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The Hierophancy
Posts: 875
Founded: Oct 24, 2016
Compulsory Consumerist State

Postby The Hierophancy » Fri Nov 03, 2017 3:40 pm


It was another few days before the next rainstorm, and only a week after that did a torrent of acceptable intensity and endurance break out. I'd decided to place a religious spin on my expedition, mainly to better convince the Speaker, my employer, to allow me a few days exemption from my duties to search for the iron. I thought the story I'd concocted was a decently clever one, if I do say so myself. To put my tale simply, I claimed to have received a message - a vision - from Kwerawáperi, mother-goddess of the earth, whilst I slept. She informed me that, due to the diligent offerings and devotions dedicated to her glory by the people of Colote and their Speaker, she had decided to grant upon them a boon, which she would mark upon the next rainy day with her own blood in one of the area's many swollen rivers. Whilst Tsijiari was a bit skeptical of my tale and wondered aloud at why a goddess so revered as Kwerawáperi would deem to deliver her message to an odd newcomer, he did eventually relent, granting me a full weeks leave to track down the boon being granted to our village and, even better, his own Olmeca robe, an old, stained and fraying stretch of itchy cotton, but once impregnated with the rubber latex for which the Olmec are so renowned, and thus made waterproof.

Even with such rare and expensive protection against the rain, the endless sheets of bullet-fast, ice cold water proved an irritation, and as I trekked through mud and plant detritus it did little to keep my other articles of clothing from swiftly becoming hopelessly waterlogged. Nevertheless, I continued forging a path north, to the great river I'd frequented often in my hunting trips the past few weeks. Although the landmark was quite nearby - a mile at most - the walk proved a drudging and forlorn affair, my every movement slowed by cold, sucking mud. Eventually, however, I did emerge stumbling from the woods, nearly falling straight into the already wide river now swollen by the storm crashing down around me. Lo and behold, I almost immediately spotted what I sought - a streak of rust-red water flowing down towards the sea from some unseen source on the opposite bank. Near as jubilant as I had been the last time I'd eaten meat (a small eel, charred upon an open flame), I immediately set off towards the river's source, plunging my up the mountain. The rest of my day would be spent marching up the slippery, soft and sticky hillside, fumbling my way along even as the sky began to darken. At some point I realized that it was far too dark for me to even register the rust-red water's source should I stumble upon it, and after coming to that realization, I promptly clambered up a suitable tree, wrapped myself as tightly as possible in my rubber-infused robe, and fell into a deep sleep.

Thankfully, when I woke up the next day, rain was still pounding down upon me and my surroundings, having seemingly increased in intensity over night. Either way, even an Olmec robe has limits, and I awoke well and truly soaked, not to mention freezing cold. After a brief breakfast of cold tortilla, a handful of tomatoes and a sip of chapari - a sort of mead produced in a nearby town. I hadn't yet developed much of a palette for alcohol, but despite the stinging sensation, chapari still tasted delectably sweet, and made me feel a good deal warmer after hours of laying in the rain. After my meal I clumsy descended from the gnarled and relatively short tree I had lodged myself in, nearly sinking to my ankles when I leapt down from one of the lower branches and into the mud. If anything, the red streak of water had only grown more vibrant and wider than last I'd seen it, though the river too had widened, making it just about unfordable, even in areas where it had once been only about waist or even knee high. From there my journey proved relatively short, and by the time the sun was nearly at it's apex, I had found the rusty water's source - a newly formed rivulet of rain water rushing down from the mountainside and into the river upon it's western bank. Normally I would have simply swum or even waded over and continued my ascent, but in it's current condition the river was a death trap, and so I decided to wait. It would be nearly two days before the storm subsided and water levels dropped to safer ranges once more, by which time I'd consumed all of the provisions I'd bothered to carry, along with a few wild tomatoes I'd found near the shore. The once more calm and shallow river proved easy to ford, and before long I was following the red trickle of water - all that remained of the once imposing miniature river. After less than an hour of pushing my way through the soggy vegetation that clung to the mountainside, I came across the promised gift - a clump of reddish brown rocks, the dirt about them eroded away by the torrential downpour, exposing the iron rich deposits, if that was indeed what they were.

After muttering a brief thanks to god I began completing what the tiny river had started, digging up all the reddish stones and mineral clusters I could find and tossing them unceremoniously into my pack. It took a few hours of excavating, and of the oxidized ore deposits, most required multiple blows from the stout and solid chunk of hard, grey stone I'd brought with me for just this purpose to dislodge from the rock about them. Eventually, however, my cotton knapsack was full to bursting with mud stained, rusty red stones of all shapes and sizes, and from the looks of it there were yet more to be uncovered - even a few greyish clumps of mineral below the rustier specimens. Refilling the hole with the mud I'd flung about me digging out my first haul and placing in the mess a stick upon which I tied a relatively clean scrap of fabric, I once more lifted up my now heavy pack and set off back down the mountain.

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The Orson Empire
Post Czar
Posts: 31107
Founded: Mar 20, 2012
Left-wing Utopia

Postby The Orson Empire » Fri Nov 03, 2017 3:44 pm

Tasunke, Blue Lagoon Province

After the operation in Alluitmik was complete, Turner headed five miles north into the capital proper, Tasunke. While Alluitmik may have been a large town, Tasunke was on a completely different level. Tasunke was the fastest growing city in the region, with a population of 13,000 people that was constantly increasing every month. Dozens of migrants came not only from other areas of Ego, but from the Canadian wilderness to the north and the unexplored lands of the south. Tribes from around the continent heard tales of a rich land to the north full of large cities and possessing advanced technology, and having been enticed by said tales, migrated in droves to Ego.

Tasunke began as a large village that had already existed in the area prior to the Wisconsin Campaign. While the campaign commenced, military bases had been established in the general area, which would form the foundations of both Tasunke and Alluitmik. Blue Lagoon would quickly grow very wealthy from the river trade and industrialization, and Tasunke would emerge as a major center of commerce in the western reaches of Ego. Turner himself had been able to strike his fortune here, establishing a state-owned enterprise known as the Lagoon Company. It began as an investment firm of merchants, who invested in agriculture, mining, luxury goods, and other industries, with the goal of building a stable economy in the western reaches and bringing in a steady source of income for Blue Lagoon. Over the last several years, the firm had become so large and so wealthy that it owned vast estates of land not only in Blue Lagoon, but in many provinces across Ego, with a workforce of thousands of people.

A surplus of jobs provided by the Lagoon Company and other emerging industries in Tasunke meant that most people were employed, and the province's wealth meant that the standard of living was much higher than in many areas of Ego. Turner had invested significant amounts of money back into the province in the form of infrastructure, such as paved roads, businesses, irrigation canals, aqueducts, sewage systems, docks, etc., while also providing subsidies to encourage the construction of more watermills throughout the province to increase its industrial output. Already, watermills had begun to perform tasks such as sawing logs into lumber and grinding grain, but of course Turner knew there would be far more uses for them in the future as the technology improved.

One of the greatest projects Turner had commissioned were the Ramparts of Tasunke, a series of stone walls that surrounded most of the city, and would soon connect up to the smaller walls of Alluitmik. On the outside of the walls that were not adjacent to the Mississippi River, there was a large moat that had been dug, filled with water from the river. The walls themselves consisted of numerous towers, with arrowslits for archers, as well as parapets on the tops of the walls. Barracks were placed near the walls, allowing soldiers to easily access the walls in the event of a siege, while secret tunnels had also been established to allow soldiers to move around the city without being seen by the enemy.

On one morning, Turner found himself walking along a portion of the walls near the Mississippi, which was still under construction, and would soon be connected to the walls of Alluitmik. Once complete, the ramparts would be among the strongest in the region, able to withstand a siege for months. It was a major expense, but Turner wanted Tasunke to be able to withstand any attempted assault. While workers toiled in the distance, moving great stone blocks up ramps and into place, Turner tried to take his mind off of the numerous administrative tasks he had been forced to complete over the past several weeks. Running a province and the Lagoon Company at the same time was hard work, and getting a bunch of hothead bureaucrats to agree on even the simplest of tasks was a Herculean effort. On top of all of this, a campaign against the remnants of the Bison Chasers was still underway in Iowa, though it was nearing completion. It was ironic, as Turner was glad his provincial government was not a democracy; if Turner's word was not absolute, it would quickly become mired in stalemate.

As Turner daydreamed, listening to the raging waters of the Mississippi to his right, he was suddenly startled by a hard tap on the shoulder. Turner jumped and turned around, almost taking out his dagger in self-defense, but stopped when he realized that it was one of his Elite Guard (though he was not wearing his mask).

"This better be important. You all know I do not like to be disturbed during my walks," Turner said, irritated at being badgered by the Elite. He couldn't leave the city for a few minutes without them constantly annoying him.

"I apologize sir, but this appears to be very important. A messenger arrived early this morning, and requested that the letter be provided to you as soon as possible," the Elite replied, before reaching into his pouch and pulling out a letter. Turner took the letter and saw that it had the seal of the Night Owl on it, signifying that it came from the central government. "You are dismissed, Elite," Turner said. The Elite would bow and make his way back Tasunke. Turner would open the letter and read it, surprised to see that it was in English.

After reading through it the first time, he read it again, then read a third time, and then a fourth time. Turner began to shake violently as he realized that his eyes were deceiving him. Turner folded up the letter and began to sprint back towards one of the city gates, with thoughts racing through his mind. Was this a trap, or was this authentic? Had everyone in Ego been deceived for years regarding the death of Jeb? There were those who had seen with their own eyes his assassination in the Palace of Ego; even Morning Star had witnessed it. Was she in on the secret as well? Even still, what had Jeb witnessed while in Europe?

So many questions, so few answers. Turner's curiosity got the best of him. He threw caution to the wind, and prepared to head out to the capital at once. He had to learn more.
Heterosexual male and from the US of A

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Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States
P2TM RP Mentor
Posts: 20096
Founded: Feb 20, 2012
Democratic Socialists

Postby Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States » Fri Nov 03, 2017 3:59 pm

As today was a temperate day, Bruno had decided to combine the two things he liked most: working, and watching his labours work themselves. Normally, the sun was far too bright for him to dare risk even being outside. His skin was far too light, and he would burn himself almost immediately. However, today, a grey cloud cover blocked out the sun, allowing Bruno at least to work from his veranda. Having moved his wooden desk out onto the veranda, he was now busy writing all kinds of letters on fresh papyrus.

Outside, the ploughs were being pulled, grain was being sown in their wake. Labourers with cloth bound around their nose and mouth used small spades to spread manure all over the field, reeking heavily but somewhat pleasantly in the cold morning air. The scent reminded Bruno of home. At least, the home of his parents, close to the farmlands of South Holland. There, every summer, just before the rains, manure was spread across the field by large, dedicated machines. Bruno fathomed it was going to rain here soon, too, based on the grey cloud cover.

Looking over his fields, Bruno suddenly saw a figure approach in the distance. A long, winding road connected his own estate with the general road going into Thebes, with wooden bridges cutting across the canals every hundred meters or so. Even though Bruno put much emphasis on measuring right distances between the canals, his labourers didn’t really see the importance, leading to many just eyeballing the distances. Luckily, agricultural sciences weren’t the most exact, and nature would probably act forgiving. The winding road was flanked on both sides by trees, providing shade to the carts riding to and fro along the road, while also being aesthetically pleasing. Creating a lane like that was becoming more popular among the other estate owners as well: Bruno’s foreign practises were seen as exotic and ‘hip’, ‘modern’. He wondered how long that would last. Fashion was a fickle thing.

As the figure came closer, Bruno noticed that it was actually a multitude of people. They were farmers, he noticed; small scale peasant farmers, owning small pieces of land from which they subsisted. Bruno recognised some of their faces, as they could often be seen in local farmers’ markets. They didn’t sell much, they just traded goods with one another, like eggs, meats and grain. It was all very low-level, of course. Bruno just walked among them to get a grip on the local population, curious how society worked 5000 years before his own. They had never visited his estate before, however, until now.

As the farmers walked up to the veranda, Bruno descended the wooden stairs to meet them, welcoming them in amicable terms.

“Hello, men! Welcome to my estate” he said heartily, his arms outstretched. He was trying to create a friendly air: the farmers seemed not quite at ease on such a large strip of land, with so many strange farming customs being used around them. Especially the plough seemed to intrigue them. Soon, one of the farmers stepped forward, the largest of the bunch, whom Bruno recognised as Ankhu. He was a bit of a societal leader in this part of the Thebian outskirts, being one of the few men who could read. In the farmers’ market, he always played the rule of judge when two people disagreed on the fairness of a deal. Ankhu put his hand up in greeting, making a small bow as he did so.

“Greetings, Councillor. We are sorry to disturb you on your private land, but we have come to ask a favour of you” Ankhu said. He was very certainly a proud man, standing tall and broad despite of the favour he apparently had to ask. Bruno respected this very much, and he was relieved these people at least were not afraid of him. This was new; being a stranger in new lands, Bruno had very little contacts outside of his good friend. Most people avoided the silly foreigner, only hearing about him via means of gossip and rumours. This was the first step towards something greater, he hoped. Invitingly, he gestured for the group of farmers to go inside his home.

“Ah, yes. Come in, come in! It’s cool inside, and there we can sit”

The group hesitated for a moment, but Ankhu immediately answered the invitation by following Bruno in. Convinced, the others soon went in as well. They first entered a kind of waiting lobby, where guests normally were made to wait a moment. However, since Bruno was there anyway, they could go straight to the central hall of the home. The hall was bigger than the homes of many of these farmers, and only people who had actually been in the city had seen such a large room before. The floor was decorated with a colourful rug, inscribed with foreign symbols the farmers did not recognise. It looked like language, but not anything they had ever seen before. Not even Ankhu could read it, which meant it was a foreign tongue. On and around the carpet lay cushions filled with the feathers of his own chickens, made after the banquet he had held in honour of his first contract. Much chicken had been eaten.

At the gesticular suggestion of Bruno, the villagers sat on the cushions provided for them. A servant entered with goblets, giving each of them some beer to drink. Bruno had not found a way to make water reliably drinkable yet, and before he knew that he was not going to chance it. Thinking about that, he made a mental note to write an address to Pharaoh, dealing with the hygiene in the city. It was one of those few things at just relied on knowledge getting in the right places, not economics, like most technologies. However, he knew he could do his little bit, and he vowed to write down this request later. Once the servant had passed back outside the house, towards the separate kitchen shed, Ankhu began to speak.

“Councillor, forgive my directness, but it is spurred by a great feeling of evil foreboding. Last harvest, before you came to live here, harvests were struck by pests. We salvaged what we could, but we have too little to feed all the families and have enough to plant next harvest”

“’Tis a problem that has affected many communities, my lord” one of the others added, apparently brought at ease by the comfortable seating cushion and the beer. Probably mostly the beer, as evidenced by the slightly slurred speech. Bruno had not perfected the art of fermenting yet. It didn’t help that he himself was disgusted by beer, so he didn’t really know what it had to taste like. He made a mental note to work further on purifying water. Sifting, perhaps? Quickly, he refocused his attention on the farmers.

“Aye it has” Ankhu said, slightly annoyed by the sudden interjection. “We have gone to the priests for grain, but they want something in return immediately. We can scarcely miss our animals, my lord, and counting our prized family heirlooms and our mortuary offerings, we have only enough to buy a tenth of what we would need”

This was a problem often seen in early legal codes. The concept of securities had not gained ground yet, so every transaction had to be handled in an instance. Only among friends and known family would someone try to achieve payments in terms, as Bruno had done for his breeding bulls, and only then if they had a lot of credit. The priests knew there was a chance the pests would return this year, so payment up front was probably the only way to be certain that one wasn’t taking too many risks. Bruno understood the reasoning of the priests, and he himself would have done the same, had he not known about securities. But he did.

“Masters” Bruno said, looking on from his chair, letting his eyes pass all the peasants present.

“I feel very much for your plight, and I would not allow any of you to starve. The gods would not allow it, as they would not allow you to take mortuary offerings meant for your ancestors”

It took the agnostic-atheist Bruno a lot of nerve to say that. However, he knew he had to fit into the culture not to become an outcast, so he did his best to play the part of a godly man. He felt like Alexander, trying to convince his troops that a solar eclipse was actually a good sign to fight the battle at Gaugamela. Two-and-a-half thousand years into the future, he thought… At least, he dreamt. He found that he had to convince himself more and more that it was a dream. He often just forgot. His eyes passed the carpet on the floor, from which he quickly read the letters he had ordered be placed there: Latin lettering, unknown to the farmers. Bruno continued.

“However, being new in this land, I cannot take many risks. As you can see, my fields are being sown for the first time since my arrival. I cannot know whether this will be a good year or a bad one”

Bruno saw the disappointment mounting among the farmers, so he quickly moved on. His manner of speech was quite peculiar to him: he liked to speak in slight riddles and without making the ending of his story clear. It was theatrical in nature, almost, and it made him well-liked back in the Netherlands, in his own time, where his stories were requested. However, here, in business arrangements, he had to learn to be a bit more to the point. So, he quickly moved to the end of his explanation.

“I will loan each of you the grain you will need for a full harvest, to help you get back on your feet. This I will do in the name of Amun, blessed be him. However, I will make a contract for Ankhu to sign, with a special rule attached: If one of you does not pay me back the right amount, 30% of the initial loan, that person will give me their farm”

The farmers looked at one another gladly, but also with a bit of confusion. The 30% rate was fine, even a bit on the low end for such a transaction. The temples took 40%, and always skimmed a bit off the top for themselves. However, the concept of putting their farms up as securities was new to them. The idea scared them.

“To put your minds at ease, I will vow that you and your families will be allowed to live on those farms until the end of days, of course. I will not send you from your homes, and I will not put you into servitude. On this, you have my word. However, this security is needed for me, to make sure I do not fail myself in the future”

This, the farmers found agreeable. It took some convincing from Ankhu, but they soon realised they had little choice. This foreign stranger was giving them the best deal so far, and if they didn’t start sowing soon, they would be far too late for a good harvest. Ankhu and Bruno shook hands, with Bruno standing up to walk to his office. The farmers were jubilant.

“I will go into my office to put this all in writing. Ankhu, I will come to your village tomorrow with the grain I promised. I want you all to think about this pest, and how it looked. Perhaps I can be of help; people from my country knew a lot about this”

Bruno turned around, only just remembering an important detail.

“Oh, and you can tell the other farming communities they can come to me as well. I will give them the same deal”

The farmers, including Ankhu, all bowed to Bruno, jubilantly walking out the house and onto the lane winding out of the estate. They looked happy, and from his office window Bruno could see them cheer. He smiled as he saw them march out. He took a papyrus scroll and a piece of wood to write with. First, he needed to take notes. He began.

“Note to self: buy storage space in Thebes. Think of a generous loaning system…”

The next day, as promised, Bruno arrived in the village with ox carts filled with grain. There were representatives from other communities as well, all very keen on dealing with this foreigner. It was a minority, though; most had thrown their lot in with the priests, distrusting the Councillor and his foreign influence. He could not blame them much, he probably wouldn’t trust himself in their shoes. With Ankhu, he walked among the small fields of their little farming village, talking about the improvements that could be made. It was mostly the same: ploughing, using manure… After all, the more these farmers made, the higher his own cut would be as well. From stories told by the peasants, Bruno also gathered that the pests were aphids, to which he knew an easy solution. He ordered the peasants to, when the time came, collect ladybugs, as those would eat the aphids without being a pest themselves. He didn’t know if it would help, but it surely was better than nothing. The following days, Bruno repeated this tour in the various villages that would take him on his offer, often being welcomed as a guest. While he liked helping these people, a large portion of his mind was busied with the future, and how he would take things from here. Perhaps this was his shot to get Pharaoh’s attention…


The name's James. James Usari. Well, my name is not actually James Usari, so don't bother actually looking it up, but it'll do for now.

Lack of a real name means compensation through a real face. My debt is settled

Part-time Kebab tycoon in Glasgow.

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Kingdom of Tunisia
Chargé d'Affaires
Posts: 360
Founded: Aug 20, 2017

Postby Kingdom of Tunisia » Fri Nov 03, 2017 7:44 pm

Hikma bin Naaifa's Dairy

May 1,
At last, we have finally reach our estimated stopping point from our expedition. However, we have come across important things such as collecting Copper ore for our invention. It is a interesting journey that we have been. I wonder how the Burmese will feel about being under Johorian rule but i may make this area "Autonomous" for the most part. But again, a interesting journey for us! Oh yeah, we also modernize our military a bit to make it like they are actually from the Philippines as well as changing our culture a bit. This is because we have found Silk from our way back from Burma. This is good for Villagers to wear. But again, we shall celebrate our successful expedition for the Johor Empire!


Jihvavan's Dairy

Finally, after 3 days of searching for a mysterious land we have finally found one! I have heard weird words that Hikma has to say such as "Borneo" and "Indonesia." There, we have found ourselves a stopping point for our exploration but we are not finished with our mission yet. I have a feeling that we might be in Borneo if we expand a bit further East to our stopping point. This is our greatest search yet!

Last edited by Kingdom of Tunisia on Fri Nov 03, 2017 8:05 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Posts: 3020
Founded: Jan 02, 2017

Postby Ulls » Sat Nov 04, 2017 10:27 am

City of Ego,

The sight of Turner coming had brought Jeb ready for anything. He accepted for the fact that he made a mistake and read the reports of Turner actually bringing life and prosperity to his part of Ego. His company was the one of the largest in Ego but the Mafia still hold the largest power in terms of economics as they started to expand their power within the Great Lakes and around Illinois as tribes started to gravitate towards that part of Ego opening it's doors to industrialized power of Chicago.

When Jeb heard of things like this, he was happy that his country became ambitious and was willing to start coming out of their sphere and started to become better as a whole.

When Turner was ushered into the room where Morning Star and Jeb were sitting near a stone fireplace and on wooden chairs with hemp-woven pillows.

Jeb's face was a facade of calm but he was ready in case this didn't happened to go by how it was supposed to go, in peace.

"Turner, glad to see you actually made it here. Guessing your bodyguards are here watching this meeting. Well both of ours are here." Jeb said.

"Turner," Morning Star spoke," I know this be a lot to take in but let's get this out of the way before we get to the core."

She punch her father in the shoulder and gave a deep sigh.

"Turner I'm sorry for what I did to you. It's my fault that your paranoid about the government trying to kill you, that my mistake and paranoia is about to rip Ego apart. I haven't been listening to you or my daughter when came to Ego and I have made this country fall in neglect but you and my daughter have done so much so and I sat thank you for that.

If you wish to kill me for vengeance and wish to start the war then all I got to say is good luck but before you do I want you to listen what I have to say as there's a threat that not just threaten Ego, but potentially the who world."

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The Holy Dominion of Inesea
Posts: 14650
Founded: Jun 08, 2012
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby The Holy Dominion of Inesea » Sat Nov 04, 2017 11:33 am


A gentle creek ran lazily along the edge of the fields just tilled. The water was clean and cool, chilling my bare feet as I lazed on the shore. Dozens of birds chirped and hummed above, while the the sounds of metal on wood clanged around. It was an interesting contrast, mother nature above and man below. These fields were the farthest from Delpha, towards neither Dimi nor Sesk. They were brand new fields, earth never tilled and mangled by the ravages of humanity’s advance before. Delpha was over twice her original size now, both from a massive latent increase in population and large amounts of migration. The denizens of Delpha, the Delphi, benefited just as the Dimi and Sesk did from basic hygiene, food security, and increased sanitation. Infant mortality dropped and birthrates surged. After all, we now needed more little farmers to work more land. It did sadden me somewhat. The inevitable growth of the Sympagis would come at the expense of nature itself. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the ravages of fossil fuels that did in this world, but the sheer need for farmland necessitated the removal of vast amounts of virgin forests. And the lumber itself was needed for new construction.

The weather truly was nice today. I was out with three other young men. Ostensibly, they were my friends and companions and likeminded nature lovers. In reality, they were my guards protectors. The nomadic groups of Peloponnese and bordering small farming hamlets had had mixed reactions to the explosive growth of the Sympagis. Some, like the Kytan fisherfolk, readily embraced the Sympagis. Though it had been but a season, the small clan was happily settled on a small peninsula two miles from Delpha on the bay. They had been semi-migratory for generations, but the allure of steady food supplies and, apparently, the teachings of Jesus Christ, lured them to us. There were many other stories like that. However, for every clan that wished to join us, there was another than hated our very being. Several huntsmen had been ambushed or killed when ranging in the woods and a small farming hamlet near Sesk was burned to the ground. The Sympagis were getting very concerned. Already, the chiefs were running their warriors and braves through simple training and exercises, to get them back into fighting form after a decade of peace. I truly wished to avoid a conflict, but Delpha was expanding and nothing could hold her back. I tried to get the Chiefs to train in a manner similar to the Phalanx of old or even a simple spear-and-shield wall. They would not abide by it. Combat was a highly individualistic affair to them. The bulk of the warriors would rush in and brawl it out in search of glory. The hunters did see merit to what I proposed, as they did not engage with spear or mace but with the bow. Firing en masse into the enemy right before a charge was a tactic they eagerly leaped upon. Before, they were merely scouts. Now they would play a role. I only hoped it would be enough.

I got up and picked up my satchel and bow. Thankfully, Boy Scouts had made me somewhat competent with archery. I was a long way from an English Longbowman, but I was not horrific. My three guardians arose with me. We trekked a bit into the woods. My original goal for today, besides getting waylaid by the peaceful creek, was threefold. First, I wanted to get a real lay of the land. This area was ripe for settlement and I wanted to maybe set up a small hamlet here. Second, I was looking for nice smelling flower, fruits, berries, and bark. Though I was rarely involved in its making anymore, I still lovingly cared for the soap industry that I started. It was perhaps the biggest non-primary cottage industry in the Sympagis. We traded it far and wide, usually through Imperial Merchants though increasingly through our own merchant family. Our cottage industries also created impressive amounts of salt, textiles, and tools. We were undoubtedly the most productive and wealthy state in Greece. But we were a drop of water in the ocean that was the Imperium. From what I could tell, that behemoth spread over most of Continental Europe. But they were a concern for generations to come. For now, I searched for aromatic elements to add to some of the soaps. Better smelling soaps could fetch a higher price on the market. Back on the Old Earth, I used to make soap in the summer. My favourite used powdered pine bark. And jam and jellies. Oh my god, I should teach these people how to make jams and jellies, lord knows we have the means to.

Mother fucker what the fuck just oh my god that hurts like a cunt Jesus Mary and Joseph is that an arrow in my fucking knee.

A thin, brown shaft protruded from my knee and I screamed and fell to the ground. My companions had already leapt into action. One of them knocked an arrow and let loose into the woods, I knew not where he aimed but felt a sinister sense of glee when another poor saps screams joined my own. Another one of my companions had immediately dropped and began to apply simple first aid. Break the shaft off at the head, douse in alcohol. Wrap carefully in bandages. It was, when viewed from a third perspective, amusing to see the man who introduced modern medicine being treated by it himself. And my final companion raced into the woods towards the screaming fellow, spear in hand. He came back a minute later, carrying a bloodied corpse. The arrow protruding right from his heart had done him in. An impressive shot.

We carefully made our way back to the city of Delpha. It took far longer than it did to go out and many farmers on our way back seemed infuriated when they saw me injured. It did make my heart swell with pride that I meant so much to these people but at the same time I was somewhat concerned. I, like anyone else who’d just been shot, was not feeling peachy towards my attackers. I did not; however, desire to start an ethnic war over it.

When we arrived at Delpha, I was taken to the local clinic where Revlon worked. He took one look at me and set to work immediately. I was proud of that boy. I also hated him wiht every fiber of my being as took the arrow out and sealed the wound. What I wouldn’t give for proper anaesthetics. At some point, I blacked out.

When I awoke, Revlon was crying by my bedside. It was shocking to see so powerful a man cry. I reached out and patted his shoulder.

“Rev, don’t just cause I took an arrow to the knee. I’ll be fine”

He looked at me with eyes that were drained of light. His frame racked once more and he uttered.

“He’s...gone. Just gone.. His head...Dimi”

“What Rev, what happened? Who is gone? What about the Dimi?”

“Paris, Paris father. Paris is dead. Someone stuck his head on a spear in the middle of the Dimi last night.”

I was shocked. First, Revlon and Paris only called me father when they were truly, absolutely, afraid. And god.. Paris was gone. My own son. I had cared for him as my own for a decade. A selfless man, who worked with the hamlets outside our reach. A real missionary of love.

“Who..who killed him?”

“They spear had a single horn stuck to it, painted red as blood. It was the Apolinu or their dogs the Laconii who did this. It was because he spread the true word of Christ. Those witch-priests in Aghonus didn’t tolerate him ministering anywhere near them. I told him to stick to the south, but after the fire..”

“Those...barbarians will pay for killing Revlon. Tell the chiefs that I seek an audience.”

Town Square

I hobbled into the Town Square, where the chiefs and warband leaders were assembled. We had built the town square four years past. It was where all political dealings occurred. The Aneoa, the Tclem, and the Patrikosi as well as representatives from the small clans that moved to Delpha were there.

Taking the center stage, I spoke the the assemblage.

“I’m an advocate of peace. My job is to preserve life, not take it. But sometimes, sometimes there’s a blight on the body that must be removed. And the Apolinu or their leaders are that blight. We, the Sympagis, we are the future. We are a shining light in the darkness. Heaven is on our side in this fight. We must remove them before they can do more damage. Anyone who opposes us, be they Apolinu or Ravenii, we will crush. Peloponnese is ours to rule. Have we not seen it? Paris and the others tried to bring civilization peacefully. They were killed for it. We must take by force what we could not bring in peace.”

The chiefs and clansmen nodded in approval. The Sympagis outnumbered the Apolinu 3 to 1. Aghonus was once the largest city in the region, it had long lost that crown to Delpha. Some two hundred and fifty braves would set out to do battle with the Apolinu. It was a half day’s hike to Aghonus from Delpha. Along the way, we passed by a nomadic band that often traded with us. Five of their hunters joined our group as guides, leading us to the Apolinu town in the quickest way possible. It was night when we reached the outskirts of the town. Unlike Delpha and her proud stone walls, the barbarians in Aghonus had a wooden set. Much more easily destroyed than stone. The Sympagis were out for blood today. The endless raids and murders would be repaid in full tonight.

A runner was sent to the town, giving them the ultimatum. Aghonus would bow to the authority of the Sympagis. Chief Udysos would be executed for the crimes of his people. His daughter would marry the oldest son of the Tclem of Sesk who would become the new chieftain of the village and it would join the Sympagis. If they abided by these terms, nobody but Udysos would die. If they failed to follow through, then the Sympagis would attack. The runner came back, badly bloodied. Udysos had chosen to fight.

The traditional warfare of the region came in two parts. One was pure skirmishing and ambushes in the woods and hills. The other was an open air brawl. This battle would be a brawl, perhaps the biggest in the region to date. The Sympagis had about a hundred spearmen, a hundred axe and clubmen, and fifty archers. The Apolinu fielded a similar number, but they were all club and axemen. They had no spearmen of note. And they were worse for wear on equipment. The Sympagis had fine bronze weapons and leather armor with some bronze. The Apolinu had copper and stone gear. And no archers.

The Apolinu charged forth from their glorified fence, bellowing and insulting the Sympagis. The men of the Sympagis walked towards them. From the rear, in a block formation stood myself and the archers. When a hunter in the group eyeballed their range, sixty odd archers loosed and a volley of heavy-shafted, stone arrows rained down upon enemy. We had iron, bronze, stone, and wood arrows, but we used stone for it was the best compromise of cost and effectiveness. The volley arced into the sky and landed in the rear of the mass of charging braves. A dozen staggered and fell. We loosed a second volley, this time coming up short and dealing death to another dozen. Our final volley before the two masses collided hit dead center, hitting at least two dozen warriors. And then the two forces collided.

The Sympagis force placed the spearmen in the center and axe and clubmen on the flanks. While there was no formation fighting, the rough cohesion of charging spears took a heavy toll. But I tore my eyes away from the fighting and began to organize my team. The hunter-archers kept a lookout over the field, some venturing close to take shots at groups of enemy men. I had eight Nurses and one surgeon with me. He had been trained by Revlon who remained in Delpha. Our fight was about to begin, when this one died.

The battle didn’t last long. The spear charge, archer volleys, and superior equipment eventually broke the Apolinu. In the actual fighting itself, perhaps 100 total were wounded from both sides. The fight ended when Chief Tclem Yannapol slew Chief Udysos. The Apolinu broke or surrendered after that, their morale shattered. The remaining leaders of the Apolinu approached us, asking for mercy. Though I was loathe to grant it, none of the chiefs of the Sympagis wanted to prolong the fight. It was agreed that Udysos Hana would marry Tclem Uiannos who would become the new chief of the village. The old leaders were allowed to maintain some semblance of power under Uiannos. Half of the braves stayed in Aghonus and half returned. I set up a field hospital in the town center and began to treat the hundred or so casualties. It was a tireless, thankless task. My staff and I worked day and night to try and bring back those we lost. Both Apolinu and Sympagis were treated with even and compassionate care.

The addition of Aghonus radically altered the nature of politics in the region. The Aneoa, the Tclem, and the Patrikosi were drawing ever closer together through intermarriage and bonds of camaraderie. The Tclem even split into two houses now, I realized, as Uiannos now ruled a town comparable to his father. I figured within two or three generations the three families would effectively merge into a dynasty. Sympagis now ruled more than just a city-state’s land. It governed a region.
I'm really tired

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Democratic Socialists

Postby G-Tech Corporation » Sat Nov 04, 2017 1:03 pm

Part 8, Chapter 5: A Memory in Pages

July 2nd, 85 AG

I stretched, the lower part of my spine silently popping most agreeably, and reached down. Half-sections of the logs I stacked on top of each other in their pile next to the chopping block, rough grain carefully handled to avoid that most egregious enemy of the woodsman: the splinter. My arms full, I inhaled the slow scent of pine after turned, the gravel of the area near my workshed crunching underfoot as I made my way across the yard and shouldered open the door to the kitchen.

"You're covered in woodchips, dear." My wife laughed as I entered, and I grinned wanly over the pile of freshly hewn wood, dumping it in the small pile that we had set aside near to the hearth.

"A hazard of doing business, I'm afraid. Do you need any more than that?" One of my callused hands indicated the quantity I had broken up for easy feeding into the fire, and Tanya's green eyes narrowed for a moment in thought, her lips pursed in their calculating pout that was so tempting to kiss. Seconds later her smile returned, a conclusion obviously reached.

"It should do- though you won't. If you want breakfast you had better go shower, you malodorous man." It was a barb that was playfully tossed, and it slid off of my back like so much water assailing a duck's plumage. Sure, I wasn't the best company after physical exertion, but that was only because my wife- and indeed, many of those I associated with regularly- had grown so accustomed to going about their days with a good wash. To me, and I knew to Tanya, the sweat of labor was clean and dusty-sweet, not like fear-sweat or the pungent aroma that attended outlanders with their lack of refined customs and opportunities.

Still, it had been an hour since dawn, and I never felt really human without a shower or bath to start the day. There were good reasons I chopped wood just after waking, when such a task was necessary; it meant that I didn't need to exert myself after that morning cleansing ritual. I stomped towards my wife's aproned form for a few steps, spreading my arms wide as if to enfold her in a bear-hug, and she shrieked with mock terror while fending me off with the long spoon that she was using to stir the porridge. Laughing, I broke off my assault, and blew a kiss to her which she affected not to notice, her back radiating high-born disapproval.

It was good to be alive.

I removed my boots at the door, thick leather worn from hard use now supple against my socked feet, and then padded upstairs via the staircase that linked the kitchen and our sitting parlor. One of the landings creaked as I trod upon its varnished fir planks, and I made a mental note to get Gracie to look at it. It was sad, to think that a woman should be the primary maintainer of a dwelling I called home, but it was a reality of the life I lived. Even today there was so much to do, men to meet, representatives to cajole; finding the time to grout tiles or refinish a chair was just impossible, and part of me pined for simpler days when I might have been able to spend hours on end merely laboring in the garden, or at work cutting new boards for a table.

Perhaps I was just getting old. I didn't look it, and neither did Tanya, but sometimes I felt like butter, scraped across too much bread.

That phrase itself made me smile internally. An echo of a life that had now receded in my own mind into mere myth and legend. But that couldn't be helped, not really. I still wondered some days if this was some sort of mad false reality, a fever dream of a coma into which I had fallen by some happenstance of a distant binge. But years had passed. Decades. My mind, whatever hallucinations I had thought it capable of conjuring, I did not think could keep up with such a strange and altogether real alternative, a life which was my own to live but so different from the one I had had before.

At any rate, it wasn't worth troubling myself over. I shrugged my way out of my grimy shirt and trousers, underclothes and all, and made my way over to the bathroom which adjoined our bedroom and parlor. Lovingly tended and oiled wood moved under my hand as I pushed the door open on hinges that glinted dimly in the morning light that streamed through the overhead skylight, and my feet cooled on the stone tiles. A slight shiver ran up my spine, and then I stepped into the shower, closing the mottled glass door softly behind me. Easy motions, much practiced through years near uncounted, and with the pull of the chain hot water streamed down from the beaten brass head that lowered over the tiles upon which I stood.

It was no Hilton. The water came at low pressure, her scrubbing force supplied not by the mains of a municipal service, but by gravity sucking down fluid from the attic of the dwelling. But it was hot, just below an unpleasantly scalding temperature, Gracie having stoked the small hearth beneath the tank when she arose at dawn, and it sluiced away the grime of a night's sleep and a morning's exertion as if they had never been. Soap, scrubbing deep into lines of dirt and sweat, and in a few minutes when the water began to run low and I closed off the spout I felt like a new man.

An unfailing ritual, and one I could grow acclimatized to do without in the field, but one which spoke of home almost as much as the scents of our kitchen and the sights of the rolling lawns beyond the walls of the sprawling cottage. I dressed in a new shirt of off-white linen, smooth against the skin, and coal-black trousers, and as I ate with Tanya in the kitchen, devouring a bowl of piping-hot oats sprinkled with a hint of brown sugar, the path outside the dining room window filled my vision for some unknown reason.

"You're quite this morning."

"A mind full leaves little room for words. I'm sorry love- just lost somewhere."

My wife smiled indolently, and her slender hands wrapped around my chest from behind, lips embracing the side of my neck after she had washed up her own bowl. I turned my head, making that kiss a proper affair, and then Tanya departed; I knew she loved her work at the orphanage a few miles distant in Kniepper, and it left me the morning and afternoon to my own devices.

And a niggling thought had been building in my mind since last night, that echo only a part of it. Upstairs I trekked again, engaging the link to the windmill that grumbled on our roof, and then down at the desk in my study I sat, sheaves of blank paper next to me and a pen at hand. A primitive device for setting one's words to a concrete medium, to be sure. One of these days I would have to take the time to figure out exactly how my ancestors had fabricated a typewriter. But it would do, I hoped, and back through the veil of years my memory wormed, seeking for that phrase I knew so well.

A scratch at the paper, large font, embroidered as my clumsy hand could manage over long years of use, but picturesque nonetheless.

The Fellowship of the Ring

By J.R.R. Tolkien
Adapted by Viktor Nemtsov

I looked at those words, and a giddy smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. I turned the next page, and began.

When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton...
TG if you have questions about RP. If I don't know the answer, I know someone who does.

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Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Skarten » Sat Nov 04, 2017 2:18 pm

Northern Honshu (Japan),Province of Dewa
Yaroshima's village.

Weeks had passed since Yaroshima introduced Bronze. For now, only the best warriors of the village (And Yaroshima, of course) were using the equipment, because of the difficulty to be made.
However, the author had plans to equip all his warriors with the new equipment once some villagers knew how to find the ores, of course.
But for now, Copper was enough.

Now, a description of the warriors in Yaroshima's village.

Common Footman, Or Simply Ashigaru used Leather armor, with Copper Weaponry. The Copper weapon is usually a pole arm (Yari, Naginata) Yumi bows, and in a lesser scale, primitive Jokoto Katana. Often used together with a Jidate or Tedate shield.

Higher Warriors, or Bushi (Samurai)would use leather clothing, with Tankõ style Copper armor for protection, and Bronze weaponry. However, their weapons would be the same as of the ashigaru-japanese polearms and the yumi bow.
On other hand, all of them had the Jokoto katana as a backup weapon.

These weapons were forged by Yaroshima and his blacksmith apprentices.

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Founded: Oct 20, 2015


Postby Leikmis » Sat Nov 04, 2017 11:38 pm

Far away, across the field
The tolling of the iron bell
Calls the faithful to their knees
To hear the softly spoken magic spell

Atoyac River, Mexico


The Village – Outer Hut

The vacant hut at the edge of the village, now filled, was almost never used. Before the leadership of Chieftain Irepani, his father had ordered its construction to hold prisoners of the village and raiders who attempted to take what little wealth the village possessed. These attacks had become more frequent, although still rare, as more of humanity moved south into the unknowns of the Americas, and thus became necessary. The dimensions of the hut were simple, fifteen feet by fifteen feet, seven feet tall and made of wood and sod and reinforced with cobble. The hut was surrounded on three sides by hill, making escape away from the village obvious as the robber would be on the high hills, and running into the village surely obvious.

He had been a resident at the hut for five days when he regained the use of most of his speak and motion. In those previous past days any questioning by the Chief and his pious students was jibbed or cut into slices by the slowly fading pain that spread throughout his body. Despite this ‘unwillingness’ to answer questions, no matter how angrily he was asked, he was still given a spare of native clothing and some maize to eat when he was hungered. However, on the fifth day of his stay he had managed to walk in the morning when he woke up, although with weariness and stumbling. His voice, which itself had been gradually fixing it’s problems since day one, was also no longer hurting so much as to stop much of his voice.

“Father! It’s is awake! It’s awake!” Gozio shouted from the entrance of the hut. Gozio had been brought along after the second day, switched with another one of the guards so that he may pay for his lies.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, one minute Gozio.” Irepani got up from his grass cot, heading for the main area of the hut. Several guards had turned from their posts at the entrance to look into the hut.

Irepani walked into the main room holding a stone crucible of fire commonly used as a ‘candle.’ “Ah, So it can stand, wonderful.” He got closer, some guards following close behind.

“Green eyes, tell us your name again.” The chief Irepani rolled his wrist a bit as he spoke.

“But, I’ve already said it before.” Zachaios said softly before coughing a bit, then holding his face with his right hand.

“Do it anyways, I want to hear such a strange name again.”

“My name is Zachaios.”

“Wonderful! Now why are you here?” He shouted out.

“I don’t know, I am just here.” Zachaios replied solemnly.

“Then tell us everything you remember of here, if you do not truly know we may as well know what you know.”

“I don’t know, I just woke up here, I swear I don’t know any more.” Zachaios sat down unto his cot, pressing his back into the corner somewhat defensively.

Irepani pointed his staff at Zachaios in a quick and swift manner,“You know more than you are letting on, continue. What we hear won’t be of any harm.” Unless this is actually a demon or he is a hardcore apostate.

“Before I was on that beach I was hit by a car while on a bike to work.”

The chief and his students, as well as the guards outside of the hut looked directly at Zachaios, in silence, dumbfounded by whatever a ‘bike’ or a ‘car’ was. Some of the students made connections of ‘bike’ and ‘car’ to the native language, interpreting them as beasts while Irepani and Masawa were curious to find out exactly what they were instead of instantly assuming that these vague and weirdly said words not found in the native language loosely meant a beast of some sort.

“What is, a ‘bike’ and, ‘a car,’ green eyes?” Irepani said slowly, intently staring at Zachaios.

“Oh, uhhhhhh,” Zachaios grabbed a stick from the ground and began to draw in the dirt. He crudely drew a bike frame, two wheels, a ‘bike chain,’ and a stick figure riding the bike. An arrow was drawn in front of the bike, showing it to go forwards.

“This is a bike.” Zachaios quietly said, looking down at his drawing.
They continued to stare, now at the drawing and at Zachaios.

“That is nothing that we have seen before, what does it do? What is that on it?”

“It moves. That guy on it makes it move.” Zachaios pointed the stick to the stick figure on the bike.

“Does it force him to move it?” One of the disciples said amid the silence.

“No, he makes it move because he wants to go faster than walking.” Zachaios began to draw a really badly drawn car into the dirt next to the bike, akin to that of a child drawing in quality.

“And is that a car?” Irepani pointed his staff to the drawing being constructed.

“Yeah, it goes faster than the bike, people sit inside of it.”

“Does it go because of the people or does it move on it's own?” At this point the students of Irepani would begin writing copies of the drawings into clay tablets.

“It moves because it has an engine,” Zachaios drew and arrow to the front of the car he had drew, writing “ENGINE” in english since he knew no word for engine in the native language and could not write his own version as they had no real writing system besides the symbols some of the students of Irepani drew, which meant singular things and not structured statements of questions.

“What's that you've scribbled?”

“Words.. that one means engine, the thing that makes cars go.”

“Odd.. It doesn't look like an picture or glyph we have seen, green eyes. Does the land you come from use glyphs like these?”

“..Well, yeah, it’s called English. Have you heard of it before?”

“No, we only know of our own glyphs, can you show us more of your “English” glyphs?” Purepechan pronunciation of english words were disgustingly botched, you might as well call them new words to the Purepecha dictionary.

“Yeah,” Zachaios said softly. He wrote a sentence in english, ‘I am seventeen years old.’

“Well now, what does it mean, does it mean ‘car?’”

“No no, it doesn't mean ‘car,’ it reads as ‘I am seventeen years old.’”

“They are strange and twisty and written so quick and easily. Our glyphs are etched and painted carefully, like the ones on my staff which tell the story of our ancestors and the river.” He highlighted the glyph pictures on them for all to see, and which all of his followers understood. “But that is a story for if you get out of here.” Irepani tried to copy the english writing, making some sense out of them and how the different letters, like the different pictures on his staff, all related. It did not help that Zachaios hand-writing was a god awful mix of cursive and manuscript that looked good from far away and terrible up close.


“Green eyes, are you the only one you know of here that knows your glyphs?” He placed his staff back to the ground, both hands holding it in place.

“Yes, why?” he replied, not softly as before and more in a worried and high pitched tone, worried these would get them killed like the roman who discovered bendy glass and showed it to the emperor.

“It is possible to learn these?”

“Oh, well, yeah.. I guess. I am a bad teacher though, but I could try.”

“Good! If you turn out of this damned hut we will learn.” And if he is actually a demon the glyphs will be forced out him.

“Oh.” Zachaios did not share the same enthusiasm to become a teacher as Irepani did to be taught.

“Now, of that land you come from with the ‘car’ and ‘bike,’ what else is it like? Can you describe it?”

“Oh, well, it's cold in the winter and warm in the summer.” He had to explain in basic terms, else they wouldn't understand, and, seeing as they were technically charging him as a potential demon, he couldn't highlight the bad parts of his home. “There is corn and crop everywhere, most isn't needed for food though and is either sold or used for fire and heat.” He took the stick and drew a corn field and a home with a fireplace in it. “The homes are made of stone and metal, only some are made of wood, and none of dirt.”

“Do you have a name for this place green eyes?” Irepani inquired.

“Illinois..” Zachaios said gently, hoping that Irepani would not pronounce it incorrectly like the other words. His thinking of his home made him tear up a bit, but his anxiety made him hold back actually tears.

“A beautiful land it seems. Do you wish to go back there?”


“I see. Enough questions and explanation and unknowns for now, have some corn meal, it is morning and we will not bother you again until the sun is high.

Irepani, Gozio, Masawa, the two other students of Irepani, and the five guards inside of the hut leave, closing the wooden door behind them. Most of the event had been written in the glyphs of the village on clay tablets in the form of small images of things.
Last edited by Leikmis on Sat Nov 04, 2017 11:43 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Democratic Socialists

Postby Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States » Sun Nov 05, 2017 9:04 am

The hot summer of Egypt was the perfect time for an outdoor celebration in the cooler evenings. Bruno’s fields now supported flowing seas of gold-coloured grain, dancing fondly in the summer breeze. They were far from fully-grown, but even then his agricultural improvements seemed to have made their mark. The wheat was higher than it was on the lands of any of the other estate farmers, and to celebrate that he decided to have a feast. Not only that, but the nearby farms had solved the problem of the aphid plague using ladybugs, meaning the next food shortage had probably been averted. To celebrate this occasion, Bruno had invited all the estate farmers of Thebes to the wooden pier he had constructed on the banks of the Nile, to allow for easier transportation of his goods. So far, he had mostly been transporting building materials to his estate, but since the farmers had loaned some of his grain, it had been used for exporting, too.

The docks were illuminated by torches and fire bowls placed strategically along the ground. Music was played by a few players of instruments: Bruno found the sound horrid, but apparently the others liked it, and he still had to do his best to blend into the local culture. Holding this party was not just for the fun of it: in fact, far from it. It was meant to achieve more contacts for when Bruno had to export his wares. He also had one additional scheme, which he was explaining to one of his guests as he was walking along the banks of the Nile.

“So, let me get this straight” his guest said, his face pensive as he pondered what Bruno had just said.

“You will store my gold and silver… And I don’t have to pay you a thing?”

“That’s correct” Bruno answered, to the point. He was getting better at this. “As you might have seen, I’m constructing secure granaries and warehouses at the edge of town. I will also construct a safe there, guarded by only the most loyal of soldiers”

“How will you make money, then? What’s in it for you?” the guest asked. It seemed to him inconceivable that someone would do something for another person for naught. Which was understandable: Bruno was not doing it for nothing at all. Being charitable didn’t get you anywhere.

“Well, in return, you will allow me to reinvest your funds” Bruno added. “People who want to expand their ventures can come to me for a loan. I will grant them this, in exchange for a share of their income”

The blank stare from his guest was enough to see that he didn’t quite grasp what Bruno had brought forward. This couldn’t really be blamed on him; he was preceding venture capitalism by quite a few thousand years. However, it was one of the few business models that he could effectively introduce to Egypt. Limited liability companies were far, far beyond their comprehension, as were stock markets. He would have to ease them into this system, which is partially why he had organised this party in the first place.

“You’ll understand it when you see it” Bruno said plainly as they arrived back at the pier, where the other guests were conversing as well.

“Let’s just say that I’m going to make more money with what you place in my care, and that my profits are the difference”

This the guest seemed to gather. He was puzzling the pieces together, and seemed quite at ease with the prospect. Every estate farmer, every nobleman and magistrate, had to watch their own valuables, after all. Every family had their own dungeons in which they kept their gold and silver, protected by mercenaries or slaves. Neither could always be trusted, and these soldiers of fortune came in wildly varying qualities. Centralising this effort was a hole in the market. However, thus far, the only business schemes had involved paying a guy with a safe to do it for you, which was actually more expensive than doing it yourself. Bruno hoped to exploit this market fully by monopolising it immediately. For example, by promoting it during a party.

“Alright, I’m in” the guest said. There was a smirk about his face that exhumed more than just business confidence. Bruno was a stranger, after all, and not well-known. His guests, however, all had prevalent connections with the Pharaoh and the magistrates. One ill move of Bruno and he would be hung, drawn and quartered, with his lands probably going to the corrupt state officials, who would then transfer it among the various creditors. Taking this into account made it a very safe bet to go for, especially if others joined in as well. Others had joined in already, Bruno had told, most likely because of that very same reason. It was win-win for them: if he did as he said, he would take care of large sums of gold and silver and other valuables. If not, well… Short drop, sudden stop.

“Good, good” Bruno said. He found it somewhat morbid that his death was calculated into an equation, but he knew it would not matter. He trusted himself, and that was good enough.

“Please, follow me” he said, walking onto one of the boats lying in wait at the pier. There, they had some privacy. Bruno sat behind a wooden desk prepared for him, while his guest took a seat opposite. A few sheets of papyrus were pulled out.

“Alright, here’s at it goes. In return for your gold and silver, I will give you sheets of papyrus as proof of payment. They won’t be attached to a name, so take good care of them. Your gold can be retrieved by anyone showing up with this piece of papyrus”

“Doesn’t sound very safe” the guest said, which Bruno had anticipated.

“It is, however, very easy. In the future, if you have to pay someone, you don’t have to get your gold and silver in person. You can just give them this slit of papyrus” Bruno explained, finishing up setting his personal seal on the last papyrus scrolls. After finishing up, he handed the scrolls over to his guest in a sack.

“Good doing business with you my lord” Bruno said.

“And you” his guest answered in return. Soon, he had re-joined the others, having given his sack to one of his servants. Bruno quickly followed. He had already secured quite a few patrons with gold and silver, enough to actually make his business venture viable and profitable. However, there was still much to be done. Clients had to be found as well. Moreover, he needed contacts in the government. The Theban administration was notoriously corrupt. The positions of magistrates were often either sold outright or left to the oldest children, meaning there was no place for meritocracy. Pharaoh, in his eternal wisdom, was not at all concerned with this. He was more worried about the southern tribes pillaging his holdings and mines near Nubia. He was a man of the foreign agenda, not one for improving the inner workings of Thebes. It was something Bruno would have to alter, if the time came. He smiled at the idea of him being a deep state banker, the scourge of any conspiracy theorist. It scared him sometimes how much the potential future intrigue delighted him.

“You look quite happy” a strange voice said. Bruno was violently shaken out of his daydream. He had a tendency to float away in his own thoughts. My writing style is a reflection of that, coming to think of it. His mind just wandered off on a tangent, only to be shaken out by outside forces.

As Bruno looked up, he saw a man approach whom he’d heard about. Huy-Pinhas, a priest in service of the Pharaoh. If there ever was an embodiment of corruption in Thebes, it was this man. He was the royal advisor on agriculture and land improvement, which meant he was Pharaoh’s eyes, ears and hands when dealing with farming and irrigation. His methods were well-known. For a slight fee he was willing to overlook tax burdens on his friends, while doubling down on peasants to make up the difference. Economically, his policy was disastrous. It prohibited any form of social mobility. Not that there was any to speak of in 3000 BCE, but policies like this only made it worse. It was partially because of his policies that the farmers had come to Bruno for aid. Meanwhile, Huy-Pinhas dealt in land speculation near the Nubian tribes, buying land on the cheap after every military campaign, and selling them for large amounts if he knew the enemy was coming to raid again. Being in the capital, he could not do as much damage, but his henchmen did just as well for themselves down south.

“Greetings, my lord priest” Bruno said, bowing deeply for the priest. It was culturally appropriate, but he really didn’t want to do it. Corruption was, in his own eyes, one of the worst crimes, a drag on society and the economy. Being so prevalent, there was little he could do about it. If Huy-Pinhas came to you, you could be sure that there was something to be worried about.

“Greetings, lord Councillor. Your reputation precedes you” the priest said. Bruno wondered if he meant his reputation for taking care of banking matters, a reputation that was two hours old at most.

“I hear you are doing very well for yourself these days. Your agricultural advancements are the talk of the town”

Bruno bowed in thankful response to the compliment, as tradition demanded. However, he was about ready to gut the priest right now. The priest knew Bruno was a stranger to these lands, and that he as a government magistrate had much power over his wellbeing. It was not like the rights of man were respected 4500 years before being written.

“They were simple improvements, my lord” Bruno answered. “Easy to implement, if you set your mind to it”

Whether the priest understood the jab he didn’t notice, because he went through unabated.

“Your knowledge in the field could be of use to me, Councillor. Of use to the Pharaoh, I mean. If you were to come and work with me in my office as advisor, you could have a lot to gain from it”

Especially that last sentence made Bruno tremble with anger. Not only was he suggesting Bruno should work for him and his cronies, probably enriching themselves of his improvements while further destabilising the markets. The priest probably saw the disdain spew forth from the eyes of Bruno, because he immediately went all-in to quash ideas of rebellion.

“Of course, it would be a shame if you were to be found guilty of any seditious behaviour, wouldn’t you say?”

With that, the debate was as good as over. Bruno had no choice. He was a stranger in strange lands, and this priest could have his head in a spike by tomorrow. He swallowed. Suddenly, pictures of the Shawshank Redemption passed in front of his eyes. A shame he would never see that movie again. If he woke up, if this was a dream, he would have to rewatch it. All the possible modes of action passed through his mind, but they all arrived at the same conclusion. It was either crucifixion or collaboration. He sighed, as he moved his hand to shake the priest’s, who happily accepted.

“Marvellous” the priest said, handing him a goblet of wine. “To our health!”

“Yeah…” Bruno said. “Our health…”
The name's James. James Usari. Well, my name is not actually James Usari, so don't bother actually looking it up, but it'll do for now.

Lack of a real name means compensation through a real face. My debt is settled

Part-time Kebab tycoon in Glasgow.

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Founded: Apr 22, 2016

Postby Labstoska » Sun Nov 05, 2017 9:55 am

John Collins
Now that the Divine Khanate had established itself on the Yangtze river John now began to prfioritize the creation of a culture for the Khanate, something that would represent the Khanate as they expanded down through the Yangtze. The first thing John introduced to the Khanate were ceramics which he had spent a few days a few days attempting to create a kiln and then spent a few days experimenting with clay. In the end he had managed to create a few fairly nice looking bowls and a mug, the hobby of sculpting with clay quickly passed throughout the Khanate as their markets were flooded with a large influx of ceramic goods, some were quite beautiful and elegantly sculpted while others tended to simply be mounds of clay. Another thing that John had been attempting to introduce to the people of the Khanate was literacy however the incident with the schoolhouses lead to the people of the Khanate disliking the more academic aspects of John's new culture.

In order to encourage literacy among the Khanate John decided to attempt to use religion in order to bring around his will once more. John now isolated himself for many weeks as he attempted to copy out everything that he remembered about the bible onto large amounts of papyrus. After many months of work he had finally completed it, of course John's version of the bible was far shorter and many parts of it had been slightly altered or in some places it was completely made up however John still believed that it conveyed the message of God . Then John began to create a separate organisation consisting of bureaucrats from both the ministry of Labour and the ministry of agriculture in order to create more of John's version of the bible, these people were known as the scribes and from the moment they were appointed to their new roles they immediately began work on new copies of the bible. Soon John had a large stockpile of holy books which he promptly announced to the public as the definitive word of God. After John had announced the creation of his own bible the amount of people who were enlisting into the schoolhouses was so much so that two new ones were required to be created as the masses realised that if they were to understand the true word of God then they would have to swallow their pride and accept the new order.

While John had also been creating a culture for the Khanate he had also been introducing reforms to the Free company now that the discovery of tin and the creation of bronze had created an array of new weapons for the Khanate and John believed that it was now time to reorganise the Free company into a more effective fighting force. First of all John ceased to be the direct leader of the Free company instead they were to be put under the control of a new ministry of war who were in charge of providing the Free company with supplies and weapons. Then going further down the ranks the free company was to be divided into 9 regiments each under a regiment commander, then these 8 regiments would be divided into two brigades which would be commanded by a brigadier general. These changes were welcomed by the Free company as seen as they had been longing for greater autonomy from the command of John himself. One regiment however would not be under the command of the Brigadier generals instead this regiment was to become known as the Khan's guard and they were to come under the direct control of John. The Zealous were to receive no autonomy as seen as John knew the danger of letting his secret police get out of hand for he had sworn that he would never again let the Khanate escape his grasp.

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The Hierophancy
Posts: 875
Founded: Oct 24, 2016
Compulsory Consumerist State

Postby The Hierophancy » Sun Nov 05, 2017 10:44 am


I returned with my pack full of the goddess's gifts near midday, and before long news spread that the odd, pale skinned foreigner who trudged off looking for divine boons had returned with a full knapsack. Soon enough there was a knot of people - mainly the women & children not at work in the fields, along with a few of the hunters - had gathered by the meager adobe hut I'd been occupying intermittently for a good few months now, eager to catch a glimpse of what Kwerawáperi had sent them. After a few minutes of passing about some of the stone's I'd recovered and explaining how I'd found the minerals, the general consensus seemed to be moderate disappointment - though, after a few tentative licks at my behest, the people of Colote did agree that the dull red, damp rocks did taste of human blood - fitting considering that I'd been led to them by a stream of the mother-goddesses' own life essence. Before the gathered natives could disperse, however, I cleared my voice and, in my best biblical-prophet voice, made a proclamation.

"Kwerawáperi's gifts are not as they appear, my friends, for - like the Earth itself - they hold great power and value under a humble exterior. The Great Sun, Kurikaweri, has sent to me instructions, a vision that has shown me the true potential of his wife's boons, a process to unlock their great and terrible abilities! I promise to you that by two moons time, this potential shall have been fulfilled!"

My rousing speech was met with, for the most part, apathy. A few of the womenfolk resumed talking among themselves, but most, after hearing me out, went back to their daily routine. Tlatli lingered to applaud my predictions, though whether or not his applause was genuine or sarcasm is up for debate. By the time I had made it the short distance to the open cavity I liberally referred to as my "front door" the only person remaining was the revered speaker himself, painted entirely black though unburdened by the feathered headdress he oft wore during official ceremonies, though he retained the sandals that, if the handful of merchants I'd spoken to were to be believed, were largely restricted to the upper class - sandals that I envied greatly after a few days of trudging through mud. He had been observing one of the chunks of ore being passed around, and, after taking one last look at it, handed it back to me.

"It is good to have you back, Uikixu-Úrhi - these bloodstone gifts of Kwerawáperi are interesting, to say the least, though not the most beneficial of boons we have received. Is it true that you have received visions on how to convert these curiosities into useful goods?" I nodded aggressively.

"Of course, Revered Speaker - I would never lie about the gods. They have told me how to build a machine, a structure, one to turn this useless rock into a strong material superior to stone, wood, or even obsidian! By simply he-"

"Yes, yes, of course, Uikixu. I trust that the gods message has been well memorized by yourself, or at least scratched upon one of your slates. You are truly blessed to have been chosen by Kurikaweri to deliver to us this gift, mayhaps it is the reason you appeared on our shores in the first place. I wish you luck on your ventures." Tsijiari gave me a paternal pat on the shoulder and set off towards the temple, carefully avoiding the puddles and patches of near-liquid mud scattered about the village.

Clambering through the slightly dripping hole leading into my "home"'s interior, I found the floor here very similar to the soggy, puddle strewn ground outside. I suppose such was the consequence of not owning a proper door. Sighing loudly, I tossed my pack to the driest remaining area within my hut - atop the crudely made clay jars that held my surplus charcoal - and once more left my home, setting off towards the nearest clay deposit, a well-dug pit not far from the lake which kept the village's crops well watered. The fields and homes I passed on my way there had been quite badly damaged by the storm - the thatch roofs were sagging and sodden, the crops limp or, having been washed away by the torrent, floating in the nearby lake, from which they were being plucked by a troop of glum looking farmers. I wondered if the people of Colote would even be wealthy enough to pay for my "divine" iron when it was finally up for sale. Worries for another day I suppose - now it was time to start digging.

With my already travel and rust stained pack now filled with damp, squishy clay, I returned home. It took a bit of poking and wandering about to find a dry patch of land in the area behind my hut, but with a small plot of solid earth secured, I began to pile up my clay in a rough chimney shape. My grasp on furnace building was, to say the least, limited, and I was largely unsure of what my clay-lumps dimensions should be, so I made sure to make the walls of more-than-ample thickness and attempted a rough approximation of the mud-and-clay forge's I'd seen in pictures. After digging a hole in the front of the lump to, I suppose, let out the liquid iron, and another in the back to allow for air to reach the fire. After a few moments of struggling to remember what an iron furnace looked like, I decided to quickly run back home and grab one of the small, baked-clay cups I drank out of. Smashing it against a rock repeatedly achieved the desired effect - a jagged hole on one end of the stubby vessel, transforming it into a sort of makeshift pipe or tube. This, I shoved into the small air-hole, slapping on a bit of extra mud and clay to satisfactorily anchor it. With the general form completed, I piled up some charcoal in the damp "furnace"'s central cavity, scattered about a bit of wood fiber and even some highly-flammable latex for good luck, and, after a few minutes struggling with my tiny bow-drill, managed to set the thing alight.

It took only a few hours for the furnace to harden to a level I found acceptable, and by the next day I was ready to begin smelting. Piling the thing high with charcoal and rusty-red ore, I once more set it alight and waited for the wonders of civilization to come pouring out the bottom. I spent hours waiting before the forge, eagerly anticipating my first batch of pure-enough iron. Unfortunately, by the time the flame sputtered out and I summoned up the courage to begin rummaging around, I found the ore to be less molten and more slightly-blackened. I decided that the fire must not be hot enough. It took a few hours, but I was eventually able to create something resembling a fan of sorts out of clay, a spinning pusher of air. The whole thing was, of course, shamelessly plagiarized, though I doubt that the YouTuber whose video gave me at least the idea for it was in any position to protest. I also decided it would probably be best to break up my ore a bit - iron powder seemed easier to melt than entire rocks, after all. Smashing rocks with other rocks would take up the rest of my day, unfortunately, giving me no time to attempt an additional smelt.

After another breakfast of tortilla and possibly-spoiled chili sauce, I prepared for my second smelting. This time I decided to get the fire nice and warm before adding ore, starting it off with wood and tinder before moving on to charcoal, all whilst spinning my clay bellows and day dreaming about steaks, barbecue, and warm showers. Once I deemed the flames glowy and hot-looking enough (desperately hoping metallurgy wasn't too exact of a science) I began to heap in the rusty ore powder along with some extra charcoal to feed the all-consuming fire. My arms were tiring, but the sight of cherry-red molten mineral oozing out of the large, forward cavity reinvigorated me. Eventually, the flow began to slow down, and I decided it was time to stop blowing in more air and extract what was left on the bottom of the furnace, though I'd have to be quick about it considering the fact that I was using sticks - metal tongs were in short supply among a people who barely knew what metal was. It took a great deal of digging about, a dozen near burns, a good few actual burns, and 4 additional sticks, but eventually I was able to dig something out of the furnace - a roughly potato sized misshapen lump of glowing material and black debris. I wondered if I hadn't gotten the furnace hot enough - the purpose of these things was to melt metal, right? Or maybe I had taken to long, and the iron had solidified? Whatever the case, I'd made a thing, and decided to leave it at that for the day - hours of incessant spinning and digging had left me quite spent, so after clumsily moving my lump into a waiting bowl of lukewarm water, I went back to my pallet and promptly fell asleep.
Last edited by The Hierophancy on Sun Nov 05, 2017 10:45 am, edited 1 time in total.

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G-Tech Corporation
P2TM RP Mentor
Posts: 59208
Founded: Feb 03, 2010
Democratic Socialists

Postby G-Tech Corporation » Sun Nov 05, 2017 11:15 am

Eastern Outpost, Yekrenia

The chanting grew louder, more insistent, and the garrison commander looked down in despair at the mob that roared against the light wooden barricade his men had been able to throw up before the storm broke. They were legion, hundreds, maybe thousands. In his room the men were quiet, here at the top of the squat fortified tower, but the sound of the defenses splintering and breaking was more than he could bear.

"Alright lads. They want to have us, they're going to pay the butcher's bill."

A firm hand took the spear from where he had rested it against the wall, the copper tip worn and notched from hard use of late, and with a stern gaze about the barracks the commander frowned and stomped toward the stairs. Footsteps behind him were welcome, but there was little for it at this point, one man against hundreds or a dozen.

"Yamat! Yamat! Glory to Yamat!"

Fucking radicals. The commander hefted his weapon, and then rumbled down the staircase like an avalanche. The first religious fanatic was just stepping over the splintered remains of the garrison door when the commander's spear entered the left side of his chest, rapturous fervor suddenly doused by a length of metal to the lung. He fell easily enough, the commander clearing his weapon with a sucking sound that made his stomach do a slow flip-flop, but through the gap swarmed four more of the ragged mob members, bearing crude weapons and more than game for a scrap even if they came out the other side as corpses.

"Come on you bastards! For the people of Yekrenia!"

It took the better part of five minutes before the garrison were nothing more than spirits sent to the afterlife, but the Yamatzon had taken another outpost off of the hated Politburo, 'liberating' a good stockpile of weapons for their holy crusade against the unbelievers.

The Shores of the Yangtze

It was one fine day of summer when the farmers stopped hoeing and picked up their pitchforks, marching for the center of the burgeoning settlement that might one day be a city. Their demands were many, and varied, but some of those often repeated were a demand for less bureaucracy, for more food, for lower taxes. Some of the men were skinny, their children looking half-starved, womenfolk barely more than skeletons. The many departments and administrations of the Khanate were literally eating the farmers out of house and home, a non-productive workforce, in the eyes of the farmers, that only ate and did not contribute. Soldiers, bureaucrats, teachers, priests; the folk of the Khanate were yet new introduced to farming, ill-accustomed to it, and it was a struggle at times to feed even their own kindred, let alone give up substantial parts of their harvest to the government at spearpoint and starve in silence.

And so they revolted. One of the new schools burnt first, torched by angry men whose children had left the farm work to learn letters, only to find that learning was choosing between eating and knowing the Scriptures. Some had begun to embrace the old faith anew, the gods of the trees and the rivers and the open sky, and others had simply moved away from the Khanate, drifting back north and returning to the ways of their ancestors, of hunting and gathering instead of this scrabbling in the dirt day and night only to go to be hungry.

That was even reckoning without the Pale-Men of the east, strange black-haired savages whose patrols had been seen infrequently by the farmers gazing out at them from under the branches of the trees of the great wood. There were those in the community who said that hunters who strayed too far from the settlement down the Great River did not return- and not all of those rumors were false.
TG if you have questions about RP. If I don't know the answer, I know someone who does.

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Postmaster of the Fleet
Posts: 26560
Founded: Aug 06, 2012
Father Knows Best State

Postby Ralnis » Sun Nov 05, 2017 11:19 am

Prologue: Whims of Fate
Flagstaff, Arizona

Bob's home was his workshop, nothing could make it any better. Made his living with an at home business and working on gadgets that he will never use unless in convictions was something he can asked for. Sure. there's a time every now and then that he wanted to use his gadgets but only get to as a means of showing off. He was driving to the local hardware store to try something he saw on the internet. The local store wasn't that big for his neighborhood but it was one that wasn't a commercial chain so he was happy.

He got flatheads for the clockwork figurines and gears for his Steampunk crossbow, things for his goggles among other things. This cost him a couple hundred dollars as with some discount as he walked out of the store and saw the sun being a little bit too bright for an Arizona afternoon. He chalked it up that he switched his glasses out for a normal pair because transitions were too expensive for him.

As he got back to his house, he checked his mail for bills and went to his jukebox to put on California Soul and got to work. Most people who came see him mostly wanted him to repair or restore radios and rarely took any of the stuff he actually wanted to sell but that was life for him. Music and the sound of ticking gears and cogs made his soul feel at peace but he always wanted more out of his station in life.

As he finally went in the shower, at his dinner and did his daily nightly rituals, he went to bed but as he took off his glasses he saw that the room was all wavy and he slowly put his glasses back on and started to feel a heavy sleep. Lights started to get brighter and overwhelming his sight and his eyes grew heavy and closed against his wishes.

10 Miles from Karlburg, Eastern Imperium
August, 85 AG/2915 B.C

Bob moaned as he rolled around the dirt. The cold air of the forest was rushing up the naked body that made him instantly grab anything that resembled a blanket. After a few tries to get something to cover his body, he started to open his eyes and saw trees and grass around him. He turned his head and saw his glasses laying in the dirt with some plant residue on it.

He cleaned the glasses as he put them on as he truly saw what was around him.

" Trees? What the hell is this all about?" He started to move his head left and right to see nothing but trees and wet grass.

Then the realization hit him.

" Why? Why the fuck am I naked? Where am I? This isn't Arizona!"

As he got up he tried to cover up but there was nothing around but leaves. As he started to move closer on higher ground he saw a town with smokestacks and a railroad. It seemed but he had nothing better to do but he can't go in screaming for help, he had to take it slow and understand his surroundings and just what happened to him.
Last edited by Ralnis on Sun Nov 05, 2017 11:19 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Pasong Tirad
Posts: 10326
Founded: May 31, 2007
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Pasong Tirad » Sun Nov 05, 2017 11:47 am

Arsenio Lacson,
or Arsenios Thalassos

Outside Athínai

Nine Weeks Since Arriving

He spent all of the next day with Elder Thespis. They studied out in the open air on the Rock of the Acropolis, where Elder Thespis discussed the situation in the region, Attikḗ, they called it. Including Athínai, there were thirteen villages in the area, some of them close by like Peraiós, the port near the beach where Arsenio washed up on, a port village of about two dozen families of fishermen (around 100 people); and the farthest towns that they know of and consider part of the region are Aigostána to the north, a small port village of around 500 inhabitants that often trades with the Imperium, and Mégara to the west, another port village right on the isthmus, which is the midway point between traders from the Imperium and from the Peloponnese and is probably as large as - if not larger than - Athínai. "It will take years, maybe even a decade or more," said Elder Thespis, "but I know that Attikḗ will be united under the leadership of Athínai. You have to know this, Thalassos. You have to study these settlements, and properly. They will be your enemies and your allies. In ten or more years, when I'm gone, the true test for Athínai will begin. They respect me enough to stay away from Athínai, but once I am gone, you and Kleomaki and every other Athínaioi will have to strike out and unite Attikḗ under one banner. Now, tell me all the names of the villages. Once you know their names, you will know who they are."

It took a while of learning - learning the number of inhabitants in the area, what their primary work is, who they trade with and contact, who their allies and enemies were, whether or not they were warlike people or not, but Arsenio was able to figure it out, and even draw a mental map of the area (it was probably wrong, and he shouldn't be trusted with knowing the area - he hasn't even left Athínai ever since he arrived). It took a full week of talking with the Elder Thespis. This whole week was enough to convince Arsenio that this area of tribes and villages did need to be united. He didn't want to be the one to do it, but he knew it had to be done. Elder Thespis was talking to him as though he was going to be staying here for the long term. Arsenio still wanted to go home, Elder Thespis was convinced that Athínai is his home.

"Aigostána, Áfidná, Brauron, Dekéleia, Elefsís, Marathṓn, Mégara, Oinói, Oropós, Peraiós, Ramnoús, and Thorikó."

"And which village do we have to concern ourselves with?"

"Dekéleia. They have maybe two or three hundred people, but because of their warlike ways, Athínai's relationship with them is rocky, at best, and bloody, at worst."

"Indeed, Arsenios. You may not be a warrior now, but I am sure you will be. This is the way of our world. If you do not learn how to fight, you will perish. But worry not, you have the potential. I saw how you defended yourself against the people when you wanted to save that pack of hounds. It was not a wise move, and the rest of the village is already very suspicious of you-"

"But it was the right thing to do."

"Yes, I believe it was. But the people regularly go hungry, especially in the winter, and the hounds were meat. It is not for you to decide these things, Arsenios. You are not Archon yet."

"I can't be Archon if the people don't trust me. I don't even want to be Archon."

"But you have to be, Arsenios. The gods have decided this, not me. You washed up on our shores, not the shores of the Imperium, not the shores of Byzantium, Crete, Cyprus or Egypt. Our shores. Worry not, you will earn their trust soon enough. They no longer whisper behind your back as you pass by-"

"They what?!"

"-It would be better for you to earn their trust in battle, but if you'd rather not, it can be earned plenty of other ways. You still have a a debt to pay for the home they helped build for you and the clothes they put on your back. Maybe work off that debt, and possibly do more. Do not worry, Arsenios. By the time I'm gone, you'll gain their trust."

Ten Weeks Since Arriving

The next week, several traders came in from the Peloponnese. Arsenio only knew one thing of that place: the place where the Spartans came from. But he seriously doubted whether the Spartans actually existed at this time. They arrived with an unusual mixture of goods. One trader had plenty of medicinal items, but they went straight for the Elder (Arsenio believes that they probably have some kind of deal). Another had some bronze and copper items, including tools and several daggers and swords, nothing really rare but it is uncommon. What really caught Arsenio's eye, however, was the soap.

"This is soap," Arsenio said, amazed. He had this notion that soap was a modern invention - maybe 19th or 18th century, but he understood enough of the time period that he was convinced this time was nowhere near the 18th or 19th century. "Where's this from?"

"You knew around here, aren't 'ya?" the trader laughed as he spoke. "It's from Delpha in the Peloponnese. From the Sympagis. What hole have you been living in?" Arsenio made a mental note to ask Elder Thespis about the Sympagis. Elder Thespis failed to mention them in their many lessons about Hellas, but he wasn't really concerning himself with anything outside Attikḗ except for the Imperium.

Actual soap. Something modern. He hadn't been able to take a proper bath since he arrived (he'd wash himself at the river, but there was never really any soap involved), so the soap was a godsend. Luckily, he was getting better at the hunting (well, kind of?) and was able to catch two hares yesterday. He traded them for a bar of soap and he was just thrilled to high heavens. He quickly ran back home, got Manila to come with him (she had learned how to stay at home and how to follow him through a large crowd), and they went off running towards the river, somewhere downstream where he wouldn't be noticed and the soap water wouldn't inconvenience the other Athínaioi.

Manila loved the water. She was prancing around the shallow part of the stream, and followed Arsenio around wherever he swam. But, Arsenio wasn't here to swim. He was here to bathe. He got the soap wet and he just kept rubbing. Every single nook and cranny of his naked body was fully soaped up. The foam was filling up the stream, and he occasionally blew bubbles for Manila to chase around. And when he rinsed himself off, it was Manila's turn. She tried licking the soap once and then winced in disgust. But, she allowed herself to be washed. The soap clung to her fur, ruining the smoothness of her coat. But Arsenio knew it would only be temporary. Once Manila had dried off, it would be as if she were a new dog.

This was the happiest Arsenio felt since he got Manila. He's better now, but still far from actually being okay. He made another mental note to go back to the stream to wash his clothes with the soap. Maybe tomorrow, if the trader was still there, he'd try and barter for more soap. As he got home he got ready to roast a hare. He was getting better at the skinning and chopping up of dead animals. Most of the meat would go to Manila, but Arsenio was fine with that. As long as Manila was happy, he was content. He even forgot about going over to Elder Thespis' house to ask him about the Sympagis and their soap.

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Arulean States
Posts: 1228
Founded: Mar 24, 2013

Postby Arulean States » Sun Nov 05, 2017 2:58 pm

Virginia, Near Present-Day Norfolk, April 2915 B.C. Day Seven
Although progress had certainly been made, it was far from satisfactory. It turns out, modernizing a pre-wheel society proved harder than in any of the books I had read. Runners had been sent to the surrounding villages with a message requesting that each village send a delegate to Arrohattoc to hear of a great invention which had been gifted to them by the Heavens. Though Mingan had initially opposed such a message as an outright lie, it was the only thing we could come up with that might convince the less than friendly tribes to even consider the message. The runners had left three days ago, and had been told to tell the tribes’ delegates to arrive with the new moon, or approximately May 1st by my reckoning.

I had planned to put on an exhibition of Arrohattoc’s new technology, but I now doubted the work teams would be done with half of what I had wanted in the next week. The warriors I had trained to build wheelbarrows were trying to build enough of them to be given as gifts to the visiting representatives of the nearby villages, and some progress had been made towards clearing out space for more fields on the edge of the village.

Yet another team had begun to construct a rough palisade on the edges of the village, making use of the trees cleared to expand the maize fields. The work crew started by digging a slim trench, then placing the trees in the hole, burying their base, and piling up dirt on the inside to form an earthen barricade. I planned to eventually reinforce the structure by layering the outside in concrete, but I would first need to find sources of limestone and coal. So far, the work party had only put up a section ten feet long, despite having been at work for the better part of three days. I dreamed of a workforce with the efficiency of a Roman legion, but I doubted the villagers of Arrohattoc would come anywhere close to that in my lifetime.

I had begun to carry a stick that I had whittled and built a clay grip for using some clay from the river, at first as a walking stick, but then as it had taken shape, it had taken on a new purpose. Although far from the type of weapon I was used too, I figured a weapon I was mildly familiar with would be better than a weapon that I’d never practiced with before. As a result, over the last several days, I had begun to carve myself an epee out of a branch. I carried it with me always, using it to draw out diagrams in the dirt, and point out how things should be put together.

I was out inspecting the progress of the teams clearing out space for the new fields in the late afternoon when I ran into Mahigan and Askuwheteau, returning with their band of a dozen warriors from a hunt. Askuwheteau’s expedition wasn’t scheduled to leave until a month from now, and until then, he was taking his time to train his warriors in some of the surveying methods I had shown him while they hunted. According to the route that we had planned out, his party would travel by canoe up the James River, making contact with any villages they passed to ask them if they knew of any nearby coal or limestone deposits.

Calling out to them, I said, “Greetings Askuwheteau, Mahigan! How went your hunt?”

“It went well,” Called Askuwheteau back to me. As they came closer, I could see that the warriors carried four deer between them. When they reached me, they stopped, putting down their prizes to take a rest. “We ran across a group of them, about five miles west of the village. We had hoped to kill them all, but we could only get about half. Tomorrow, we will return and hunt for the others.”

“That is good,” I replied, “The people of the village will hunger after their day of long work. They will appreciate the fresh meat.”

“That I know, man of riverside clay! The people I speak to always appreciate the efforts of our hunters.”

Joining the conversation, Mahigan signed, ‘I only wish that we could hunt the Iroquois, rather than deer.’

“Enough of that,” Askuwheteau said back. “The Iroquois may freeze in the north for all I care. I’d much rather hunt deer who do not hunt us back.”

“Well put, Askuwheteau,” I replied, “A war would not help the Powhatan people, only bring death and suffering. We are not as mighty warriors as they. Without the weapons I wish to one day craft, we have no chance of winning without many dying.”

Putting in a word, said one of the nearby warriors, one of the older in the hunting party, “It would be a great shame if one of your beautiful sisters was to get hurt, Mahigan. If I died fighting Iroquois, I’d never get the chance to bed one of your sisters. That in itself is enough to keep me from wanting to fight.”

His face reddening, Mahigan rounded on the warrior, and signing wildly, ‘You bastard! I’ll fight you for the honor of my sisters!’ Mahigan made a move towards the warrior, as the members of the hunting party started to pick sides. I noticed that the party arrayed against Mahigan was more than half the hunting party, with only four warriors standing with Mahigan. It appeared that he was not as popular as his father.

Askuwheteau and myself stood in the center of this, watching things unfold. While I was stunned by the ridiculousness of what was happening, Askuwheteau seemed only amused. But his amused expression lasted only until the warriors started to draw their weapons, wicked blades of stone and brutal hatchets. Stepping between the two feuding parties, he said, “That is enough, both of you! Mahigan, this is not how the son of the great werowance behaves! Control yourself!” Seeing his rival being disciplined, a smirk grew on the other warriors face. Rounding in anger, Askuwheteau practically yelled, “And you! You would dare to insult the werowance’s daughters? In doing so, you bring dishonor on our entire village! I demand that you apologize to Mingan, and to the village as a whole! If you refuse, I would slay you where you stand!”

Sneering, the warrior said, “Never. I think you are too old to carry out your threat!” The warrior lifted his knife and pointed it at Askuwheteau, the signal that he was issuing a formal challenge to Askuwheteau’s leadership of the hunting party. Askuwheteau said nothing in response, only nodding and drawing his own knife. He began to take on the warriors focus, so intent on the challenger in front of his that he didn’t notice one of the warriors allies behind him approaching with his knife raised.

I knew that a verbal warning would never reach him in time, so I quickly fell into a fencer’s engarde, and launched myself into a lung aimed at the warrior sneaking up behind Askuwheteau. The lunge caught the man in the hand, and the pointed end of the stick pierced the man’s unprotected knife hand, the momentum of the lunge pushing the hand straight back, ending when the stick pierced through the man’s hand and into his stomach, just below the ribcage. Recovering, I drew the stick out of his stomach and fell back into a loose engarde, ready for another attacker.

Seeing the warriors around me eyes widen, they took a few steps back. I looked behind me and saw that Askuwheteau’s duel was over as well. The young warrior who had challenged him lay on the ground in a pool of his blood, his throat slashed. Askuwheteau stood watching me, his knife bloody. “Not bad, man of riverside clay. Not bad at all.”

I nodded back to him, unable to speak because of what I had just done. I had never killed a man before, had never even injured another human being irreparably. The man I had stabbed lay on the ground, moaning. Mahigan took a step forward and slit his throat, ending his suffering.

Askuwheteau looked around at the warriors of his hunting band, “Now, do any of the rest of you have anything to say about my leadership? No? I thought not. Now let's get back to the village before nightfall.” He turned to me and said, “Why not walk with us. We will need some help carrying these two fools back to the village.”

Hours later, after dinner, laying on my mat in Mingan’s house, I couldn’t sleep. The life I had taken nagged at me. Word of the encounter had spread through the village. It seemed that some of the villagers working to clear the fields had run back to the village to tell what they had seen. It had been generally accepted that the warriors had started the conflict by insulting Mingan’s daughters. There would be no blood feud, no lasting conflict. The fight was settled. No more would die as part of this dispute.

After dinner, Mingan and his daughter’s had thanked me for defending their honor. I said nothing, only nodding. And then, their I laid hours later, unable to sleep. In the distance, I heard a wolf’s howl. It was going to be a very long night.

Virginia, Near Present-Day Norfolk, May 2915 B.C. Day Thirty
I stood with Mingan and the other village Elders in front of the main lodge, awaiting the arrival of the delegates from the nearby villages. In the month or so since my arrival, noticeable progress had been made towards development. A work crew had transformed the area around the great fire pit into something resembling a small amphitheater, with benches lining three sides of the significantly deepened pit. At the center, a newer fire pit, constructed of stones, had been built, and behind it a primitive stage. Because of my vigor in pursuing the various work projects around the city in an effort to forget the man I had killed, I had been given the name Anakausuen, or worker.

The palisade surrounding the village was finally taking shape, and stretched around most of the northern half of the village. The work crews clearing out the fields had picked up their pace, and had cleared almost a square mile of land for use as fields. Even as I stood in the center of the village, work crews were planting a late crop in the newly cleared space. If everything went according to schedule, the crop would be ready to harvest at the end of October, before the first snows fell.

Work crews around the village had begun to make use of the wheelbarrows, using them to transport dirt and tools between work sites. Around week two, I had begun trying to carve a wooden shovel, with mild success. That particular innovation enabled the crews working on the wall to make faster progress, and some of the more inventing workers had designed sleds to haul logs from the cleared fields back to the sites in the village.

Askuwheteau’s expedition had left a few days earlier, taking five canoes up the James River. Half of that group would depart when the river began heading west, to walk on foot north, in search of iron. They were to travel for a week, but then to head back, thus minimizing the risk of running into Iroquois hunting parties. Askuwheteau would lead the other half of the group west for three weeks before heading back. Both parties had orders to bring back samples of anything they found, and just in case they found something else useful, I described for them a whole list of metals and other resources.

Delegates began to arrive around mid-day, and were directed to sit within the crude amphitheater. By around three, representatives of most of the villages had arrived, though the more northern villages were noticeably absent. Though he initially held out hope that they might just be late, Mingan was finally forced to concede that they would not be coming. In the end, delegates arrived from the villages of Orapax, Paspahegh, Machot, Kecoughtan, Appamatuck, Werowocomoco, Nansemond, Wighcocomoco and Tappahannock.

With the sun descending, Mingan called for the fire to be lit, and the Elders and I made our way down into the pit and onto the stage. When we had taken our places, Mingan began to speak, “Greetings delegates of the Powhatan villages. I am Mingan, werowance of the village of Arrohattoc. Many of you know me, and some of you are even my blood-brothers. I have called you all here to inform you of a great blessing that has come to our people. I would present to you, Anakausuen, who some of you might know as the man of riverside clay.”

He stepped to the side, my cue to approach the front of the stage. Taking a breath, I began, “Greetings to you all, esteemed delegates of the Powhatan peoples. I am Liam Rooney, or Anakausuen. I come from a land far from here, but fate has decided that this village is to be my home, and these people my family. I would offer to you all the many things that I know of, which might improve your lives and allow your people to prosper. Already, you have seen how in only a short month these things have changed Arrohattoc. I would offer them also to all of you.”

One of the delegates from Orapax, an older warrior, said, “That would be most kind of you. But I cannot see such an act of generosity coming without a price. What will this cost my people?”

“Yes, there is a small cost. All that we require of you in exchange for everything I have and will give the people of Arrohattoc is a pledge of loyalty to Mingan. There will be no taxes, only an agreement of mutual protection with this village. I know that the Iroquois of the north are a great threat to your peoples, and I the price that I charge is that which would benefit all of the Powhatan peoples.”

“That seems a low price for such gifts,” replied the warrior, “The delegates of Orapax will consider this offer.”

There was some muffled discussion in the back, between the delegates of three western villages. Finally, a younger man stood and said, “Why would we bind ourselves to your fate? We are not threatened by the Iroquois! This agreement would only draw their wrath down upon us.”

“Please, do not rush to such a judgement,” I responded. “I do not pressure you to make a decision tonight. The Elders of Arrohattoc have agreed to host you all here for a week, so that we may better show you the progress we have made. At the end of this period, we would ask that you give us your response. If you accept our offer, we will give you samples of whatever we can, and send workers to your village to teach your people. If you refuse, we will give you nothing, but you will not be harmed. Just know that you may accept our offer at any time.”

There was a low murmuring among the delegates, as they discussed how to respond. Finally, Mingan called for food to be brought, and the formal air of the gathering disbanded. Instead, it became a night of feasting, as villagers took the opportunity to ask after friends and relatives in nearby villages.

At the end of the night, I returned to Mingan’s yehakin alone. Mingan had opted to remain at the great lodge, where the delegates of the other villages would be sleeping for the duration of their visit. Mingan’s daughters were helping to serve food, and Mahigan was away with Askuwheteau’s expedition. When I entered the yehakin, I noticed that the fire had grown low. I gathered several logs, and laid them out in such a way that they would catch from the embers of the previous fire. When the fire had built up enough light to make the room visible, I laid back, putting my arms behind my head. I began to doze, but started when I heard a twig snap outside. I grabbed my stick, and rolled into a crouch, coming into an engarde.

I held my stick in the direction of the doorway, but quickly lowered it when I realized that it was not some intruder or assassin, but only Mingan’s daughter Waupun. She held a rock in her hand, and entered the yehakin slowly and quietly. She started when she saw me standing with weapon in hand. Once we realized what was happening, we both dropped our weapons and began laughing. Her laugh was crystal clear in the quiet night, and sounded to me like the voice of an angel.

“You scared me, Anakausuen. I thought you might be an intruder,” Waupun said, her laugh starting to die out.

“I hope it will not surprise you that I thought you the same,” I replied. She looked at me for a second, then began laugh even harder than she had before. “Here, why don’t you join me by the fire. I would like to speak with you.”

“I would be happy too,” she responded, and walked to the fire. She set up her mat near the fire, next to mine, and we both sat. “What would you like to talk about?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, slightly flustered. “I just haven’t gotten a chance to talk to you as much as I would have liked.”

“That is because you are always working, Anakausuen. You must learn to relax.”

“Relax as you do? I never she you having any fun. It is always your sister who plays jokes on Mahigan, or who talks with friends.”

“That is true, Anakausuen,” She replied. “But at least I will not work myself to death, as you will.”

“Well then I apologize, Waupun. I will try to take your advice.”

“Good then,” she said. Then, with a look of mischief in her eyes, said, “Perhaps we can both practice relaxing together.”

“And how would you suggest we do that?” I asked, curious.

“You will see, Anakausuen,” she replied, then took her mat to the far side of the yehakin.

“Wait, what does that mean? Waupun? Answer me please,” I said, but it appeared she had already fallen asleep.
Last edited by Arulean States on Sun Nov 05, 2017 4:38 pm, edited 1 time in total.
5- At peace
4- Potential threat
3- Active preparations for war
2- Mobilization of Armed reserves and Militias
1- All out war

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Postby The Orson Empire » Sun Nov 05, 2017 7:38 pm

Eastern Gate, Tasunke, Blue Lagoon Province

As Turner was preparing to leave, several Elites reported a band of soldiers approaching on the horizon. Concerned about this report, Turner walked up the steps of one of the wall towers to get a better view of the fields to the south of the city. At first, he could only see a few dozen men, but as they neared the city, hundreds more could be seen. Turner was frightened at the prospect of a sudden attack on the city, but once the army rose its banners, Turner quickly calmed down. The banners contained an image of the Night Owl on them; General An Hal and 500 of Turner's soldiers had returned from Iowa, with their campaign finally concluded.

Turner and General Hal walked the streets of the city, talking for hours about the progression of the campaign and other topics. Apparently, Hal faced little resistance after marching across the Mississippi and south into Bison Chaser lands, save for a few small skirmishes. The remainder of Haekho's tribe simply desired peace, rather than further conflict, and quickly submitted to the rule of the Night Owl. Hal had spent the last several months doing mainly administrative work in Iowa, while the troops kept the peace to ensure that the remaining Bison Chasers didn't try anything. New settlements were founded, roads had been constructed, and the formal process of inducting Iowa as apart of the Blue Lagoon province had begun (Turner had hoped to claim the land for himself, rather than see it spun off as another province). However, intelligence provided by the Elites revealed that there existed little, if any conspiracies against the occupation; day-to-day life had remained unchanged for the Bison Chasers, as they had simply switched out one overlord for another.

Hal had left 100 troops in Iowa as peacekeepers, while the rest returned to Blue Lagoon. Turner saw that the entire army was still fresh, and it was not necessary to send them on leave back to their towns and villages. Turner decided not to disband the levies and keep them raised, as he had an idea. Meanwhile, Turner had procrastinated in telling Hal about the message from Jeb as long as possible, as he knew how Hal would react. But, when the question of why Turner hadn't disbanded the levies came up, he was forced to reveal the answer.

"With all due respect governor...have you gone fucking mad?!" Hal yelled, frustrated at the mere prospect of Turner taking the letter seriously. As he followed Turner, Turner went throughout the rows of assembling soldiers right outside of the city's eastern gate, inspecting them. As civilian traffic flowed in an out of the gate in the background, soldiers drilled, trained, and gathered more food and supplies for what appeared to be a new campaign.

"I...I mean, this letter could have been forged by Morning Star, hell it could have been written by some obscure scribe we know nothing about...this could be the ultimate ploy to end your life!"

"Hal, you need to calm the hell down," Turner said calmly. "I know what I saw is accurate, and besides Morning Star, it is unlikely that Jeb has ever had the time or the energy to teach anyone else in the damn country English. It is a language that, with all other variables being equal, that only the two of us know. It is a language that only comes from our world."

Up ahead, Turner saw a group of soldiers laughing and horsing around, when they were supposed to be doing drills. "Soldiers, this is no time to dick around! If you have time to play, you have time to train! You might have a battle to win!" Turner yelled, clearly annoyed at the sight. The soldiers panicked and quickly scrambled to look like they were doing something.

"A battle?!" Hal exclaimed, now exasperated. "You're still seriously considering marching soldiers on Ego? You've truly gone off the deep end!"

Turner, now angry at Hal's constant nagging, stopped and quickly turned around. "Hal, you will respect my authority!" Turner hissed while grabbing Hal on the shoulders.

Hal leaned back, surprised by Turner's anger, which he seldom showed. "I apologize sir," he replied. "I have overstepped my boundaries."

Turner sighed, calming himself down. "No, I am not marching on Ego. I do not particularly feel like starting the largest war Ego has ever seen. However, this is for my own protection in case, well...the central government wants to start said war. I know they have been watching my every move, waiting for me to slip up. But this letter...this is different, Hal. If Jeb is truly alive, then we must meet and talk."

"What about the province? Certainly there is still much administrative work to be done?" Hal replied.

"That will have to be handled by the bureaucrats. As much as I grow tired of them and would like to oversee the work myself, they are essential for this entire operation to run smoothly and efficiently."

"I am guessing you will leave me here to keep the peace, should a bureaucrat grow too bold?" Hal asked, now smiling.

"Oh no, general. You are coming with me. Should a battle break out, I want the absolute best man I know commanding my soldiers." Turner smiled, while Hal frowned.

By the gods, what have I gotten myself into...., Hal thought while shaking his head and following Turner around the camps.

Outside the Western Walls of Ego

The march to the capital went relatively smoothly, but was nevertheless ominous. The soldiers and the officers had begun to question Turner's decisions; they wondered whether or not he was attempting a coup on the government of Ego. Many were aware of Turner's mainstream reputation as an upstart before the Wisconsin Campaign, but due to their loyalty, had dismissed it as lies from the government with the goal of using Turner as a scapegoat. However, some officers supported a coup, believing that the government was actively trying to kill Turner and extend their "tyrannical" reach to Blue Lagoon. To them, Turner was a man of the people, someone who rose from nothing and earned everything he possessed, not some crony high up in the bureaucracy.

Emerging from the forests on the west side of the capital were 500 soldiers and 75 Elites, with Turner leading the army in the front. They came fully equipped for war, dressed in armor, wielding iron shields, spears, bows, axes, and daggers, and even brought siege equipment in the form of ladders and catapults. Should the central government try something, they were ready for the ultimate showdown.

As the army approached and began to surround the city, Turner could hear horns blowing atop the city walls as archers scrambled to their positions, prepared to fire volleys of arrows down onto the army. General Hal had the soldiers raise their banners as a form of identification.

Turner stepped out and approached the walls alone, while an officer on top of the walls looked down. Upon seeing the face of Turner, he growled in anger. "So, the day has finally come!" the officer yelled. "The upstart arrives to claim his glory! Let it be said, Outworlder...if you wish to do battle here, you will not find it easy. Each of my men fights like a dozen of yours!"

Turner frowned in anger; if there was one name he absolutely despised being called, it was "Outworlder". Every asshole across the country seeming refused to call him by his real name. Turner said nothing at first, instead slowly reaching into his pouch and raising up the letter Jeb sent him. "That day is not today, officer! I have a letter from someone high in authority, requesting my presence at the capital. But, there is no law that says I can't bring an army with me, for my own protection."

"And just who would want to see someone as wretched as you in the capital?" the officer asked.

"With all due respect, that is not your concern! All that matters is that this letter is official, bearing the seal of the Night Owl. All that matters to you is this: if I am assaulted in this city by any soldier, my army will not hesitate to march in and put the whole fucking place to the torch!"

General Hal, who was watching the scene, covered his face while grimacing, fearing Turner was going to get them all killed.

The officer simply scoffed and then chuckled. "I'd like to see you try, Outworlder," the officer said before giving the order to open the gate.

Meeting Room

A sense of relief came over Turner, unlike any other he had felt in his life.

Jeb was alive, seriously alive, meaning that Turner would not have to destroy the entire city today. Turner was always sure he was alive; even when all of the evidence said otherwise, something inside of him knew that the assassination was just a show. The same emotions came over him that he had felt when he received the letter- a million questions raced through his mind, and he trembled some in anticipation.

While 10 Elites stood outside the door, ready to kill at a moment's notice, Turner entered the meeting room in the palace, seeing Jeb and Morning Star sitting on wooden chairs near a fireplace. As Turner took his seat and the conversation of a lifetime began, the tension in the air immediately began to fade for him, but of course, he still remained on alert- anything could happen at a moment's notice.

What Jeb said next surprised Turner even more. He actually apologized, saying it was his fault for everything that happened to Turner. It was at this moment that all animosity Turner had towards the central government began to fade. For Jeb to actually admit that he fucked up, making Turner constantly paranoid that they would kill him, was a huge step that could ultimately lead towards reconciliation.

Turner was an emotional wreck inside, but his face was stoic. "What exactly have you seen, Jeb?" Turner managed to say. "And more importantly, how can I trust you? You have deceived all of Ego into believing that you are dead, save for the select few that either know you are alive or suspect it, and you have made an enemy out of me based on a single comment I made when I first warped into the hellhole of a world. How can I trust anything you say?"
Last edited by The Orson Empire on Sun Nov 05, 2017 7:43 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Postby Ulls » Sun Nov 05, 2017 8:20 pm

Meeting Room

Jeb motioned Turner to the glass window as the woods hid the Skulk ready for anything to happen to their master. He gave a sign and a couple of horses came from the woods, camouflaged in green dye and their natural darken color allowed them to blend in well.

" I have done things I'm not proud of, my death was because that there were enemies at the time that were going to kill me, still plotting the downfall and waiting for you and I to rip this country apart. As for what I see, well there's that." He points to the horses,"and our allies and enemies that I have made and heard of when I was over there."

He sat back down," In Europe, there's great empires ruled by Outworlders or those touched by them. None of them apparently compare to this other nation named the Imperium of Man. Apparently they are some supernation, have Europe from east to west in their grip and the rest of those that they haven't conquered are afraid of them. When Ego sends its traders and everything then I will be resending my spies into Europe in a slow pace to understand just what are they and how powerful."

He took a swig of beer," If these Imperials or whatever they're called that dangerous then they could come over Ego and crush us. If we aren't ripping each other's throats out than two skilled generals could think of something than us killing each other while they come in with whatever and turn us into them. I'm asking you to forgive me, forgive me and pull back your army. Not for me, but for Ego and her citizens because if not than we are doomed as a nation and people.

Iceland and the Faroe Islands

Daring traders and explorers had made their way to Iceland and the Faroe Islands as they were the "true" first wave of colonists who made their way to the Old World to bring trade and explore it for the glory of Ego. Many of them kept to the instructions of the Skulk when it comes to what their supposed to do but others wanted to be more daring and strike it out for their own wealth but all it meant was spreading the Night Owl's Mandate throughout the world.

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Postby Leikmis » Sun Nov 05, 2017 9:35 pm

Can't tell if this is true or a dream

Deep down inside I feel to scream

The terrible silence stops me

Atoyac River, Mexico


Atoyac Village

Two weeks had passed since his time in the hut and with it had passed the month of May. Although the mid summer in Mexico is typically hot and dry, this year was special. This year many rains had fallen, making it hard to plant the crops needed to be harvested in the fall, requiring that Zachaios and many others work as a crop worker along with the normal farm hands. Despite Chieftain Irepani declaring Zachaios just a man and not a demon, many still thought he was some evil beast sent to destroy their very livelihoods, blaming him for the rain. Others instead saw him as a messenger from the gods. Because of these ideas he had been shunned, placed into the hardest jobs, and almost never spoken to unless they were required to. They made fun of his pronunciation of some words, and destroyed his drawing or writings in the dirt whenever he had free time to reflect on his situation in the world, and where he would go. This bullying and harassment were not taken as to make Zachaios revengeful, his social anxiety and doubt were strong enough to instead turn these into mild annoyance with inwards reflections of how he could change himself to fit in with the natives more. And so, he began to plan how he would gain the favor of the villagers. He planned to gain their favor.

In his free time he sought out the ‘blacksmith’ of the village. This man was no blacksmith in the sense that he smelted metals into weapons of war such as swords or forged tools to be used in daily life, this man simply made arrowheads and daggers of stone and flints as well as farm tools of wood. Although any one could make wooden tools, this man was the most skilled at it, and so his position in the village was born many generations ago when the chief at the time had made it his primary job along with his family. This black smith’s name was Tsakapacha, an honorary name passed down through his family due to their position. The name literally meant ‘Stone man,’ or ‘Man of Stone.’

He had often seen warriors who hunted the wild Tapir walk into this man's hut, fittingly made with a cobble base, and come out with spearheads, arrows, and farm tools. They called him Tsakapacha, and so he now knew the man's name.

Tsakapacha’s Hut

One day, when he hadn't any work and his lessons to Chief Irepani forced upon him were a week or so away, he walked imo Tsakapacha’s work area when no one else was there to bother them. The man was tall, with dark red skin and brown eyes accompanied by long, coiled black hair. The man was muscular and looked stern and looked to be in his mid twenties.

Zachaios peered around the corner of the hut’s entrance, looking behind him beforehand to make sure no one was following him.

“Oh, uh, hello sir are you busy?” He said awkwardly.

“If you need a tool to do your work then wait for the others to get theirs first boy.”

“But I don't have any field work today.”

“Then get out of my hut.” He said sternly, staring Zachaios in the eye.

“But, wait, I came to ask for work, can I do that at least?”

“Boy I said get out of my shop! Those eyes of yours don't make you any more special and your skin makes everyone who sees it sick, go back to your shack, or else.” He stands up, shouting forwards and then pointing in the direction of the edge of the village where Zachaios shack was.

“Oh,” Zachaios left from the door and headed to his home, designated to him by the chief, in a sad and solemn fashion. His self esteem was at an all time low.

Outer Village

Some kids, maybe eight at the most, began to follow him as he walked. They stayed close behind him, staying quiet. In their hands they held small pebbles.

Around ten meters from his home one of the children tripped, creating a large thump as he hit the ground. Zachaios turned around, still sad from the blacksmiths ridicule. “What? What do you want?” He said as he turned around to face them.

“Sesasi look! The demon can talk!” He blurred out loud, pointing at Zachaios.

“Ma says it's not a demon, Eren, she says it’s a message from Coquihani.”

“Yea, but look how sickly its skin is, it can't be a messenger, it wouldn't make sense.”

At this point Zachaios sadness had turned to anger. “Shut up! I’m not a demon you shit! I’m a man!” He moved towards them a bit offensively. The kids stepped back a bit in fright due to his sudden outburst and then ran away, throwing their pebbles at him as they ran. A few of them hit him and stung his body.

Still filled with anger, when he eventually got home he kicked a hole in the wall of his sod and wood house and then sat in his new home, thinking about his old home for a solid hour and a half before calming down to the point of gaining an idea, in which he wrote in some clay he had collected nearby.

The plan was to, instead of asking the villagers which either had an ignorantly pious or very offensive attitude towards him, for work and help, he would make his own inventions, write down his ideas and process like he had in school, and then show it to them in hopes of showing that he was not evil. His first idea was to introduce iron tools to the village as he had only observed them using flint, wood, or stone to make tools which often broke or took excessive amounts of time to make.

He knew that beaches with black sand often had iron and other metals within said black sand, some even had oil. He also knew that iron deposits could be found on the sediment banks of rivers that flowed inland. For this reason he looked near the river basin of the river he had appeared near.

Atoyac River Basin

The walk to the river basin and sea was not long by ancient standards, an hour or so, maybe two. But to Zachaios this was one of the longest walks in one direction he had ever taken and he was soon sweaty due to the heat and the beating sun above him. Once he reached the beach he surveyed the area from a tall rock he had found, looked all across to the horizon from black sands or what looked to be ore. After looking for a solid twenty minutes he decided there was nothing in that area and so ran around three miles along the shore and again looked around for black sands. He continued this process four times before deciding that the beach did not have black sands in plain sight. He was exhausted, sweating profusely he sat down.

He thought of his family. What would they think had happened to him? Had he actually been by by a car? How would his friends and family deal with this? Had he harmed them and how could he have avoided this fate. All of these thoughts raced around his mind, but he was too tired to become visibly emotional.

When his breathing had leveled out a bit and his thoughts dissipated he decided to search for ore on the river bed instead of the beach. This time he walked back.

Atoyac River Shore

The river he had found and now lived near was slow moving and moved inlands, it was also decently narrow compared to most rivers he had seen like the Mississippi or Illinois.

He walked along the shallow and rocky edge of the river, looking for crevices where sediment build up might be. Specifically he was looking for black sand or reddish black ore mixed in with rocky slag. Besides this he also looked for what looked to be lime, a useful ingredient that was used in concrete.

Most of the sediment he had found turned out to be false, didn't have the smell of iron that everyone knows when iron oxide powder is poured out in chemistry. But, doon, and by soon I mean three hours, he found a small input into the river base that held a black and reddish looking substance mixed in with other rocks. The front of the substance that faced him was considerably soft for rock, while the inner parts revealed as he dug it out with a sharp rock was firmer. He picked up a piece with his hand and smell it. It was sour and pinched his nose, it was metallic enough for his liking. An animal skin bag had been brought with him, he filled it as much as possible with these rocks. He then walked back to his hut, finally returning when the sun reached dusk.

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Arulean States
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Postby Arulean States » Sun Nov 05, 2017 9:47 pm

Virginia, Near Present-Day Norfolk, May 2915 B.C. Day Thirty-Seven
In the week since the delegates had arrived, I had done my utmost to try and convince them to join the Confederacy. Each day, I had met with each delegation personally, along with Mingan, to try and persuade them to join. Some of the closer villages had taken almost no convincing, and had agreed after a demonstration of only some of the devices I had built. Orapax, Nansemond and Appamatuck, the three villages closest to Arrohattoc had already made their decision to join official.

The villages of Paspahegh and Kecoughtan had decided to join after the fifth day, when we showed off the innovations I had implemented in farming. Machot joined after sending a runner back to their village for approval from their werowance. The remaining three villages, Werowocomoco, Wighcocomoco and Tappahannock, the three southernmost villages had refused the offer. At the end of the seventh day, the delegates of the villages which had decided to join pledged their participation in the Confederacy, and swore to follow Mingan as mamanatowick of the Powhatan Confederacy. They decided to call the new organization the Tsenacommacah Confederacy, meaning ‘densely inhabited land.’

Frustratingly, Waupun had avoided mentioning our conversation the first night of the exhibition. I had asked Makkitotosimew, but she hadn’t known anything about it. After a few days. I gave up, and decided to pretend like it had never happened, just as she had.
In the meantime, I had work to do in preparation for the departure of the delegates. Before they departed, I helped to teach the delegates who had decided to join the Confederacy about the various simple machines which I had built, and provided each of them with small models and a fully functioning wheelbarrow to bring back to their village. In addition, each was sent with a worker from each project to help them make sense of the devices.

The delegates had departed in good spirits, happy about the new technology purchased at such a cheap price in their eyes. I figured that the protection the other villages offered would be worth the gamble of giving them the technology. Perhaps in the future, I would be able to form a closer bond between the villages, one that would be worthy of calling an actual country. But for now, I was satisfied with the progress that had been made

Virginia, Near Present-Day Norfolk, May 13th, 2915 B.C. Day Forty-One
It was midafternoon when a runner from the village of Kecoughtan arrived at the village bearing news of strange ships coming from the east. The report said that they had made peaceful in their interactions with the villagers, and that their skin had been the color of riverside clay, as the Anakausuen’s was. The report also said that their ships were larger than anything anyone had ever seen, and that they carried strange weapons. They spoke a language that sounded guttural, and according to the opinion of the runner, was primitive in comparison to the language of the Powhatan.

Within an hour of the first messenger, while the Elders of Arrohattoc were still debating what how to respond, another runner, this time from the shoreline, reporting that a boat was approaching from the other side of the bay. The tide was against them, and we had perhaps an hour before they would arrive. The Elders reacted in shock, and seemed unable to come to a consensus as to how to act. Sick of waiting, I stood and began giving orders.

“I need runners!” I yelled, “I need as many warriors as we can gather, as soon as possible. They will rally here, then we will move to the waterside.”

Seeing that the warriors nearby were still just milling around, I yelled “MOVE!” as loud as I could. In the absence of a leader, the warriors snapped into action, running of to carry out my orders. I dispatched a runner to each of the nearby villages to request as many warriors as could be spared, and sent a team of warriors down to the waterside to watch the progress. They would send a runner back to the village center if the incoming boat moved faster than expected.

I also recalled the workers from the various projects around the village. If need be, each male in the village could take up arms to defend the village, and each was at least partially trained in the use of the bow. The few hundred men could hopefully hold any attackers long enough for reinforcements to arrive to shore up the village defenses.

With about a quarter of an hour to spare, I ordered the three hundred or so gathered warriors to move to positions on the shoreline. Each was armed with a spear, a bow, a few dozen arrows, and a stone knife or hatchet. I took up position near where the boat was predicted to land, along with the main body of warriors. In the past week or so, work crews had begun to build some light barricades along the shoreline, and most of the warriors took up position behind them. Each barricade was well disguised, so as to hide the presence of the warriors behind them.

As the boat approached the shore, I stepped out from behind cover, along with two dozen warriors. I figured that since I had somehow understood the languages of the Powhatan, that I might understand what the newcomers might say. Besides, from the description of the words the newcomers used from the scouts, it sounded like they were speaking German of some sort. We walked to about the middle of the beach, took up a loose semi circle formation. While they were still ten yards from shore, I called out, first in Powhatan, the. In English, and finally in German, “HELLO THERE VISITORS FROM BEYOND THE EASTERN HORIZON. WHAT HAS BROUGHT YOU HERE TODAY?”
5- At peace
4- Potential threat
3- Active preparations for war
2- Mobilization of Armed reserves and Militias
1- All out war

You can call me Aru

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Father Knows Best State

Postby Ralnis » Sun Nov 05, 2017 11:19 pm

Chapter 1 Part : Karlburg by Nightfall
August 85 AG/2915 B.C.

It had been a few days, close to a week or so but Bob couldn't tell what was time or even where was he for that matter. It was difficult to think this was a dream as the moon and sun rose like it did back home, but even more questions came up about where he was and when as he saw factory workers yet people wielding steel weapons in chainmail and crossbows yet they surrounded themselves around a large factory that wooden furniture was being carted out to a train or carriage.

The very idea itself was weird and felt like one of the stories he loved to read. Still, the people looked different, European with European clothing of different eras among the population.

He needed to get a better look so he "borrowed" some men's clothes that were drying off a rack. It felt smaller than what he's used too but luckily it fit someone of his size.

It was better than being naked and he can actually walk in the town, plus his glasses are normal for people in this town.

As he snuck into the town again, he started to look around more in-depth as he saw people having tattoos with some sort of symbol on their arm and even carrying papers and he started to wonder if they some sort of security system in this town.

As he started to head into the direction of the factory he saw, he got stopped by a guard.

" Identification and papers," the guard said looking down at the immortal.

"Uhh," he started to ruffle through his stolen pants," I think it's in my other pants?"

The guard grab his arm,"where's your identification tattoo?"

Bob was starting to get afraid that this would be his end. The guard got closer and asked the same question again but with the intent to do his job and haul the mysterious man into wherever a jail is in the town.

"There you are!" A woman yelled at Bob.

She stormed her way through the crowd to the guard and took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry he's a new arrival to our blessed country so he doesn't have his papers yet and he was supposed to wait here."

The guard looks at her than Bob and lets him go to her.

"Keep an eye on him and make sure he gets his papers." The guard walked into the crowd but his pike could be seen above the heads of the townspeople.

The woman dragged Bob through the town and back to her home on the outskirts of the town where he had stolen the clothes.

The interior of the house seemed to be similar to what a poor hovel would be. It was warm, but damp with stone and wood being swelled by the humidity of the environment.

She pulled out a small dagger from underneath her pillow and pointed at the dark skinned man.

"Who are you and why were you naked when you took my husband's clothes?"

Bob held his hands up," I just woke up a few days ago ok, eating fruit that properly will kill me anyway. I don't know where I'm at or how I got here."

" Then how do you speak Common?" She asked.

" You mean English?" Bob cocked his head.

"No, the Hegemon's language, the language of the Imperium!" She got up up closer and became more intimidating with the dagger getting closer.

"Look I'm telling you the truth. I don't know what the Imperium is or that I'm speaking Common or even know where I'm at for starters."

It took her a minute before she put the knife down and her look deadpanmed but she didn't feel threatened by the the man.

"You got a name?" She asked with the knife still tight in her grip.

" It's uhh," He was thinking for a second,"Utonok"

"Utonok? That sounds like a wildman name." She said to him

Bob just shrugged his shoulders as he told her a fabricated story about him being a nomad and getting robbed and left for dead in an unknown woods. He didn't know he was spoken the Common but he said his fictitious robbers were talking something that they called English. She asked where he came from and he said in the land of the Northern Deserts, she heard of it as the Imperium was starting to send an expedition in that area.

Bob wanted to know about her but she waited until her husband came back from the factory. He was a large man with the smell of sawdust that choked up the air around him. He figured out that Bob was not from the Imperium but he was naked and needy but was able to survive around the town for a few days before they found him.

Still, they believe that the Wildman was more than what he said he was but they just met him so they were going to help him out by getting him registered as an alien tomorrow.

In the Early Morning

Bob and his caretakers went to the town hall to get Bob registered in the Imperium as an alien. The town hall was big and had a lot of nobles in the building. In the inside, he was amazed on how impressive the very society was and called back a number of books from his home, maybe he could write one if he ever found a way back.

They got up to the counter and the couple started to talk to the teller about Bob but calling him by the name that he gave them. He noticed that some people didn't really care but some did give him some looks before they left on their day. The teller called up to him and asked him to give him his name, home country, and reason for staying with the couple. He gave him his fake name, and said that he was from north of Gibraltar, which the teller said it was a new acquisition for the Hegemon.

When it came to the couple, he understood that their names Parvan and Nojitican. He said that he came looking for work and citizenship after studying Common and learning of the Imperium's magnificence. He knew it was a lie but he made it believable for he needed some sort of identification and for the people that are taking him in to believe him, at least until he gather his bearings and just what happened to him and what is this Imperium he's getting the identification papers to.

The teller told him that he needs those on him at all times and that he had to pay taxes, which he doesn't even know what's the percentage is. They said he can go anywhere but is needed to let the local authorities of that town know that's he in the area. Which is sort of understandable sense he is an alien but has no idea where he's at or how he got here.

When he got out he started to ask questions, first one he asked was the name of this town and the country he was in. They told him that this was the town of Karlburg, near the great Nightfall Forest, which the trees were used for the factory and manufacture wooden furniture which allows for the nobles to rule the town under the supervision of the government but its owned by their collective companies. Bob started to realize that the name Karlburg isn't American, it sounded German, and the Nightfall could be the Black Forest. If that's true, then he somehow got transported to Germany, yet it isn't Germany.

The very thought was too much for him and he just needed something to take his mind off. Parvan thought it would be a good idea to go to the tavern and get some drinks while his wife goes home. It was the best way to get his mind off of the stress. Bob actually liked the guy somewhat despite him not knowing him much or not knowing he was pulling things out of his ass just to try and getting answers to questions that desperately needed to be asked but a stiff drink and looking forward to working with someone he can trust and potentially make some good furniture.

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Democratic Socialists

Postby G-Tech Corporation » Mon Nov 06, 2017 1:57 pm

Shores of Unnamed Village, Virginia, North America
May 13th, 85 AG

Ivan lowered the spyglass, and shook his head, muttering to himself.

"Sir?" His second, a young whelp of an Italian, was put off by the venerable captain's mood.

"I don't like the look of it, Hadrian. Here."

The weathered sea-dog passed his tube of brass and polished wood to the man who might one day replace him, and the first mate peered through the instrument dutifully towards the shoreline, where some of the natives waited, just about where the landing party of Seaguard was pulling toward. A few moments passed, and the young man scratched at the start of his sandy beard, his voice concerned while he gazed hard through the device.

"I see. Fortifications."

"More importantly, fortifications with men behind them. Like I said, I don't like the look of it. They might be preparing an ambush, trying to conceal their numbers."

Hadrian lowered the spyglass, and turned to glance worriedly at the pensive face of the captain. Nobody liked walking into trouble knowingly, and the men in the boats didn't have the angle of the Hind's upper deck to see the danger, nor the oracular enhancement of the spyglass to see clearly enough to perceive it. The natives hadn't been hostile so far, but those spears and the fortifications... it was a risk. A risk based on a foundation of mutually unintelligibly.

The rough sailor's voice spoke, Ivan Restimar's decision made.

"Let's see if we can't scatter the ants enough to give our boys fair odds. Just a warning shot, nothing lethal. On the off chance I am mistaken."

Captain Estian peered ahead of the boat as the bow of the skiff bobbed in the water, the strong backs of the shoulders on either side of the launch propelling it toward the waiting natives. They didn't seem hostile, but their weapons were at the ready, and their faces were hard to read at this distance. Anon a voice came across the water from the people near the shore, and the Seaguard veteran frowned. Whatever they were shouting over there, it was gibberish to him, though the last phrase seemed almost hauntingly like good Imperial. Well, it wasn't like Restimar had expected to be able to communicate with these people without hilarious pantomime and gestures. That was a job for men of a more scholarly bent than the captain, to decipher these folk's barbarous tongue, or teach them how proper men spoke.

He was almost in the range he felt he could speak without blowing out his vocal cords, a few dozen meters from the sandy shore, when a boom came from the ship behind the three landing craft. It echoed over the water swiftly, and Estian's head jerked around, marking the plume of wispy gunsmoke from one of the deck-guns. Nothing he hadn't heard before, but loud enough to startle birds from the trees on the shore ahead.

"Hold fast men. Back oars; if the Hind is shooting, I want to know why." Dutifully the rowers halted the vessel, the other crafting doing likewise, and then the captain saw it- the splintered impact of a cast-iron cannonball shattering a forest giant. A lucky shot, then, a dozen feet above the ground. The tree must have been wider than his arms could span, but it fell like a child's toy knocked over by a pensive kick, five hundred years of hardwood growth succumbing to the force of the cannonade in an instant. The crash it made tumbling to earth was loud even across the water, and Estian grimaced. That might mean trouble.

"Up guns, off oars. Prepare to fire."
TG if you have questions about RP. If I don't know the answer, I know someone who does.

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Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Liecthenbourg » Mon Nov 06, 2017 3:19 pm

Chapter I: Deliver Us
Part I: Send a Shepherd to Shepherd Us

August, 2195 BCE

My mouth was dry, my words heavy. This tongue was coarse and different, not typical to the English or Spanish I was fluent in in days-gone-by. And yet here I stood, upon this rock, as if I were Moses delivering the Law. A large stick was my crosier, my robes, recently tailored by these people, a stained white, more akin to cream, and the tailored mitre I had drawn was fit to perfection over my head. And before me, as the sun cast my shadow across the jagged streams of cool water from the Indus basin before me, I spoke to these people, these masses, hungry for a truth I wasn't sure of myself.

"The First of the Categorical Imperatives!: Act only according to that maxim whereby you can, at the same time, will that it should become a universal law."

The fearsome dog, named Lino, had descended from my past life along with me. I was not aware as to what happened, but when he stared up at me with his loving eyes, pools of animal innocence, he glowed with an aura not unlike that which I have seen. I haven't the foggiest as to what it was that had happened; only time would tell.

How I had ended up in this situation, atop this rock, dressed as what I knew as a priest was a funny story. I awoke amidst the banks of this Indus River, cast aside down on the sand - in the nude. It was a horrid experience, disgusting. Yet I perhaps felt more enlightened than I had ever had before. My mind felt awoken to experiences I could not fathom and when sat up, looking at the flowing river, I marveled and thought in languages I had never learnt, yet heard faintly in the distance. And then I dove into that river, to wash off the sand from its banks.

I clambered from the river, still stark nude - and perhaps like Adam and Eve - I felt ashamed, conscious, of my nudity. Then I heard, in a language of old, with really no connotations to anything I had ever heard in my lifetime. He yelled to me "Why are you naked?!" And then, before I could respond, I heard the light barking of a dog. I turned and it was my dog, my noble Lino, and I scratched his head. He glowed in that aforementioned aura and gave a mighty bork. How odd, for a Yorkshire Terrier to exist in the middle of the Indus Valley.

Yet I turned attention to the man and explained my predicament to him, my absence of clothes. He turned, leaving, before returning after a while and tossed me a white loincloth, reminiscent off the roman style subligaculum. I wrapped it around my waist and it covered me, decently at least. I advanced up the bank, picking up my dog, and followed the man.

I spoke to him, as I would hold anyone in conversation. I spoke to him about my skin, how he had never seen me - I told him I was from a land far off, yet I had learnt his tongue in recent travels. I, frankly, did not know how to explain to this man that I was from the future, so I did not breech it up.

Yet what I did do was introduce myself to his village and spoke to them of the ideas I had learnt. Perhaps I was given this chance to spread philosophy and politics, much further back in time then one could think possible. For whatever freak accident it was. As I reflect back I seem to omit my status, my confusion, but I was indeed confused. Scared for a time, before I delved into that river. All worry melted in that river. Yet discussing with that Indus man, I was scared, confused. Would I die here, amidst this fertile land?

Yet I spoke to these people as best as I could; I taught them of Kant in brief, with his moral laws, and of Plato and his ideas of government, which seemed to enthrall them the most, and Aristotle and character building. I tied it to what I knew of Indus history, allegories and made up tall tales of the land. The message was probably altered, but I had time to perfect and whittle it correct. And so they designated me some Wise-Man - a travelling mystic perhaps. And I perhaps gave myself too much credit, altered some stories.

But I am only human.

And that is how I appeared on this rock, preaching to a crowd of villagers of everything; of shoes and ships and sealing wax; of cabbages and kings, to badly paraphrase Alice in Wonderland.
Last edited by Liecthenbourg on Mon Nov 06, 2017 3:52 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Impeach the Mayor of Lego City Legalise Falling into the River The Rescue Helicopter Needs to be Built! HEY!
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I'm just a simple Kylarite, trying to make my way on NS.

The Gaullican Republic,
I thank God for Three Things:
Kylaris, the death of Esquarium and Prem <3

The Transtsabaran Federation and The Chistovodian Workers' State
I'm a self-identifying social democrat and a Europhile, with a left-wing economic position based on Marxist and Catholic teaching.
I'm socially confused.

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Postby Arulean States » Mon Nov 06, 2017 3:41 pm

Virginia, Village of Arrohattoc (Norfolk), May 13th, 2915 B.C. Day Forty-One
I heard a large crash from the boat which had launched the landing craft, then saw the matching plume of white smoke.

I barely had time enough to yell, “GET DOWN!” before the shot tore through the air above me. It crashed into the trees behind me, and with a solid crash, split one of the great oaks lining the shore in half. Many of the warriors froze where they were, while still others dropped their weapons entirely and flung themselves to the ground. Here and there along the line, some warriors even ran from the barricade, abandoning their position entirely. The warriors who had fled would face harsh criticism from their peers and their families, but I certainly understood the desire.

Holy shit,’ I thought to myself, ‘They have fucking cannons. How the fuck did they get cannons. Who the hell are these people...

Shaking the shock from my system I stood up, and wiped sand from my chest. I had heard cannon fire before at Civil War reenactments, so it didn’t effect me as it had the Powhatan warriors. Though I was still rattled and shaken, at least I hadn't shat myself, though it was a close call.

Looking around, I noticed that the dozen or so warriors who had come down onto the beach with me had disappeared. Their weapons lay in the sand around me, having been left behind in their haste to reach the relative safety of the shore fortifications. I noticed that before fleeing, one of the warriors had in fact shat himself. A few dozen yards from shore, a man in the lead landing craft called the crafts to a halt, then gave the command, "Up guns, off oars. Prepare to fire."

Grasping at the straws of the language the man had spoken, and hoping that I was saying it correctly, I yelled back, “WAIT! HOLD YOUR FIRE! PLEASE! DON'T SHOOT!”

As I stood there on the beach, alone and unarmed, in full view of the ships in front of me, I just prayed that the men in the boats would understand me.
Last edited by Arulean States on Mon Nov 06, 2017 3:46 pm, edited 2 times in total.
5- At peace
4- Potential threat
3- Active preparations for war
2- Mobilization of Armed reserves and Militias
1- All out war

You can call me Aru

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Democratic Socialists

Postby G-Tech Corporation » Mon Nov 06, 2017 8:14 pm

Part 9, Chapter 5: The Tale of Icarus

August 19th, 85 AG

Master Egland hit the ground hard, and his skull cracked with a sound that was audible even from where I sat next to the pavilion. I grimaced as his assistants ran forward with blankets, and shouted for a medic, but I knew it was too late. Even if he hadn't shattered his legs upon landing, the halo of flame that engulfed his burlap flight suit was burning too merrily and sickeningly to raise my hopes of his survival. The elderly professor squirmed a few times, the paroxysms of autonomic reactions, and then was still. One of his students, a black-haired wisp of a thing, beat at the flames with the heavy woven mats that the Academy had prepared just in case of this event, but I could tell it was a losing battle.

Next to me Master Uttar sighed, and knocked back a slug of the grain spirits that his breath already stank of.

"I told him he hadn't solved the pressure problem. The fluid needs to be ejected under high pressure to gasify, and as it heats it tends to expand."

I nodded slowly. Aye, that would have explained the sudden rupture of the fueling unit- luckily at some altitude, where it could only hurt its inventor.

"This is why when we were testing cannons, I didn't let any of the professors within a hundred feet of the proving grounds."

Uttar glanced over at me, black eyebrows quirked upward in interest. He was young still, and couldn't have been there for the initial experiments. We didn't write much about them, in truth, for very good reasons.

"You used a fuse then?"

"Of a sort. There is always an excess of condemned men willing to perform dangerous tasks in exchange for a stay of execution. I should have put Egland in touch with the mines at Kaveth, really. But he didn't seem likely to follow through with his threats..."

The researcher seemed both intrigued and repulsed, though I could see he was struggling to conceal the latter emotion. It wasn't a measure I would have approved of when I was his age- being young filled one with idealism, with hope and joy and the things that drove men to do great things because they weren't aware that such things couldn't be done. Most of them rammed their heads against the brick wall that was reality quickly enough, and wised up, but some assaulted that wall so eagerly that they broke through to widen our understanding of what was possible. I smiled reassuringly.

"It was the only way at the time. We didn't have working fuses over any distance, and they were men you would have found despicable, I assure you. Rapists. Murderers. Kinslayers."

Uttar's face quieted, obviously mollified by my explanation. I turned my gaze back the the burning body of the ambitious professor, and the envelope of cotton fabric that was an inferno behind him. Groundsmen stood near at hand, watching the conflagration next to piles of sand, but they seemed content to let the assemblage burn itself out as long as it did not threaten the rest of the Academy or any of the observers. I didn't think they need be concerned; most of the observers, faculty, students, notables from around Mara, had already retired away from the failed experiment. I did not blame them; the scent of burning hair and the wretch-inducing odor of roast... pork... yes, they were not things that I would particularly like the bear. But I had seen far worse, smelt far worse, done far worse. Egland had had ambition, and I owed the old man at least the dignity of not turning away from his death, his life's work going up in lurid flames.

To distract myself from the tragedy, I turned to the remaining professor, and gestured expansively towards the failed hot-air balloon.

"Have you ever heard the story of Icarus?"


"It isn't Biblical. A fable of the old Earth, told amongst the ancient Greeks."

"Ah, the Greeks. A strange thing, always, learning of those who by rights ought to be our betters, but instead are a backwater of humanity."

I smiled, and laughed. "To their credit, I just bought some soap manufactured there the other day. Nice stuff, finer than you get out of the dripworks here, unless you're willing to pay a good sum, and variety is always a spice."

Uttar shrugged, and I nodded.

"Icarus. He was a boy, the son of an inventor. The story goes that one of the Greek kings, wishing that the inventor should work for him, took the inventor and his son hostage, and locked them in a tower when the man said he would not work for the tyrant. It was a cruel imprisonment, for there was always a way of escape- an open window large enough for a man to fit through with ease."

"But they didn't escape?"

"Well, no. The window opened onto the sea, a sea full of sharp rocks. There was always a way out: death."

I reached back to the table behind us, what had formerly been where many of the faculty were eating and drinking while the doomed professor prepared his demonstration. A dour Blackguard frowned at me as I picked up a cup of wine that looked untouched, wetting my throat from it, but I merely smiled and Karla's indignation at my impropriety.

"Fine, if you're going to glower like that, get Harald to pull some wine out here. We might as well drink to the good man who died here today, rather than turning away from his ascent to glory like so many scared heathens."

"Anyway, Icarus. The inventor, seeing that there was no way to escape, hatched an ingenious plot; he told the guards outside of his prison that he would work for the tyrant, and make him a machine that would make him king of all Greece. All he needed was a few choice materials- mainly, feathers. It was a strange request, but the warlord was too greedy to see the deception, and thus feathers did the inventor receive. Feathers, many other supplies, and a host of candles so that he could work through the night."

"What war-machine could an inventor build with feathers that would conquer an entire country?"

"Well, none. But the tyrant didn't know that. Every day his guards supplied the inventor with more feathers, and more candles. Eventually, after weeks of waiting for his promised invention, the warlord grew impatient. Storming to the top of the tower in a rage, so loud that the people of the nearby town could hear his shouts and promises of death for the inventor and his son, he flung open the door of the prison and beheld a sight which baffled him."

"For the inventor and his son were gone, fled from the supposedly inescapable prison. Born on carefully crafted wings of those feathers that the inventor had been supplied with, affixed to light wooden frames by tediously applied melted candle wax, Icarus and his father flew away over the ocean, seeking to flee the tyrant."

At this point I had to stop, for Uttar's face was barely holding back laughter, and I nodded in sympathy.

"The ancient Greeks really believed they could fly with enough feathers and wax, under the power of a man's arms alone?"

"Well, you have to take their tales with a pinch of salt. Many were fables meant to prove a point; indeed, I'm just getting to that parable now."

"Alright." The professor took a deep breath, and schooled his expression. "Please continue, Lord Hegemon."

"As Icarus and his father fled the prison, Icarus was elated. After weeks and months of confinement, he was freer than he had ever been in his life, able to fly like a bird over land and sea, to see the world from a perspective only the gods could observe. And so, in his ecstasy of flight, he ascended higher and higher. Some tales say he wished to fly to the top of Mount Olympus, where the gods lived, and commune with them. Others say he wished to fly there to prove to the gods that man was as strong as they. Others simply say he was a dolt. Either way, as the youth flew higher and higher, his father called out to him, warning him against hubris."

"But Icarus did not listen. As he flew closer to the sun, the heat of that celestial body's rays began to melt the wax that his father had so carefully used to affix the feathers to the flight-frames. One by one those feathers fell away, but Icarus, oblivious to his danger, climbed higher and higher, so rapturous was his ambition. Eventually, too many feathers had fallen away, and the boy all of a sudden realized his peril- he descended swiftly, blowing with his feeble breath upon the wax to cool it. But it was too late; with the frames no longer able to support his weight, Icarus plummeted past his despairing father, embracing the Aegean Sea, and his father flew on sadly alone."

I had finished, and Uttar looked thoughtfully over towards where the embers of the hot-air balloon still smoked.

"As I said, the ancient Greeks were fond of their parables. Hopefully we shall not be object lessons for the wisdom of our forebearers too many times more."

Shores of Unnamed Village, Virginia, North America
May 13th, 85 AG


Estian lowered his pistol, his face a perfect picture of bewilderment at the lone man yelling in impeccable Maran-accented Common at the landing craft.

"Sir, what the fuck?"

The captain shook his head, gazing at the wild man in what looked to be hide clothes, and his mouth worked for a few moments with no words emerging.

"Hold fire. I think the Hind scattered them, but keep your weapons ready. These savages might be more crafty than we thought. Oars, forward."

A few heaves of the curved wooden implements, and the first of the skiffs grounded itself on the half-sand half-mud surface of the shore near the village. Estian was the first man out, and his shortsword was clear of its scabbard as he advanced on the lone native man. The first thing he noticed about the stranger was his complexion, and the second was that behind him the natives were beginning to form up again. And they were armed.

"Shields, shields."

The Seaguard ignored the man for the moment, crushing the thousand questions that had started in his mind, and shouted for the pavises which had accompanied the detachment. Even in a world of rifles, repeaters could put out more fire in a trained soldier's hand than the bolt-action mechanisms of the Model 78s, and they were light enough to be used with the heavy tower shields beside. Ten men rushed forward off of the boats, splashing down into the water where necessary, and unslung heavy iron bastions from their backs. Estian stood, but the rest of the soldiers quickly knelt behind the line of the shields, and leveled rifles and crossbows toward the natives.

A barked order.

"I am Captain Estian of the Far-Seas Fleet, representative of His Imperial Majesty Mikhael Nemtsov. Lay down your weapons and you will not be harmed."

He tensed to dive behind the wall of shields as more men streamed out of the landing crafts; the natives didn't look friendly.
TG if you have questions about RP. If I don't know the answer, I know someone who does.

Quite the unofficial fellow. P2TM Mentor specializing in faction and nation RPs, as well as RPGs.



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