade, there would be Nubian princes and warlords. The political situation was constantly volatile, very much because the war profiteering and land speculation going on. In the past 5 years, Amenemope had told Bruno, there had been 15 military governors governing the Aswan region, each being replaced by a more corrupt individual. The list of crimes went on without end: trade in army supplies, trade in weapons, black market racketeering, using the armed forces to extract value from local land owners… There even was speculation going on with the pay of the soldiers, meaning the soldiers hadn’t received pay in almost a year.

As Bruno stepped off the boat, an honour guard stood ready to greet him, along with a few dignitaries. The honour guard was not even close to deserving that name. They were armed with hide shields and spears, and didn’t even wear helmets. Worse, their discipline was non-existent. They looked around, talked to one another, and stood in the most ragged fashion. As Bruno descended from the ship onto the dock their gaze pierced him. They were curious who this new man was, this stranger than had suddenly been lifted to command. Following the rows of soldiers he arrived at the dignitaries, seated under a cover to shelter from the sun. Bruno bowed before these men, who stood up from their chairs to greet him in return.

“Greetings, Councillor” one of them said. “I am Pepi, governor of this region. These here…” he signalled towards the men standing behind him “are my aids and your officers. May we serve you well in the coming struggle”

Bruno looked at the men. He could hardly tell the officers from the bureaucrats. They were all dressed splendidly, all unarmed, and all as fat as fat could be, sweating in the morning sun. They looked bored and annoyed that their long period of peace and quiet had been broken by an order of Pharaoh. Bruno, who had tried to look stern to impress these men, now didn’t have to act at all. He was short in his reply.

“Very well. Is there somewhere we can talk?”

Governor Pepi bowed, and then nodded.

“Of course, sir. A friend of Huy-Pinhas is a friend of mine, after all” he said, signalling a few of his servants, who came to pick up his chair. The soldiers surrounding them began making a way through the crowd that had assembled around the docks, curious who this man was. Someone coming up from the north was always news in this frontier city, especially when they had been sent by their sovereign. Bruno thought about what the governor had said. A friend of Huy-Pinhas… The corruption of the priest of Amun had seeped all the way to the border, and apparently, this man was one of his cronies. This made things harder, but also easier. At least, morally. Walking for a few minutes, they arrived at the governor’s palace, an opulent monument to wealth in the otherwise poor border region. Bruno was taken to the sitting room, where he and the governor enjoyed the riches of his position. Fruits and food from far away, accompanied by musicians and Nubian slaves. The slave trade was also a source of much corruption here.

“So, any word from our friend-priest in Thebes?” the governor asked. “I tell you, I am grateful of him every day. Without him, I would never have sat here with you” he said in a grovelling tone. Apparently, he was under the impression that Bruno was some sort of agent of Huy-Pinhas. Not a strange thing to think, seeing as he appointed him to this post. Pepi didn’t know much of the politics in Thebes, Bruno fathomed. He decided to play along.

“The priest is very happy with your services” Bruno said. Being somewhat of an actor, this role came easy. Playing the outrageous was always more fun, especially when trying to trick someone. Pepi seemed happy to hear this. He didn’t seem like a very brave man, or a very smart man. He seemed to be in way above his head.

“Yes, yes…” he said, happily stuffing his mouth with a few grapes. “You see, I learned a lot from him. I know own a lot of land to the south of here… They are all for the priest, if he wants it. I’m not above sharing”

“I see…” Bruno answered. He looked around the room. It was lavishly decorated with painting, artwork and pottery, all seemingly very expensive. The slaves were beautiful as well. The men looked strong, and the women were exactly what a fat cat like Pepi would desire. Those would not be cheap.

“You have a lot of nice stuff here, governor” Bruno said, trying to pivot the conversation away from politics. That was impossible, as he would soon find out. The governor answered with a mighty grin.

“Yeah, another trick of Huy-Pinhas…” he said, prompting Bruno’s stomach to turn. “I… shave a bit off the top when the Pharaoh sends his gold to pay the troops. That part I give to the military”

He laughed at his own joke, and Bruno feigned a smile as well. It was half-feigned, at least. The governor was giving him the exact instructions on how to streamline the process of running the army. Bruno decided to make the most of his newfound role.

“Pepi, I see you have done quite well here. Even better than I would have thought. Tell me, who are the people in the administration who are… in for a reasonable argument, if you get my meaning?” Bruno asked, conjuring an almost evil grin. The grin was mirrored by Pepi, who seemed to be flattered by the compliment.

“You know what? I’ll give you a list of names. I spent a lot of effort creating a network. As I said, I am not above sharing”

Perhaps he thought he would be impressing Bruno, and thereby impressing Huy-Pinhas. Whatever the case, he was quite eager to show his work to this newcomer. Well, it would be his own funeral. Bruno just nodded thankfully.

“Thank you, Pepi. I would not be lying if I said the kingdom is forever in your debt”

Bruno was, in fact, not lying.

Royal military encampment
Outside Aswan
Late afternoon

A few hours later, following an excruciating dinner with the administrative top of the Aswan province, Bruno entered the military encampment just outside the city. This was the epitome of the disappointments of that day. The tents stood arranged in no ordered fashion whatsoever. There were no lanes, no roads, and no clear markings. Bruno got lost at least six times trying to get to his own command building in the centre of the encampment, which was actually far removed from the centre. The camp had naturally gravitated towards the city of Aswan, and there was no clear distinction between the two. Prostitutes and swindlers were everywhere, as were drunken soldiers and their bootleggers. The camp had devolved into a slum in its own right. Once Bruno had arrived at his command building, he took a moment to install himself in his new office, from which he could look out over the entire camp. The first fires were already being lit to begin cooking dinner, each tent seemingly having to fend for themselves in order to eat that night. Inspired by this sight, Bruno immediately got to work, taking a piece of papyrus to write down his thoughts.

“Order of business…” it said at the top. He wrote the document in Dutch, meaning no-one could possibly read it. It had been some time since he had written in the language, he felt, and he struggled with the spelling. He still thought in Dutch, though, which made everything easier.

“One: professionalising the officer core”
“Two: professionalising the supply train…”

Thus, he worked deep into the night, even when the soldiers outside were partying their hearts out.

[Yatzatz]

I sat on a nearby hilltop, overlooking the village. Beside me sat Voni and Darvi. We watched the village, which by now, 10 years after the beginning of the raiding, our village haad become fairly large, with 8,000 members. Only 5,000 however, were Yamatzon. The remainder were people, mostly from other raiding parties, who had joined our party after many successful raids. It turned out Yekrenia had been in a civil war, and raiding parties abounded. Many had joined us, but there were still many other raiders out there. The people of the village got along well, with Yamatzon and non-Yamatzon interacting with peaceful friendships. It was very homely.
I clutched my staff in my hand. Recently we had raided a weapons deposit, and one of the items there had caught my eye; a sword with one handle and two close-together blades. It served mainly decorative purpose now, but I could do damage with it if I had to.
I had also been teaching Darvi. While not as smart as Voni, he was very enthusiastic. He had been enjoying the learning very much. Voni had become a briliant military commander. We had an army of about thousand. The core of the army was 100 very highly trained men. These men, the equivalent of Special Forces, were the cream of thee army. There were always 100; when one died another was immediately trained to take his place. These were the core of the army.
I wondered what would come next.
Voni and Darvi were having a lively conversation about military tactics. I was half-listening, but was mostly deep in though.
As the sun set, I stood up to go back to the village. It was time for supper.

[The Ik Ka Ek Akai]

Chapter I: Mother Rain
Part I: She Who Brings Benefit

It seemed my request for silken rope had gone to waste, at least for the moment- the elders trusted me and I had been integrated into the tribe at the very least. I lounged on a linen cushion, which was itself on a rug, which itself was on a larger and thicker rug separating the dirt from the room. It was crude, and hardly ideal for a goddess, but it would suffice. I wore a dress of thick and coarse denim, as I had taught them to make- it was not the more comfortable sort that I'd known in my past but, as it was not scratchy so I put up with it simply for the sense of familiarity it bred within me. Perhaps, I thought, introducing the village to pants would be a good next move? I laughed a little as the flap to my home opened and I was presented with a brand new coat. Showtime. I stood with smooth and fluid movements and gracefully took mine off, handing it to the young seamstress, and took my newer one. My older one had not exactly been tailored to my fit, but my newer in totality resolved that issue. These people had their own strange measurements that seemed somewhat arbitrary and lacked an apparatus to properly measure them at all, but through no small effort the task was done. The leather was soft and supple, luxurious, and quite comfortable as an outer layer. "Keep it", I told the girl, who wide-eyed took my older pillaged coat away presumably to wear herself. Aye, it'd fit her much better than it did me anyway.

Now properly donned, I flopped back onto my cushion and began plotting my next course of action. I had laughed about pants, but there was a serious issue here. It was amazing what a small but dedicated population could do, but here I had to wonder: why should I settle for only a few? While the urban civilizations would be much harder to convince of anything, due in no small part to their reaffirming of one another in much greater numbers than possible elsewhere, the tribal regions surrounding me surely could fall under my influence. I had to be particularly careful, as the tribes rival to this particular one could prove especially troublesome should I send anyone, including myself. I had to take note of this for when I issued orders. I had to, for the moment, make a game plan to stay afloat.

If I sent too few people, it would take eternity to spread my influence. If I sent too many, the village could not keep itself afloat. I had no more than a few hundred people in the whole of the village, and not everyone was a believer. I did not blame them. They were absolutely right- I was a total fraud. I had to get out of my situation somehow and exploiting my knowledge seemed the best way. Now, my influence had spread through diffusion- if I sent those closer to my hearth then they would be much more dedicated to my cause, but if I sent people more distant they might be more eager to prove themselves to, in a sense, make up for lost time. Couples would be more convincing: a lone fool can always be dismissed but a pair had a strange way of reinforcing one another. The problem with this then came that couples used up far more resources and people than individuals. I sat and thought on this for an extended time, having really nothing better to do anyway. The biggest caution I needed to have was to avoid tribal enemies, as they'd cause trouble for any that I sent up to and including myself. I didn't want to relive my first few months here...or did I? It was certainly exciting, if nothing else.

Not everything had to be conversions! The urban civilizations that surely were nearby could be traded with, if nothing else. Any sort of contact had to be better than nothing else at all, and being recognized at least as a political force by these larger civilizations would certainly aid my cause by legitimizing my secular, if not theocratic, rule. I had just about finished formulating my plan hours later by the time the tribe came together to feed. I stood before my followers and declared that their tribe would be responsible for the new age of glory to take over the land. I told them that those who had followed me from the very start and believed strongly in me should go to the east, to meet the people of the cities and establish contact with them, to spread my messages but above all to get a peaceful diplomatic entrance to their sphere. I then told those who had adopted late but were seeking to prove their faith to pair up, one man and one woman, and that these pairs should go to allied tribes and tell them of my coming. I held my hand high, and told them all that only a few could go as the rest were needed to sustain the tribe. To determine who would go, I said that I would ask only the most dedicated to step forward. When they did, I put them to the test and drilled them on the tenets I had taught, as well as the techniques. With this, I picked the cream of the crop so to speak and told them to prepare, for their journey would not be quick and easy, but that it would bring great benefit to the tribe.

Thus it was established. This tribe would be my champions, my favorites, my conduits. To my believers, I had chosen them for their righteous actions and their justness in life above others. I let them believe that- it was better that they think such things. So it was. We feasted, myself included, and returned to our homes. I then spent the rest of the night pondering and wondering and generally moping about my being lost in time and space so far from my home. I had come to acceptance, perhaps, but it didn't mean I was quite done grieving yet. I moped myself to sleep, only to dream about the times I had lost. It was an extremely pleasant sleep, but that didn't matter. It was not sleeping that was difficult. Nay, waking up was the hardest part.

I woke the next morning and, with a groan, stretched and yawned. I switched out my dress for a near identical one, having taken up my old practice of wearing different clothes instead of the same pair constantly. I may have also inadvertently introduced daily bathing to the tribe, whose rituals and emphasis on cleanliness were quite prevalent but who still did not bathe. It was scarce a burden, as springwater was plentiful and seemed to never deplete, naturally refilling itself. I took to my trusted few individuals and couples and, in a show mimicking what some of the priests and shamans had done in their movements, gave them all blessing before they left to spread the word.

I was quite lucky, really. In such tribes, each person was their own. Had I landed in, say, a land of serdom, this would probably lead to each messenger being arrested or executed for leaving their land. I had hoped, then, that the perils of nature would not claim them- they were strong and resilient so this fear seemed little. After they departed for other lands, I could only hope their return would be quick and with good word. It was, at that point, simply a waiting game. May their journeys be safe and quick.

[Ulls]

Deleted.

[Revlona]

Robert
Southern Brittany
June 6th, 13 AA

“They’re retreating already?” Robert thought to himself.
He knew that if the raiders were allowed to escape the campaign would turn into a drawn out war of attrition.

Turning to his left he said to hi bugler, “Sound the Delayed charge for the Light Brigades.”

Reaching to his waist, the bugler took one of his two horns, and licking his lips let loose a series of two short notes, followed by a longer note.

Spurring his horse on Robert rode in front of his Armored Lancers, “We are to charge through the enemy's rearguard and catch them before they can get to safety” He said making himself heard before riding back into the ranks.

Turning to his left again he said to the bugler, “Sound the trot”, putting the other horn to his lips, the Bugler sounded a short note.

The ranks moved forward in a disciplined line of horseflesh and steel.

When they were about a third of the way to the rearguard the bugler again put his lips to the horn at an order from Robert and sounded a long drawn out note and from near 200 throats came a warcry as the charge was sounded and the entire formation went from a trot to a sprint.

Lowered lances would be the first thing to meet the rearguard of the enemy.

[Kingdom of Tunisia]

Hikma Bin Naaifa's Dairy

June 7,
I have decided to build my own Palace mostly by wood. This is because i have this feeling for my desire for making this Kingdom "Autocratic." The building process took no more than 4 days but it should be good for now at least. I have also decided to make Burma or the Shan State Autonomous meaning they will establish their own state.
A typical day for me today.

June 17,
Something have came up in my mind for a speech in which i did so 10 days later. The speech was so terrifying that dozens of people have fled from my speech. It was about turning the Kingdom into a Dictatorship in which people never heard of. It was also about for a unified Malaysia and to establish secret police for the safety of the people known as Blue Crescent Agency or Blueshirts in which i made it all up. I have also formed a Political Party known as the Johorian Socialist Party based mostly on Islamic Democracy and Socialism. Massive development on Technology such as Gunpowder has occurred and it is far from being finish within a day. I have also formed a new ideology known as Hikmaism and dozens of billboards or posters has spread across the Johorian Republic. I even wore a new outfit like this one made out of cloth. We also modernized our military into this one. Something is pretty different about me but i hope Jihvavan will like my idea. Again, A typical day for me.

Jihvavan's Dairy

June 20,
We have discovered the island that Hikma was talking about thus it was officially established as a Colony of the Johor Empire. We are now on our way to the island that Hikma was talking about in which it could be Papua New Guinea, Aceh, Java and Bali. We hope that we discover our next island as it will be officially be claimed as part of the Johor Empire.

June 24,
We have officially arrived at to what seems to be as Aceh. So far, We have not found any Natural Resources whatsoever.
A pretty lucky day for us.

[The Orson Empire]

50 Miles Out From The City of Ego, Four Days Ago

The soldiers sat around their campsite, eating their rations of bread and water, as well as any meat they had managed to hunt over the course of the march. Despite it being the night, they were dressed for battle, and sentries were posted to watch for any suspicious movements in the forests. Despite their exhaustion from the long march, they were prepared for anything that could happen- while no one knew what was truly at stake for Blue Lagoon and Turner, they simply followed their training anyway.

Of course, there was still much confusion throughout the ranks on what was truly happening. Everyone from the highest-ranking officers to the conscripted levies knew that Turner had marched with an army of 500 soldiers and 75 of the Elite Guard to Ego for a meeting of "great importance". While Turner had brought the army along for "his own protection" should the central government try anything, there were many that suspected that Turner was attempting a coup; some soldiers were filled with glee at the news, and talks of outright secession from Ego began to occur throughout the ranks. Most of the population of Blue Lagoon and surrounding provinces were wary of the power of the central government, and did not trust Morning Star as their overlord. However, more rumors revealed that Turner was going to Ego for some sort of peace deal, and that he did not intend to make any moves. Support for secession or rebellion persisted, nevertheless.

So many rumors flew around, some reasonable and others outrageous (such as claims that Turner wanted to become the new Night Owl), that the soldiers didn't know what to believe. In addition to the 500 soldiers already at Ego, 800 more soldiers, having already been mobilized for the campaign in Iowa, were ordered to march east on Turner's orders for no apparent reason. Even more bizarrely, they were split into groups of three and told explicitly to stay off of the main highways, but march to the same general location. Seeing as they carried proper siege equipment, and that east was Ego proper, rumors about a coup in the capital began to rise again, with those who believed it claiming that the 500 troops were just the first wave.

General Nijlon paced the forest floor outside of her tent, deep in thought. She had been watching her troops eat their dinner, mostly sitting in silence (though those who spoke only whispered), but she simply could not stop thinking about the future. She was one of the few who actually knew the truth about the situation.

Her soldiers constantly pestered her for information, out of desperation to know what the hell was happening. She regretted being unable to say a word.

The Night Owl was not dead. He had never died, and Turner had proof of it. He had managed to deceive all of Ego in his death, only for him to continue to operate in the shadows.

However, unknown to even her, Turner had sent messages to allies throughout Ego, everyone from ruthless gang bosses to the sketchy bureaucrat to provincial governors. Turner had worked for the past ten years to establish said relationships, digging himself out of the rut that was his reputation, and the payoff would be massive. The time had finally come, and the time to act for his cause was now.

A storm was coming, and they needed to be prepared if they wanted to survive the aftermath.

Outside of the Palace, City of Ego

It was not long after dawn, and the sun was barely in the sky. Most people in the city would hardly be awake, but Turner hadn't slept much- neither had his troops. They were grateful to be sheltered in the city, but for nearly all of them, it was their first time even stepping foot in the capital. Blue Lagoon was all they had known, and the luxuries of this city were almost alien to them. Despite the opportunity for drinking and having a bawdy time after the supposed "peace deal of a lifetime" went through, no soldier dared to do such a thing. There was still much, much more to come. They were early to slumber, and early to rise.

Turner had been on his knees, bowed down and in prayer for hours. It was odd- he had never prayed for this long before, but he could truly feel the presence of the Holy Spirit now. He just could not stop. Seeing as he was constantly surrounded by a pagan world, his personal connection with God was ever the more powerful. He sought guidance from God in the times to come, forgiveness for his sins, and to cleanse his soul and mind. Memories of old events in his life flooded back clearer than ever, which he reflected on. In the deepest part of his prayer and meditation, he began to ponder his sense of morality...or lack of it. What had happened to the old Turner? Had that man died upon coming to this world? Why did he not feel the slightest inclination of remorse of his actions, even of grave massacres like what happened to Haekho and his band of Bison Chasers? Where there was once a charming and caring individual, there was now only a ruthless schemer and backstabber. He had become a shell of his former self.

Then, a memory of an old terror came back. That dream...that fucking dream, which had haunted him ever since his mind came up with the horror on that longship, all those years ago. He recalled what the familiar figure had said.

This is of your own creation! This is what will become of Ego, and their blood is on your hands! Especially this one!

And shortly thereafter seeing Jeb's decapitated head, the end of the Night Owl. The nightmare was a living reality.

And yet, Turner still felt nothing.

Turner ended his meditation on this note, and began to wash his face with water. It was a crude form of baptism- after today's events, he would truly be a new man. Shortly thereafter, General Hal entered his room to discuss the challenges ahead. Little ended up being said between the two, with them both mostly in self-reflection. Then, there was a rapping on the door.

"Are you ready for this, friend?" Hal asked, breaking a long silence.

Turner rose from his bed. "Ready enough," Turner simply said.

Outside of the Palace

Having opted to stay in an inn with his troops instead of the palace, Turner made the walk back to the center of the city. There he saw Jeb, close to one of the palace's gates, waiting for him. Turner was followed by five Elites for protection, but they would round a corner and remain out of sight as the two spoke.

Turner was dressed in all black, while also clad in iron armor. He was supposedly going to make a speech to his troops later in the day, and wanted to look the part.

Turner smiled at Jeb as he approached. Jeb had truly bought the conversation that had happened yesterday. Peace was surely at hand at last.

"Peace shall reign in Ego for generations," Turner said. Then suddenly, his cheery smile disappeared, replaced with a completely emotionless, terrifying expression.

All around them, it had already begun. Smoke rose from the city as the Elites and soldiers set fire to the buildings, to cause mass panic and chaos, while Turner's soldiers had begun to skirmish with the city guard to gain control of the various walls that divided the wards of the city. Screams and shouts could be heard all around as events progressed rapidly. Outside the walls, the sound of 800 shoes hitting the ground could be heard.

"But you will not be present to witness it, Jeb." Turner then took out a dagger, grabbed Jeb by the head and buried the dagger square in Jeb's chest before letting Jeb go and making a run for it, with his Elite's following. Turner hoped that Jeb would bleed to death, but he could not stick around for the aftermath.

The smile returned to his face as Turner put on his black mask, the mask of a true assassin. Jeb's naivety had proven to be his downfall. Jeb should have never allowed Turner to live when he first warped into this strange world. He had also made the grave mistake of assuming that Turner would forget all of the torment his negative reputation had put him through for this "Imperium of Man". It was possible this nation could be a threat, but Turner couldn't risk everything on vague notions of a superpower all the way in Europe.

Today would mark a new era for Ego. Jeb had truly been a fool. The Night Owl was finished; the Patient Crow had prevailed.

Turner would head towards an obscure postern, where he planned to leave the city and regroup with the second army.

[Leikmis]

Beware, he's crying out your name
Now the time has come
When the Iron tears the heart
And the trumpets will ring loudly
As the stars are painted with blood

Atoyac River, Mexico

June

Atoyac Village

The iron He and Gozio had made two nights ago was far from good iron in reality. Upon one good glance any person who had seen truly pure iron, no matter if they were skilled in the art of blacksmithing or not, could without a doubt say that it was faulty compared to better pieces of iron in the world. The iron forged was of low strength, still stronger than stone, but far far harder to mold and full of many many impurities of slag that had mixed in layers due to the layering of charcoal and iron in the forge, combined with no output hole for slag in the furnace. But, the natives of the area had not seen forged iron before and had no capabilities to make their own, any of this iron shown to them would be a completely new material. Zachaios took mental notes of these impurities and spent all of the last day planning to improve his forge in a new version which he called “Forge 2.0.”

Besides these plans to improve his forge, drawn on a big slab of clay he had laid out behind his hut, he had also made several diagrams and explanations of how the forge worked, why, what iron was, and how it could be used and harnessed. Granted, that this information was based on previous experience and of course the forge and iron he made behind his home, this would change. After the first few explanations via writing he remembered something very crucial about the village; they didn’t have writing or grammar and everyone was illiterate and had also never heard the concept of nor seen a book in their lives. So, he had to make new tablets describing this material and how it was made. In these new tablets he instead made drawings of a little man building a forge in distinct steps and then pouring in charcoal and iron ore. Combined with this how-to drawing of how to build the forge he also made drawings of where he found the iron and how to make and or find charcoal. His drawings were not very good, and would require some explanation.

Inner City

At noon he walked into the inner city, again towards the hut of the chieftain. The ‘streets’ of dirt and dust were clean as many of the men were in the middle of working now and many of the women were either tending to their children or collecting fruits and other such foods, or processing the ones they had already collected and the ones that the men had grown. The women that did remain sat outside of their homes, the heat and humidity building up inside homes without any glass, tending to their work or needs. They glared at him as he carried the several clay tablets on his back in his back of skin.

Irepani’s hut was not far now, considering the actual size of the village. In the distance he could see Irepani and his small group of followers outside of the hut with the followers sitting on the ground and Irepani standing up with them around him. He was lecturing on the theology of the gods, who he said determined the fate of the world, and did their will through humanity or their children. He taught that fate could not be avoided and that everything on the Earth, so flat and beautiful, had a meaning in the house of the gods. He went up to the group, several feet behind them, and silently sat down and began to listen, with only the Chieftain Irepani realizing he was there.

In this lecture Irepani explained the importance of the god Cupantziere and the god Ahchurihirepe. The sun ‘Cupantziere’ played ball with the god ‘Ahchurihirepe’, who represented the night. Cupantziere was defeated by the night and is thus known as ‘the old sun.’ Relishing in his victory, the night god Ahchurihirepe forgot about the old sun’s son “Siratatáperi,” who is known as the new sun who came from the east and secretly resurrected his father’s corpse in the form of a deer, sending him north. For this reason deer are divine creatures on Earth, and an even more divine food, the food of gods. The game among these two deities is eternal, representing the eternal cycle of the day and night. Zachaios, being a christian although non-practicing, thought these games of day and night to be dumb, although he said nothing and instead took interest in the mythology, which would be needed in gaining the native trust.

Near the end of the lecture Zachaios leaves as silently as he came as to not be seen when the other followers get up to leave or speak to one another. He hides behind a nearby hut and watches, waiting for Irepani to either go back inside of his own hut, or for his followers to leave, which they eventually did, all except for Masawa.

Zachaios went forwards with his tablets to Irepani and Maswa.

“Father, it’s here again.” Masawa sighed.

“He is not an ‘it,’ Masawa,” Irepani grouched back in response to Masawa’s naming, “He’s here for a reason and we can learn from what he knows.”

“But we don’t even know what he is though, Father!”

“He is a man Masawa, believe in me, now be quiet he is near us now.”

Zachaios now stood in front of them.

“Hello, Chief.” Zachaios said politely.

“Hello Green eyes, how has your day been?”

“Lot’ of work over the past few days, I guess. I want to show you what I talked about when I asked for the wood pile.” He pointed to his skin pack, which was shaped to the clay tiles inside.

“Splendid, come inside and tell me, Masawa you come inside as well.” He moved the curtain of his hut aside, walking inside and opened the window cloth that allowed light inside. Masawa and then Zachaios followed.

Irepani sat down on a makeshift chair of woodstack, let out a sigh of relief to not be in the direct sun anymore, and then white his sweaty palms on the garb of his dress. “Now, what you brought and wanted to show for these past few days, I assume you have been preparing to show your glyphs as well?”

“Well, yeah, I suppose, but that’s not what I’m here for.” He slowly pulled the tablets out of his bag and laid them out in order infront of him. He then squatted down in front of the tablets which faced Irepani and help the basic hammer as well as some other sharp pieces of basic iron in his hands.

Masawa sat down next to Irepani, bemused by the pieces of shiny rock.

“This is iron, Chief.” He held up one of the sharp pebbles of iron, twisting it around to highlight its sides.

“‘Iron,’ you say, what’s so important about it?” Irepani held out his hand, requesting to hold the purified ore. “We have seen this before, the red rock by the riverbed, you can still see it in between the shiny bits.”

Zachaios gave Irepani a piece and then Masawa.

“Well, yeah, the red hasn’t been processed fully. But, the stuff is way better than the flint or stone you use in your tools and weapons. In the world I know everything is made out of it.”

“And the tablets?” Irepani pointed his hand to the ground before Zachaios.

“The tablets are the steps to make the Iron,” He moved his finger to the first picture on the first tablet, “You need to find iron ore, the red rocks from the river bed, and then crush it up into smaller pieces.” He moved his finger to the next picture. “Then you need to place a bunch of chopped up wood into a pile of sticks, covered by mud and sod, then burn it. After a while the wood will turn into black ‘charcoal,’ which which can burn better than wood.” He began to move his finger to successive pictures, explaining the shape of the forge, what a forge was, how it was made of clay, and how it separated rock from clay. All of these were explained in layman’s terms.

Masawa fiddled with the iron in his hands.

“After you have burnt the iron into hot liquid for half a day or more, it will turn red and mushy, which happens to most things when they become hot. You dig it out with a stick or rock or some other tool, and then smash away the remaining garbage that isn’t part of the iron and that isn’t orange like the iron. This is called ‘slag.’ From there you can hammer it into anything you want, granted you keep it hot enough.” He ended on a picture of a man hammering a piece of iron into a sword, represented as stick with a hilt.

“I see, I see. Now, Green eyes, I am now weapons maker, but why do you show me this instead of some other member of our holy village? Are there not more skilled people who could do this?” He looked up from his gaze at the stone pictures to Zachaios’ face.

“No one trusts me, and if they do they are too pious to listen to me, you should know this after all this time.”

Masawa interrupted very abruptly, “But isn’t their piety justified. You are a wise man from an unknown world, a messenger are you not?”

“I do not know why I am here, so for all the world cares I am a messenger, sent by the god to do whatever on the god forsaken Earth, Masawa.” He sighed loudly with an anxiety that slowly began to retake its roots, the sort of anxiety he felt when he first arrived.

“Do you have an idea Masawa?”

“Yes, Father. Now,as I am Father’s chosen successor as guardian of our village and teacher of the gods. If you are a messenger as you show to be, then I may translate your gifts to the people of the village, and maybe villages beyond, the guardians of each village often speak to one another due to how close we are.” He was now whirling with ideas. The connection to the gods he had wanted were now in vision, and the wisdom of Irepani were now lowered in standard.

“Guess that would work, but lots of piety often means lots of ignorance, like the dark ages I know of.” He was now chewing a piece of dried grass to calm his nerves.

“The Dark ages?” Irepani asked.

“Oh, I forgot. Well, the dark ages were a time in which religion overshadowed idea, meaning everyone believed in what wasn’t actually true.”

“If they were pious how did they not know what was true?”

“Too much piety drives people away from adventuring into the reality of the world, the god’s world, I guess.” Zachaios spat out his piece of grass into a corner.

“I see.” Masawa and Irepani both said slowly.

The next day Zachaios made edits to his forge design drawn on the tablets he had brought. In this new version of the forge he had lowered it’s height to only three feet and adds a hole in the side for slag to overflow into, thus allowing for lower amounts of slag in his iron. Besides this redesign he also changed the arrangement of iron and charcoal inside of the forge. Instead of having the charcoal be in a Charcoal-Iron-Charcoal layer pattern, he instead changed it just a Charcoal-Iron pattern, with the charcoal being in a pit below the slag drain hole to stop the bands of charcoal appearing in his iron alongside the red pieces of slag. Overall he inferred that these innovations would greatly improve the quality of the iron while also making it easier to forge. These assumptions were only hypothetical though, and would be tested when the villagers began to make their own forges and forge designs.

That day Masawa had also prepared as speech that had been in the works during the night after him, Irepani, and Zachaios’ meeting within the Chieftain’s hut. The first part speech explained that Zachaios was not a demon but someone who had come to bring gifts, and that these gifts had been given to the leaders of the village in the name of the gods. This would officially declare him to be ambiguous in what he was, for he was never said to be man, god, or demon, but the former two would be hopefully assumed due to the gifts he had brought. The second part of the speech explained what Iron was, what it came from, what ore broke into, and the general design of the forge. Most importantly would be explained that Iron was better as a material than the widely used stone. The designs for the forge and the instructions of how to cook Iron would be displayed outside of the Chieftain’s hut.

The speech, which began after the followers of Irepani had assembled all of the villagers into the village square, was a moderate success as most in it’s goals. The first part of the speech which sought to humanize Zachaios could barely be called a minor success at best, as all it had done was make those pious towards him as a god a bit more rational, and those who thought of him as a demon or mere man a bit less resentful. But it did neither to make him seem as a messenger of the gods or truly humanize him as he was in the eyes of Masawa.

Masawa had planned for any questions on the forge to be directed towards Zachaios, so that they may be forced to interact with him.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Southern Brittany
June 6th, 85 AG

The rumble of hooves grew closer, echoing dimly through the copses of trees that marked the ridgeline, and Uhor gripped his weapon closer, face drawn in a grim smile. The heavy knobbed warhammer had seen hard action before, and was battered and bruised in places, but had served the bearded brigand well enough for many years. His heart thudded loud in his ears, the rush of adrenaline before combat, and the bandit second risked a look out from behind the tree he stood against to assess the foe.

Yes, they were cavalry, and in the distance their infantry compliment had been left behind, marching hard to catch up. He didn't recognize the banner of the warrior that led their charge, but that didn't really matter. Some auxilary bastard with more balls than brains, no doubt. As his warriors crouched in the bushes and behind the trees of the slope's reverse, a war-cry burst from the throats of the approaching soldiers, and Uhor shifted his hands on the hammer, trying to judge the distance to the nearest man from the sound of their advance.

One second, two seconds, the sound of crashing bush behind him. Some coward running for the hills, no doubt, but the black-haired ne'er-do-well was made of sterner stuff. To run would be to die; to stay, to kill. Not stepping from behind his tree, trusting the solid mass of the arboreal giant to protect him from the onrushing foe, Uhor swung his hammer high just after the first cavalryman passed his position, standing and muscles straining in the practiced manuever that was so bone-chillingly effective.

The impact of the hit nearly ripped the weapon from the brigand's hands, but it passed through his body in a moment- the same could not be said for the soldier whose breastplate the spike of the warhammer had impacted. He tumbled from his saddle in an instant, feet yanked bodily from the stirrups as he gasped through a broken ribcage. Even the light steel breastplates the lancers wore were no match for a warhammer applied at full tilt, and even as the man mewled on the ground trying to catch his breath, Uhor brought the weapon down again, hands still ringing from the first impact.

It was almost quiet again, the roar of the charge spent, the first death of the day for the brigand leader. He stared with cautious eyes about him, noting many animals down, many lancers struck to the earth. There were plenty of his lads among them, of course; that was to be expected when fighting the sable-coated pig-dogs. Jakes looked like he had been spitted for the roasting by a passing horseboy, and Arvis was on the floor grappling with another bearing the Imperium's livery. Others of the lads, though, had been more fortune. Some horses were down, set spears and pikes having eviscerated their charging forms, other were merely wounded and shrieking, legs hacked by swords or axes. It was a chaotic melee, but Uhor could tell in an instant that his men were outnumbered, and he acted quickly.

Up into the saddle of the man who would never need it again. He hadn't ridden anything more ferocious than his da's horse years ago, and the beast spooked in an instant, cantering and whuffing about, but he forced it down savagely sawing at the bridle, and sent it trotting toward where one of the Imperials struggled to bring his mount around for another shot at lancing one of the brigands that infested the underbrush. The blonde-mustached warrior didn't even see the warhammer sailing in an arc toward his helmet, and as he slumped in the saddle, unconscious or dead, Billows Black-Leg waved jauntily towards his savior as Uhor nodded in acknowledgement.

Then he turned the horse about, aiming for another of the horsemen. It was a bloody mess was what it was, but every minute here gave the lads another minute to fall back toward Gyra Forest, and that was a thing worth doing.

[Leikmis]

Forgotten we wander the universe
Embers of life in the cold
We're mariners set for discovery
Across the edge of the world

Atoyac River, Mexico

June

Atoyac Village

Eventually the day that Zachaios had been forced to teach English to Irepani and his students came. At noon he was gathered by the Chieftain Irepani and his students to teach outside the Chieftain’s hut. As they came he was just barely finishing a clay tablet of the alphabet, including the uppercase and lowercase letters, as well as different objects he had seen that went with each letter. Besides the tablets with the letters of the alphabet and the words that went with them he had brought a third tablet with a crudely drawn world map, with borders drawn to show the British Empire at it’s height as well as other predominantly English speaking nations such as the United States and Canada.

Outside of the Chieftain’s hut they all sat in a circle around him, standing up, with tablets of partially malleable clay in their hands with small sticks to use as tacks to draw with. Irepani sat in the middle of them, directly facing Zachaios. Many of the other followers were talking to eachother.

“Teach, Green eyes.” Irepani stated, firmly and out loud. His followers instinctively fell into line and began to watch as well.

“Oh, well, I didn’t think there would be this many people to teach, Chieftain, I’ve never taught this many people before to do something.” He looked at the ground, not making eye contact with the many people looking at him.

“It does not matter, as long as you have the ability to teach then you will teach. Explain what the clay tablets you have brought are and you might be more spirited to continue.”

“Oh, okay then. I see.” He sighed and grinded his teeth a bit.

Zachaios placed the three tablets onto a ledge of stone and sod that was on the Chieftain’s hut. “I guess I will explain where ‘English’ came from.”

He used as stick to point to the map on the third tablet. “In the world I know, we can see from above, what the world looks like,” He pointed to where the ocean would be, “These are the oceans, great bodies of water,” He then pointed to where the land would be, specifically Europe, “This is the land of the world, within these lines, all of it.”

Some of them drew their own pictures of the world on their tablets, small models of it atleast.

“Whether you believe it or not I do not care.”

Zachaios circled the stick around the borders he had drawn, the ones of the British Isles and Northern Europe. “The peoples who spoke and wrote the ’glyphs’ of ‘English’ came from a place called ‘Yer-ope.’ All of the people there look like I do, you could say.” He pointed to Northern Germany. “The people who spoke English came from a place in Europe called ‘Jer-Ma-Nee.’ His stick moved to the British Isles. “But, well, they moved to a place called ‘Bri-Tin.’

He looked back to the people watching him instead of the tablets he was teaching from. Many of them were still intently staring at him, while others were trying to copy the borders and make symbols for the different places he talked about. A portion that did not believe him had drawn nothing, and were just watching.

“Anyways,” He quickly looked back to the tablets. “These people eventually came to control most of the entire world.” He pointed to the huge land areas that were the British Empire, the United States, and Canada. Much of this tale was meant to mystify the natives of the power of the people he came from. “But, much of this land fell out of their control after the world went into a great great conflict.” He pointed to British Raj and British Africa.

One of the followers that did not believe the stories of the Anglo people and their Empire and Zachaios ability to see the world from top down view spoke up rudely, “Now, enough with the stories, back to the language paleboy!” Some of his friends, who similarly did not believe in the history began to laugh with him.

He tried to play off their mockery as best he could and continue whatever he was teaching.

The rest of the ‘lesson’ consisted of him having them recite what sounds the letters of the alphabet made and then recite different words in English with those letters, and what they meant in the Native language, an example being ‘D,’ ‘Deer,’ and ‘Tsanguaraati.’ He had them recite these in different orders and in different ways. Besides the twenty six standard letters of English he introduced a new letter not usually found in the English vocabulary, ‘ch,’ to which he gave the symbol ‘Ć,’ which was just the normal letter C but wait an acute symbol. He had thought about adding another letter to the system to make it easier to learn. Along with ‘Ch’ Zachaios had thought about adding the letters ‘Ae’ and ‘Oe’ for the times im which obscure words with weird pronunciations of E or U/O were used. He later dropped this idea though, and just settled for ‘Ch.’

Zachaios’ lecture ended an hour and a half after it had started, with all that had been accomplished being that he had taught the ‘scribes’ as he thought of them, some very basic history on the English language and the nations that used it, as well as twenty-seven letters and how they were pronounced, as well as twenty seven basic words in which he was not sure they would be able to remember. He told them to go over the pronunciations, and the ways that the ‘glyphs’ were written as much as they could in their free time. Since he had no paper he would not be able to give out legitimate work to do, and thus it was all memorisation and mind game study.

Because of this he knew he needed something better than clay and sticks to translate mind into written text.

[Yatzatz]

As I walked back to the village, with Voni and Darvi, still chatting, in tow, I noticed that construction had continued on the wall. We had built a wall around the village to keep out other raiders and Yekrenian forces, but the wall was constantly being upgraded. I walked up to the gate and used the large stone knocker to knock. The gate slowly opened. "Hello," the man by the gate said respectfully. "Supper is being held in the dining hall, if you wish to go."
"Thank you," I replied.
As we approached the dining hall, I smelled the food. It turned out that the Yekrenians had a lot of very interesting cuisine, and quite a few here knew how to make it. I found much of it delicious.
Darvi's and Voni's conversation drew to a close as we approached the hall. It was one of the largest buildings in town. Everyone in the town ate together in the hall, for breakfast and supper.
I walked in through the door to reveal the hall; many small tables, with waitresses going back and forth between them. Yamatzon and non-Yamatzon mingled and chatted like old friends. When I walked in, most of the Yamatzon stood respectfully. I motioned for them to sit back down, and they did, continuing their discussions. I walked to the largest table in the room, and sat down by the head of the table, with Voni and Darvi at my sides. The food smelled delicious; I couldn't wait to taste it.

[Ulls]

City of Ego,
Land of Ego

Jeb wasn't dead, bleeding out, but not dead. His pain was covered by the tears of his mind that he actually believed in peace. The Skulk showed up with snipers giving the sign to each other to begin the hunt. Jeb had pulled himself up by sheer willpower as his second came. The man in the fox mask showed anger, a controlled anger that was more focused on the situation than anything.

" Not dead yet..." Jeb said silently as he leaned on the second.

" No, but damn blind. Should've let the snipers put a bolt through him and end his damn ambitions." The second said as he grabbed his arm and hoist him up on his shoulders that went through one secret passage of many that the Skulk knew in the capital. Jeb saw his daughter and her family alright and them leaving on horseback with escort to Suunja.

" You know the plan?" Jeb spewed out as his second as he was put on a stretcher with the apothecary tending to his wounds.

" Yeah I do, I'll make sure this gets to Suunja and your daughter with her family makes it. Just promise me that you won't die."

Jeb chuckled and put his hand on the second's shoulder," I promise, I've suffered worse blows than this, but this was the closest one."

The second left on horseback as Jeb was being healed and Swan-Heart led in secret as the Skulk hunted the first wave. Even among the chaos of the burning and the surprise against the guards, the Skulk hid in the urban areas and among the crowds as sniper crossbows identified officers of the first army and hit them with high-powered efficiency. Those without the crossbows had shown the improvements as they pierce through the traitor armor and help bring down the soldiers even with good armor.

The guards themselves saw these hidden forces like a gift from the Night Owl himself and started to regroup and fight the first wave. The division of the traitors made it more manageable but the crowds still made them having to find them but within time they would put them down and make them surrender.

Skulk engineers had started to get to work on loading up the siege weapons with Summersoul as a means of fighting back the second wave but with the Skulk and guards were hunting down the soldiers then it was taking time to load their response against Turner.

[Yatzatz]

One of the waitresses approached me and respectfully bowed. I smiled.
"What do you have tonight?" I asked.
She responded, "A local dish known as Mtsvadi. It consists of meat grilled on a stick. We have also added pickled vegetables, a local delicacy."
"Sounds delicious. May I have some?"
"Certainly." She went to get the food. A few minutes later she returned with it. "Here. I hope you enjoy it!"
I began eating it. It tasted very good, with the meaty flavor and the pickled vegetables combining to produce a delicious taste. I dug in.
When I finished, I requested a bit more. it was borught. We had no shortage of food, due to both raiding expeditions, and the fact that many of the women of the village had small gardens.
Suddenly, I heard a bang from next to me. Darvi stood up. There was a smatter of applause.
"I wish to make an announcement," he said. The room quieted down.
"For some time now, I have been taking lessons from Yaitz. I have very much enjoyed these lessons. He has taught me much about the world. Now, I wish to bring to your attention the fact that since the Yamatzon have joined us, our raids vastly increased in success. We have become the most powerful raiders in Yekrenia. Now, this has been going through my mind for some time, but I have been waiting to say it." A murmur began running through the audience. "I have decided to convert to Yamatzon."
I was thunderstruck. By the sounds that swept the room, many others were too. I noticed some looking shocked, and others beginning to look slightly angry. I stood up and shouted for silence. The room quieted down.
"We thank Darvi for converting, and we will accept anyone who comes to convert. However, NOONE will be forced or coerced to convert. If you wish, you may even pick a new leader for the non-Yamatzon group."
The discomfited faces fewed and were replaced with several excited faces, several neutral, and very few looking peeved.
"After supper, whoever wishes to convert should come to my dwelling. We will then hold a meeting, to discuss the events. For now though, you may continue eating."
Everyone continued, but I noticed that the lively conversations had quieted down. I hoped it wasn't the beginning of a split, and hoped that good relatinos would resume.
I hoped.

[Labstoska]

John Collins
History is an interchangeable thing, it can always be edited or changed slightly in various places, in John's time history was definite, unchangeable, the final truth of mankind's saga but now John was in complete control of the Khanate, he had ultimate power to history itself and that was a power that he was not going to waste. He gave the scribes a new project which was to begin writing various poems, songs and tales about the glory of the heavenly Khan and the Khanate as a whole. He had even gone as far to have various passages of the Bible edited so that they would better suit his needs. Some within the Khanate noticed his actions and began to protest against it however these people were quickly rounded up by the Zealous were rounded and were promptly killed. This was of course just part of John's plan to become the only person within the Khanate who owned any kind of power, this was because that ever since the farmer's uprising John had become paranoid, he believed that he could no longer trust his own people and so therefore if he was to bring civilisation to the world he must assume direct control.

This burst of propaganda was also coupled with the creation of statues and monuments each depicting the glorious Khanate and it's beloved leader the most Divine Khan. These monuments were made out of bronze as the tin and copper mines had recently seen a burst in production ever since John had begun enforcing stricter measures upon the miners. Another project that was under construction was the recreation of Newholm by converting all the old wooden huts into mud brick houses for greater Protection against storms that may come to the settlement.

John was not a man who was quick to anger however when the expeditionary force of 100 men all fully equipped with bronze weapons and armour returned to Newholm with around 25% of their number missing he calmly ordered for the officers who commanded the expeditionary force to killed in whatever the perverse minds of the Zealous deemed most worthy of their failure. These men were still able to provide John with information about what they had been fighting and apparently he had underestimated the savages that they were fighting for according to the soldiers within the expeditionary force, the enemy had leather armour and had highly organized military forces. The following night John had a restless night, partially because he still hadn't gotten used to Neolithic beds, partially because there was a small nagging voice in his head that was biting away at his very soul that kept talking about John's failures. In the following morning John had forgotten what the voice had actually said but he assumed that it must have been talking about the tribespeople further down the Yangtze, a small part of him also hoped that this was the case for the alternative was truly terrifying.

In order to quell the voice John ordered for the full strength of the Free company to be used against the insidious tribespeople who dared to challenge the Khanate. The Free company was not the only thing that was used against the tribespeople, the scribes were commanded to begin creating all kinds of literature describing the demonic practices of these tribespeople, they even went as far as to say that the people of that tribe are every second born child within their families. So all 1'000 men within the Free company, they had a mismatch of armour as seen as the Khanate simply was unable to produce enough bronze to provide armour to every soldier however they were armed with a frightening array of bronze weapons departed into the lush forests to bring the tribespeople the truth of civilization.

[Ulls]

Suunja

The masked man raced across the forest lands of Ego. He raced on the horses that made everything faster for him because Jeb recently taught him how to use the powerful beast. He wondered what would happen if the Upstart did listen to peace, that these beasts could do their job and replace human transport. He managed to stay off the road but still the alien tracks would make a sort of trail but he did make to the military capital of the Theocracy.

The guards at first were trying to wonder who the hell he was or what was the big creature he was riding but he spoke.

" I need to speak to Mak Tan, I have the Messenger and her family here."

The guards looked to see that was indeed true to the word and they let them in the military city. The city itself was big, defendable, and had shown to have the largest center of the Ego's army. They all were shocked and awed at the sight of the horses that walked through but some gave a prayer in silence to the Night Owl as they saw the Messenger. When they went up to the center of the fortress city, they all walked in to which Mak Tan was looking over a map with several Knight grandmasters who look at the group with a grimace.

" About time that wolf bared his fangs." Mak Tan said with a spit on the ground," how bad is the battle?"

" It's bad, we believe that Turner has brought troops in the thousands with siege weaponry. Bulk of the forces are inside the capital but split up." The man reported.

" And where's Jeb?"

" With Swan-Heart, secretly leading the defense as Turner think he killed him."

Mak Tan raised his hands up in the air with the words " of course" underneath his breath. He told the servants to get the Messenger's family some comfortable lodgings as they were left in private to discuss the map. The map had the entire north blue with fox images around Canada, the west with Mafia, southeast, and east of Michigan being held with blue stripes. The red lines were in the south primarily but some notes were that there were many people that they at least suspected that would join Turner's rebellion.

" As you see, this map is perhaps outdated but we do have our allies. The Mafia is with us as well as protected with allies in the east with Ego and Michigan and in the north with Third Thunder. Knights are arming up and ready to meet the enemy, they can also bring in some of their forces to from the north to enforce the capital. There's also the allies which are going around, they don't know the full extent as Turner's allies go but we expect many provinces that have put their support in, most would be supplies but there are conscripts and perhaps veterans to their side, like Turner's main army that he's using on the capital."

The Skulk Second spoke," I need to get some horses to the Skulk and Mafia for Onto and Sitting River, Jeb had a plan for those chieftains."

Three of the Knight grandmasters looked at one another but one nodded for them all," we had a message that came from the Home Territory. We can get the horses west without going through the warzone. The Coat of the Golden Grasses have contact with the other communities in the area will help organize them and make the connections, though don't expect them to be with the idea."

One chimed in," its worth a better shot than with the Bison Chasers, even with us being more 'friendly' with Oshanka's band. If anything, its worth a bigger chance shot than anything else."

The other shrugged and the one grandmaster on the far left said," what about the weapons? I'm thinking the rest of us would be trying to get them done as fast as possible?"

The Skulk Second put his hand out," we just started on getting things working. It's going to take some time but we should be able to get them up."

Moring Star was wondering what were they talking about but just said," what do you want me to do as of right now?"

" We have a need for you but as of right now get some rest and see your family. Ego's about to be tested once again."

[Revlona]

Robert
Southern Brittany
June 6th, 13 AA

Robert had underestimated the positioning of the enemy rearguard as near 20 of his lancers where struck down in the charge, with that number slowly rising as the Melee continued.

Seeing one of the Brigands mount the horse of a fallen lancer and began rallying his troops, Robert assumed this to be the commander of the rearguard, throwing his lance down and taking his Hammer in hand Robert spurred his horse on towards the Enemy commander, blindsiding him he struck him with his hammer with the force of one arm and the momentum and his horse though he wasn't going very fast.

Dismounting, he walked towards the Raider commander as he lay stunned on the ground, striking down an enemy Raider who tried to defend the enemy Commander, taking the hammer in two hands, he raised it above his head and let it fall onto the enemy commanders chest, obliterating everything it hit, though the blow was fierce, the Enemy commander still lived, pity welled up in Robert as the man began to choke on his own blood, taking out his dagger Robert delivered a swift killing blow.

Looking around at the aftermath of the small battle, He could see that his men came off better than the Raiders did, with around twenty of his men laying ominously still on the ground, but a good half of the raider rearguard was dead or injured, and the other half had fled or had surrendered.