The Ascent of Man [IC|Closed]

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Thu Nov 29, 2018 3:50 pm

| The Ascent of Man |
A Strange World RP
OoC Thread

The sun rises on a new world- a world not like that you may know. Shattered by a catastrophic impact not long after the extinction of the dinosaurs, Earth is not as it should be. This impact, a star falling to earth, changed not only the shape of the world, but also her content; this star bore strange light and strange crystals, warping and altering the planet where humanity slowly arose. Continents were broken, minds shattered, even animals and plants twisted and changed. It is a strange world, one in many ways hostile to humanity- but in the end, it is your world.

You stand forward as one of the leaders of a great city of men. It has been many centuries now since the first tribes emerged in the impact of the Cataclysm, family groups formed from scattered wanderers and survivors, and now civilization in earnest is rising from those embers. Men ply trade upon the waves of the sea, either propelled by oars and scarred backs, or the might of sails. Caravans roam savage lands, making fortunes for their owners if they are not devoured by ferocious beasts. The first priests, and god-kings, and republics lay claim to the passages of the world beyond the sight of their doorways, and bronze-armed warriors march across the hinterland.

To be a man in such times is to be given glorious potential, but also great danger. Civilization is fragile, and dark things lurk both in the hearts of men and in the wilds of the world. Will you rise to greatness alongside your kinsmen, or will you falter and be forgotten? Come, and tell the tale of the Ascent of Man.

19th of Redleaf, Year 327 of the Common Era
Under Nemossos' feet the deck of the Treader rocked rhythmically, born aloft by the waves of the Endless Ocean even as the white cliffs of Rivermouth came into view. The young sailor could tell exactly where they were from the shape of the headlands, from the hillocks of wooded copses that were scattered about the small settlement, from the smoke that rose from the noonday cookfires to smudge the sky. In the hold of the cargo vessels rode blocks of graven marble, procured by the Hierarch for use in new engravings about the Sunhold- it had been a long and dangerous journey, but the sturdy Treader was more than up to the challenge.

"Looking forward to hearth and home, kinsman?"

Nemossos Seaward merely nodded, barely turning to glance at the familiar figure that had stepped forward to peer at the horizon alongside him. Paulus was some sort of distant relation, based on his Whitestone ancestry, but 'kinsman' was about all the designation that the two men had been able to puzzle out. Not that it really mattered to the captain of the vessel; as long as Nemossos remained good at his job as crew chief, the blood relationship meant much less than his competency.

"Aye", he said after a few moments, feeling as if the nod had not been enough in the way of response. "I have been too long away from my wife, and daughters. Celia will be seven winters in age in merely a month more, and it seems like just yesterday that she was given to me. I am growing old, here upon the salt."

Paulus laughed, beard flecked with the white of age and the white of sea-spray in almost equal parts betraying his thoughts on the matter.

"You'll be looking like old parchment in no time, lad, never you fear. And you'll be getting right rich while you do so."

To the eyes of a landsman, the younger sailor already looked the part. His normally olive-swarthy skin had darkened to a shade more akin to leather than that of human flesh, and it was tough to the touch on account of sun and wind. But to the venerable fishermen and sailors who plied the waters of the Bay of Swords and even the Great River, he still seemed a supple pup. Such was the way of the world- one thing to one set of men, another thing to another, and neither vantage finding the truth of the situation as the man himself saw it.

But rich they would be getting, and that was true. Trade had always been prosperous, and though to sail as far afield as the lands of the Zhou and Lordaeron was hazardous- winter storms never fully left those chilly northern climes- it could also fill a man's pouch with silver as quick as a blink.

The Treader cut onward, other nimble sailors now trimming her sail to take her in towards the shoreline, and Rivermouth, the first settlement of the Hvasskyn and the Hierarchy. It was good to be home.

by **Saxony-Brandenburg** » Thu Nov 29, 2018 5:47 pm

Mara, the Capitol city of the Honori people during the Bronze Age

And so the Honori people lived on, passing from generation to generation, learning wondrous new things of their world, and learning the tough reality on their place in this world. And so the family grew, and grew, and grew, until it split, and again and again, until the homes across the hilltop spilled down into the valley, becoming a sea of wood and mud roofs. Their identity as a people changed through the course of time, and ultimately the Honori People would forge a unique tradition of governance, of culture, and of way of life, making their living along the fertile banks of the winding rivers, and beneath the scorching sun, and the greatly welcomed moon.

At the top of the Honori's society, were the Scholar-Priestesses. Mystics, midwives, healers, teachers- they represented human's connection to the mother goddess, Lunda. They served as the ruling class of the Honori, if you were to identify one, and met in the largest brick longhouse in the city. Sat atop the hill, and with a commanding view of the river valley below, this council of the Matriarchs, as it would be known, dictated law, negotiated diplomacy, called for war, and governed the city. They were thirty-two in number, one from every major 'family' the city had been divided into, based off of their mother's lineage.

Each family was a semi-political organization, and the matriarch of the family was a powerful role, who wielded the ability to choose a member of the family to be conducted into the priesthood as an apprentice, to sanction marriages, divorces, to discipline misconduct, and to make track of their property. Usually, all homes, tools, food, and land were shared, with one or two individual couples and their children of that family assigned to one home, and sharing the goods inside of it. Most everything else however, including clothes, valuables, food, etc, was personal property, officially that of the woman, but much more often it was shared. Personal property was passed down mother to daughter, with the husband marrying into whatever wealth his partner had, along with what he owned himself. He would then leave his family and join the family of his newlywed, and unless divorce came upon him, would be a permanent new member. If divorce did occur, which was a common legal affair, the women's family would receive the children, the man would return to his family, and the home, tools, and other communal property of the wife's family would be given back to them. Then, any individual property, goods of value, etc, would be negotiated and split between the two families by the two family matriarchs. A rather simple process of law, and any disputes that did not resolve would be brought before a priestess, who would then judge the situation and split any disputed property into what she thought was fare, famously, if it was one item both would refuse to concede, would often cut it in two with a blade- an infamous resolution that made this a rare occurrence.

The Scholar-Priestesses were always much more in number than the thirty-two who governed. Indeed, there was two-hundred of them by the time the city had grown to approximately one and a half thousand citizens. There were sixteen Judges, who reviewed the family disputes mentioned above, who interpreted the law, passed judgement, and who kept guard the clay tablets which bared the word of the matriarchs, often unchanged from generations before.

Next, there were forty-eight scribes, who were the bureaucrats of the government. They wrote down contracts between merchants, recorded government stores of goods, recorded the rulings of the judges, supervised the projects outlined by the matriarchs, and much, much more. the scribes, being the largest of any of the groups, were the busiest, and the youngest of the upper priesthood. If one was nominated, they would become an apprentice of the scribes, and, with the death, resignation, or promotion of their mentor, would be put before the Custodian to confirm if they were worthy to enter the priesthood. If they were, they could then rise through the petty ranks of the scribes, and ultimately be inducted as a judge, or even a matriarch, upon the death of the one of their family, that was.

Finally, there were four positions of note: The Moonspeaker, The Sunwarrior, the High Judge, and the Custodian, who all held various roles throughout time, and were ultimately the most powerful of Honori society. The Moonspeaker was elected out of all of the priesthood by the Matriarchs, and who served to preside over their councils. She could veto any proposal to law, religion, diplomacy, and governance felt challenged the will of the gods, and was most revered as having direct communication to the Honori's patron deity- Lunda, goddess of the moon, and mother of Silar. Which brings to the Sunwarrior- the only priestly position to be held by a man, typically the most accomplished and learned of the warriors of the society- the Sunwarrior was the high priest of Silar, and dictated his wishes to the Matriarchs for their consideration, and lead the forces of the Honori to battle should they be in need. Next, the High Judge, who would carve the tablets which bared the new laws of the council, and would review all cases she deemed worthy of an appeal, that the defendant or prosecution claimed to be mistreated. She could overturn verdicts, pardon the mistreated, discipline biased judges, ask for a judge to be dismissed by a vote of the Matriarchs, and appoint new judges from the ranks of the scribes. Her last ability was the most gruesome, which was in the cases most severe- in cases of murder or treason, if or not one should become a slave to the defendant's family, be put to death, or any number of capital punishments deemed equal to the crime. Lastly, there was the Custodian, the ultimate overhead of the scribes. She was there to ensure the will of the Matriarchs was done, and could oversee, discipline, remove, or induct candidates to the scribes. Additionally, she was the ultimate overhead of most government projects, the grain doll, and other key systems that kept the city going.

But what of the other one hundred? Well, they made up the lower priesthood, and filled various tasks. They might tend the sick, say, and make house calls to those in need. Or they may tend the sacred flame before an obelisk. Or they may be sent to help in the research of new ideas to the city. Or, as a large portion, possible slight majority of them were, served as apprentices to the scribes. Either way, this is where it all began, and members of the lower priesthood were the group appointed to the scribehood, and ultimately the rest of the upper priesthood.

And that was the governance, but what of other aspects of the society? Well, generally speaking they became a rather egalitarian society, with class distinctions strongly existing, but with very few privileges under the law. Each family might have a job they were seen as to be 'their place' in the society, from simple farmers up to merchants, although it must be stressed again, the priesthood came from all families, and there was rarely a bias for one or another. The government was very powerful, and provided a myriad of services and controls on the city. For instance, a majority of all grain and maize was given to the government as a tax, and they would distribute it in accordance to every family based off of need. Their diet was very simple, being that of fermented Agave juice mixed with water, flat cakes of ground corn and water, simple loaves of bread, and other basic staples, with the occasional fish, but this was a rare and occasional treat. Their middle class and wealth produced very basic goods, be that basic, basic square pots that often crumpled, various stick or grass-woven baskets, clothes of hide and agave fiber, bricks, and a few more.

But, as time wore on, progress must be made, and the city continued to grow, and ever change...

The Division of Labor

by **Holy Tedalonia** » Thu Nov 29, 2018 5:57 pm

The Imperial Republic of Saladonia
The City of Salli

Today the republic celebrated, as the leader of the nation paraded the with the city-state guards, throughout the city. The Lord-Imperator waved to his citizens smiling. Today was the Imperial Republic's 50th anniversary, and reminding all the dedication, and care the founding fathers poured into the Imperial Republic's founding. Lord-Imperator Tibus smiled proudly at his and the republic's achievements. His father had been the man to overthrow the Bryre's and he is the current elected ruler.

Once the parade was over, however reality set in for the young politician. The Republic was in dire straits, the missmanaged rule, and poor governance that the Bryre's did, left the citystate in tatters. The Lord-Imperator did what he could, but even that had done little for the Republic. If the republic were to survive, they needed men and proper ones at that. The Lord-Imperator ordered the that Brexonburn was to send out recruiters to gather more civilians. As the messenger left, another messenger enters the room.

"Sir, the 'Liquid Manus' project still continues. As its a project left untouched for a long time, but the scholars of Salli, believe they've unlocked its secrets. The Liquid Manus theory was original brought on by the founder Ferrenian, who thought he could use a rune to make liquidated magic."

The Lord-Imperator nods and dismisses him. The Lord Imperator sighs, applying his hand below his chin. Surely there must be another way to receive messages rather than have a bunch of men running around explaining things, he thought to himself. At least he wouldn't get a message from the Artisans- atleast not yet, they have been tasked to build huts for the citizens of Salli. Tibus peered out into the window to find a young drakeling sitting on the windowsill. It hissed and snapped at anything that approached it. The beast like the rest of its kind were of small numbers in the city, first brought by Vallenian himself. He wondered what he could use those creatures for, beasts that have yet to be tamed by man.

by **Pasong Tirad** » Fri Nov 30, 2018 6:12 am

Ita
Day one of the first year of the Chiefdom of Chieftess Bacani,
daughter of the late Chief Duja the Serene

The sun rose as it always did on the sleepy little valley city of Ita. For nearly a century these people have endured the weather and their bloodthirsty neighbors, all the while surviving only on what meat they can hunt and what plants they can gather. This has made the Ita an unusually resilient people. With nothing but a simple stone wall to defend them, some lead-tipped arrows and some sling bullets made of lead to fight and hunt with, the Ita people don't just survive - they live. While not thriving, they don't do too bad. And now, at this crossroads of their fate, their history may now change - for better or for worse, only time can tell, for the old chief of the Ita, Chief Duja, has just died, and the council of elders has chosen his young bastard daughter as their new chief - a break from tradition. Chieftess Bacani started her first day not by making a sacrifice to the gods, but by surveying the city she now controlled. While not heretical or blasphemous in the slightest, it was tradition - and she was now flouting that tradition.

After her walk through all of Ita, which took virtually all morning, Chieftess Bacani went up the stone wall that has defended their village since the age of the gods, and of the Great Ancestor who repelled the evil Binangewan and the demons, guaranteeing the life and freedom of her people. She went up there to survey the land outside of their nearly-perfectly circular walled city. Around half a dozen advisers followed her there, ready to take note of any of her first orders and perhaps tell her to follow tradition and make an offering to the gods. "We're on our own," she said. These were her first words that day - her first words since she was crowned Chieftess last night (she sat there silent all throughout the feast, stunned at the development). "The Ita are alone."

"That's how it's always been, Chieftess," said one of her advisers. "Tradition. As the gods will."

"The gods willed for us to be free, not to be alone." Wise words for the young woman, and her advisers were now looking at each other, attempting to discern what their new, young leader was thinking. "If we're going to survive, we need allies. Partners. To trade with, and to fight beside if need be. Send out the Wanderers. There," she pointed to the east. The mountains that kept the Ita isolated were surrounding them on the east and the west. Their knowledge of the land lay in this patch of land that nestled in between those two mountain ranges. Their world was in this valley. The advisers were shocked. The Wanderers were a class of the privileged elites of Ita. They haven't been sent out of the city to explore since over half a century ago. Any action that involved using the Wanderers needed the express permission of the elders of the city, which the advisers all mentioned in protest - more out of reverence to the special place the Wanderers have in their society than out of fear of the elders. The Wanderers were the descendants of the brave Itas who went out of the valley, searching for the land that their enemies called home. Now, however, their knowledge of their enemies is nonexistent, but the raids still come, and the Ita have dwindled in number every year. Surviving, yes, but barely. "I will inform the elders, go and tell the Wanderers to head east in the morning. Our knowledge of our surroundings is old, and we must learn more about our enemies. How many they are, where they come from, and perhaps learn of anybody who may not be hostile to us anymore." One of the advisers ran off, ready to inform all the Wanderer households. "Promise them silver, if you have to!" shouted Chieftess Bacani. Their main currency takes the form of a small silver bar carved into a ring and imprinted with symbols to denote when it was made and its official status as currency, to avoid forgeries.

"Do we have enough rings to pay the Wanderers?" asked the Chieftess.

"We can find a way to get enough, Chieftess," answered an adviser,

"Please do," she answered, "and let's be a bit more sensible with how we spend our silver. The valley can't supply us forever." The adviser acknowledged this and then ran off to follow the other one, perhaps to make sure they'll be able to procure enough silver and to not spend it so wantonly.

She turned around, looking now at Ita. It was a small city of less than a thousand people. Most of the people were living rather comfortably in proper huts, but a large portion of the people, some two hundred peasants, lived in a large slum district. "Our people need better homes. Have our artisans build homes for them. Replace those slums, give our people proper roofs over their heads." One of the advisers was ready to run off, but the Chieftess literally grabbed the man by the cuff of his shirt to stop him. "Not yet, friend, not yet! We don't have the resources to do this. Reopen the quarry first. Let the miners gather up silver. Enough to make sure any future building projects can be well-financed." The adviser, probably ashamed that a woman like the Chieftess was able to manhandle him the way that she did, ran off but this time with his head down.

She turned around again, looking back out into the hilly land they call their home. Just looking out into the rolling hills and riverland of the Ita Valley, she could already see dozens upon dozens of goats, the main food source of the Ita for their whole existence. A herd of about a dozen of them were grazing on the hill right next to the city. "We need to harness those goats. Imagine if we could butcher a goat anytime we wanted to without having to go out and hunt for another. I'm sure the assistants and trainees of the elders can oblige us, they all just sit on their backsides all day." The advisers gave out several chuckles, and one of them was ready to leave, but hesitated.

"To do what exactly, Chieftess?" asked the adviser that was supposed to go to the elders.

"To make the goats... less hostile to us, I suppose. That would involve feeding them and making friends with them, I'd imagine. Look, the main point is that we would be able to get a lot more food such as milk and cheeses if we didn't just slaughter the goats whenever we went out hunting. If we could raise them from birth like the cats and dogs, if we could regularly milk them, make more of them, and butcher them when we need to." The adviser, while still visibly confused, nodded in agreement and sped off. Hopefully the message would get across.

"And the rest of our people, Chieftess?" asked the remaining advisers.

"Go out and slaughter the goats, I guess," she said jokingly. The advisers laughed at the irony, but understood the order to mean that the rest of the citizens were to go out to hunt and gather food, be it goats, fruits, or roots from the hills or fish and wild vegetables from the river. "But tell them we're heading out tomorrow. I'll join the hunt myself, of course. I'll make my prayers to the gods tonight for a bountiful reign, and we can feast and make sacrifices to Kedes and Lueve. And our Wanderers can also use this evening to make their sacrifices to Amas for a safe voyage. Two celebrations, one feast." Kedes, the god of the hunt, and Lueve, the goddess of growth. Twin gods, and they needed to make sacrifices to both before each hunt. If it was a hunt conducted by a single individual or a small hunting party, then a small sacrifice to the altars would do. But, for a city-wide hunt, a large feast was required. To Kedes, for the hunt to be successful, and to Lueve, to endow the hunters mercy when faced with goats who are pregnant, young, or are still caring for the young, so that there may be more to hunt in the future. It has worked so far, as the population of goats seems to be growing despite the hunts bringing in dozens upon dozens of goat carcasses. And the Wanderers needed to make sacrifices for Amas, the goddess of love. Couples are married saying their vows to her, neighbors in dispute pray to her to soften their hearts towards their fellow Ita. Amas represented all kinds of love, from familial love to romantic love and from platonic love to love of the gods, all were under her domain, and she ruled the relations of men and kept the peace between them. When the Wanderers prayed to her for safe voyage, it means they're asking her to safeguard them against other people.

All the advisers who had taken orders from the Chieftess convened together that very night during the festivities to witness the coming of age of their new leader. She had a clear vision of what her city needed to accomplish, and not just for the short-term. She thought about their needs now, and the needs of her citizens for the future. For now, they were content to see a leader that had a heart to understand the needs of her people, and a will to solve it.

by **Kelmet** » Fri Nov 30, 2018 7:46 am

The Kingdom of Lordaeron

Year One of the Reign of King Varian Menethil

From the Largest and most commanding hut near the highest point in the center of the city King Varian watched as his people toiled yet again for a better future. For three hundred years since the people of the Light were just a few scattered huts and campfires his line had ruled with wisdom and strength. Guided by the teachings of the light Varian planned to have his rule be as good for the people as the last.

The kingdom faced many issues however, they were not all that wealthy, they suffered from the occasional public order problem and for all there efforts there wasn't that many of them. The Also suffered from Lack of Magic users amongst them. Tho the legends of Vestubian the great Paladin of the Light and Cain the Mage of the Light still brought hope to those who had an affinity fro the light the Order of the Silver Hand (Paladins of the Light) and the Cycle (Mages) were shells of what they could be and what they were.

However, threw all their trials and tribulation the people of Lorderon stood strong with their alliance members and knew that together they could not only survive but thrive in this world. A Noble, pure and honest people, the Lorderonians would forge their own destiny as they moved foreword.

Assignments.

by **Novas Arcanum** » Fri Nov 30, 2018 8:20 am

The Cadmian Republic

The People and Senate of Cadmus

Senator Tiberius stood atop the Vestian Hills, in the great Temple of Itempas, the marble chariots of the God of Life guarding the entrance to one of the holiest sites in all of Cadmus. He was middle-aged, forty winters of age, jet black hair laid atop his head, swarthy of complexion, and a handsome rugged face the ladies adored. He was muscular from years laboring on his farm near the city labor that he enjoyed very much unlike his fellow patricians who often hired slaves and peasants to work for them

He stared at the great city of Cadmus below. Glistening marble buildings overshadowed the primitive huts and slums that housed the plebians. Cadmus his homeland, a land of great wealth and terrible poverty, where the patricians lived lives of splendid luxury, while the overwhelming majority lived in abject poverty. The lives of the plebeians were simply horrid, he could not accept this state of being for his people, his country, his Republic.

He walked from the Vestian Hills to the heart of the City. It was full of life, the rhythmic beating of hammers by the artisans was a testament to that.The city was full of all types of smells, both pleasant and horrible. A sickening mixture of spices, sweet aromas, sweat, and excrements, that was typical of the urban lifestyle. The Cadmians walked with a certain pep in their step. They sang the songs of their ancestors, and thanked the gods, for another day of life. They conversed with each other eagerly, the Cadmians where a boisterous and friendly folk and their smiles were as bright as the glistening white marble that painted the hills overlooking their great city.

He remembered the Day of Darkness, when the Cadmians under a tyrannical king had waged war on the plebians, the Shovalians, and forced them out the city-state. Their ancestors had fled Cadmus and founded the city of Shoval, they were nearly identical culturally speaking venerating gods such as Kona, and Arkane, and had the same mannerisms and customs, yet the damage was done and Cadmus had found itself a permanent enemy it seemed. There were those in the Senate who believed Shoval was a rebellious province. Likewise, there were certainly those in Shoval who claimed the mantle of Cadmian civilization and wished to conquer the lands of their birth.

After those dark days, the people were so outraged that they rebelled and disposed of the monarchy, putting in place a republican form of government where power would be vested in the people rather than a single despot. The Cadmians prided themselves on their democratic form of government, the very word king was considered an insult, that could obliterate a candidates chance in winning election to become consul. Tiberius soon stopped musing about the past and looked to the future. As a senator, he would work to push the rights and dignity of the plebians, his ambitions where great, he knew that if he were to become consul of the Republic he would need the plebians to support him, thus he carried onwards, with a bright vision for his people and his country.

The Senate votes to adopt the bureaucratic policy.

by **Olthenia** » Fri Nov 30, 2018 10:09 am

The Wayward Son
Grand River Delta, heading west
Thirteenth Day of the Arc of Reeds
The Third Sitting of Gorama the Kindly
The Second Age after the Founding

The men did not like poling the waters of the delta. It made them nervous.

“It gets cold out here,” Okeer remarked, and pulled his threadskin cloak tighter about him.

Kajah shot the young captain a dubious glance from the corner of her eye. “Aye. That it does,” agreed the warmother of the Wayward Son’s guard contingent. She was taller than him by half a hand at least, and needed no cloak to keep the chill off of her back. When she spoke, her warriors listened.

Up ahead, Okeer watched as a warrior on one of the Wayward Son's sister-rafts toss a modest bundle of candles over its side, an offering to the long-dead ancestors who watched all the children of Fastaqui that dared brave the muddy waters. Once he would have laughed, as boys did at things beyond their ken. Now, without thinking, he murmured to himself the ancient prayer. That the gods above be kind, and the gods below kinder still.

The candles vanished in the swirling river, while at their back the lights of Fastaqui had disappeared entirely.

The Wayward Son was scarcely a day out from the city, hugging the shores of muddy inlets and poling clear of reed-strewn sandbanks as it traversed deeper, ever deeper, into the land beyond Fastaqui’s coast. The land here was flat, thick with yellow reeds and studded with sandbanks. Trees, spare and twisted, stabbed like grasping fingers at the great, grey sky.

Off the port of the Wayward Son’s side, Okeer thought he could see more trees still. Not just lonely trunks, but a treeline, dark and forbidding in the early morning light. That was where they were headed. To see, and know, what lay beyond.
Okeer had not desired this task. He was the second son of the Barenda, a storied clan of traders and merchants with roots going back before the Founding. Yet the Barendas had fallen on hard times, and it sometimes struggled to pay the rivermen whose broad backs and bronzed arms carried the wide, lumbering Son upriver. It struggled, also, to regularly pay its guard contingent – which, Okeer reflected, went some way towards explaining why Warmother Kajah was such a sourfaced hag.

And then Okeer’s brother had drowned, bitten by a mudsnake while bathing, and the Barendas had made that final, desperate lunge drowning men make as they reach for shore, and – with the Council’s blessings – dispatched Okeer with rivermen to pole a fleet of river-rafts beyond Fastaqui’s lights and not return before he had found something, anything, that would reverse their failing fortunes once and for all.

Kajah had poled these waters before. “There is life in the delta, aye. Waterfowl in great, grey flocks, and amber also, in snarls along the riverbanks. Some say in chunks as large as a child’s fist. And scarcely competition for it. Your mothers could have made worse decisions than sending you here.”

But Okeer still had his doubts. The early morning was cold indeed, and the great, grey sky stretched on into the horizon. If the banks here teemed with amber, Okeer had yet to see any – if wealth could truly be had so easily out here, why had the other trading clans not yet sent rafts of their own? No. Walls of yellow reeds and spare trees stretched, and banks of mist still lay thick amongst the dark mudflats. Such places were sacred to the gods – even stranger ones than the ones that watched fair Fastaqui – and they always made Okeer nervous.

Abruptly, Kajah raised an arm and pointed. “There.” Okeer followed the direction of her finger and saw an inlet – river water churning the wide, dark waters. Ahead of them, walls of yellow reeds parted to reveal a broader, swifter inlet. Its current created ripples any river-man worth his pole would recognize. Okeer felt its fingers tugging at the Wayward Son’s bow, like children at the edge of an elder’s tunic. At their posts, the pole-men groaned and shifted – steeling themselves to haul the Wayward Son out into the current proper.

And the new dawn beyond it.

by **The GAmeTopians** » Fri Nov 30, 2018 10:12 am

The Great Zhou Imperium
Year One of the Second Era

The sun rises, marking the dawn of a new era for the Zhou people. What was once a small tribe of peoples huddling together in escape of the bitter cold had become a bustling city-state, eager to expand and make its mark upon the world. Their gathering of huts was surrounded by a palisade, warding off potential attackers, though no real threats had been encountered as of yet, save for some Wastelanders.

"My Emperor, the scholars have proposed an updated comprehensive expansion charter, both for expansion of the capital and the creation of potential settlements."
A well-dressed man kneeled before another, the latter seated upon a large, particularly ornate chair. Their surroundings were far from extravagant, situated in a hut only slightly larger than the others of the city-state.
"Very well. You may rise, and outline this plan to me so that I may pass judgement upon it."
The kneeling man rose to his feet, though he still did not dare to look the Emperor directly in the eyes. Emperor Zhou Wang, seventh of his name, was not a cruel man - but not one to be tested nonetheless.
"The scholars implore us to make haste eastward - the strong metal that we found there may be particularly valuable to our development. They therefore suggest that we invest in the recruitment and training of settlers, who may then facilitate a harvesting operation of the metal once our scholars devise a way to do so."
"This seems reasonable. Make it so. Notify the population of a recruitment drive, seeking interested settlers to travel eastward. Please continue your explanation of the rest of the charter."
The man cleared his throat, before closing his eyes for a moment to review the rest of the proposal in his mind. In short order, his eyes opened once again, and he continued.
"My Emperor, the scholars would like to highlight the importance of internal expansion within the region, so that our people have room to grow. They subsequently have marked out an area on the river's edge that would be particularly suited to a rural district, one that we may develop further."
"That sounds acceptable. Make it so. I have already communicated policy changes to the town criers, so you don't need to go over those."
The man bowed once more, and the Emperor nodded to him.
"You may go."

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Fri Nov 30, 2018 10:14 am

22nd of Sunfall, Year 327 of the Common Era
Windward Manor, Sunhold, Kharbarinth

Vladimir sighed as the twining energies soaked into his skin, prismatic hues of purple, orange, emerald, and other colors for which scholars had yet to create names curling up from the glowing shimmerstone to illuminate the entirety of the his bedchamber. The weight of years fell from his back almost as if the Father was running the clock backwards, even though the Hierarch was broadly aware that what was actually happening was markedly different, if not altogether dissimilar. A dull ache started in his side as an old sparring wound reopened- as he had known it would- and the scion of House Nemtsov grimaced as another mage stepped forward to press glowing palms against the old (but growing younger) man's fresh flow of blood.

The pain was a niggling fire that engulfed his senses. A small price to pay though for the years that could be given by the beneficence of the Mother, and the black-haired man was almost used to it now, in his one hundred and sixty years of life supernaturally prolonged. Thus was the glory of station, and the weight of command.

Slowly the devouring fire ebbed away, and a sharp crack filled the room, the light of the pristine opalescent shimmerstone dimmed and now returned to dun nothingness, barely more brilliant than an emerald or ruby. It would still be worth a pretty copper on the markets of Cadmus or Lordaeron, the people there unaware of its true nature and merely happy to have a thing of beauty in their possession, but to the Hierarch it was almost like watching a life fade away. The poets and wordsmiths of the Collegia had long tried to capture the effervescent grandeur of the wonders of nature like shimmerstone in verse and song, and some of the stanzas Vladimir had heard recited could certainly move the heart, but none had ever quite touched him like the melancholic finality of actually seeing the shimmering glitter of power snuffed out. A monstrous price, destroying beauty to preserve life, but one which the Hvasskyn had wantonly paid since first being shown the secrets in long ago ages of the Forebearers.

The robed figure before the Hierarch bowed as the last lazily dancing sparks of magefire soaked into his factor's skin. Lightly dyed crimson robes, made of a mixture of oxidized rust and clever oils, marked him as a preeminent member of the Schola Arcana, specifically of the Precept of Time, but Vladimir did not recognize his face in particular. The Blackguards vetted such men thoroughly, but it was a simple enough act, the transference, and so oftentimes less influential members of the Schola were sent to deal with such matters for the elite of the city.

"It is done, Lord Hegemon. Julia will ease the last of the internals, if you will, but I fear I must depart."

A wave of the hand and a smiling nod sufficed for dismissal from the son of Iron, and the green-robed healer continued her work, her face steadily growing paler as the heat of her carefully attuned senses worked its way through the Hierarch's body. He was only the second of his name to bear that title, but he had still seen more generations come and go than most could boast in the known world, and so his view of the years was long. The sacrifice of wealth and the health of some few of the mages in the community was a small price to pay for such perspective, or so Vladimir was, very self-consciously, convinced.

As the cunningly graven black oak door to his chambers opened to permit the Chronolog passage out of the room, another man entered, and the Hierarch found himself split between both the sigh of a man tired of his burdens and a friend pleased to have good company. For such was the effect the Master of Hands had upon many people- the good-natured Kuril Rurik was an immense red-bearded giant with an easy laugh and a perpetual twinkle in his eye, but his ability to recite lists and names and quotas was unequaled in any person Vladimir had ever met. Not the most stimulating of conversation, when he got on his tangent for which he held his position, but a capital fellow outside of the workplace or with a banquet in his belly to distract him from his labors.

"Do you ever sleep Kuril?" asked the black-haired scion, half teasingly, half chagrined. "I had thought to have some hours of repose yet, as the sun crawls towards its setting, and perhaps a languid nap to sleep off the worst of the backlash ere eveningmeal."

The stalwart Rurikid, loyal and friendly to a fault, stutter-stepped in the doorway, momentarily completely taken aback by such a rebuke, before sudden humor kindled in his face as he realized the joke for what it was. It was uncommon for Vladimir to stop working in the hours of daylight, and he was far more guilty of burning the candle at both ends than even the most diligent of his charges and subjects, supplied with strength both by his internal hardy constitution and the small Mightstone that was firmly entrenched in his office.

"Your pardon, good master, then, for my intrusion. But the Council thought it would be best if you formally weighed in on the matter of.. debate, ere we proclaimed the measure."

Pox. Sarden pox. It was Vladimir's turn to sigh heavily now. A crisis of leadership his father had never had to deal with, in the heady days when men knew every member of their clan by name and face, and crime was a thing of fancy or passion, not calculated object. Nor, for that matter, poverty. From each according to their ability, to each according to their worth. But that meant some men got stuck at the bottom of the heap, by destiny or misfortune, and those of ill hearts turned to dark means of gaining their daily bread.

"...I will assent to the measure. Inform the Council, if you please Kuril, and especially Commandant Naxos. It is his men who will have to deal with the ramifications, mostly."

The red-bearded man frowned, but bowed slowly, and departed the chamber as quickly as he had come. That was apparently all that was required of the Hierarch this minute, a fact for which the Nemtsov was unduly grateful. Doubtless they had sent Kuril because he was the least likely man for the Lord Hegemon's wrath to descend upon. But Vladimir was feeling philosophical, having just been given more of the luxury of the long view. This measure, however distasteful it seemed on the surface, seemed only too necessary with the insight of the years to come.

Yes, necessary. He sank back upon the chair once more as the healer continued her restorative work, mending the rents and tears of the ages from his corporeal form.

Year 327 CE

by **Dernland** » Fri Nov 30, 2018 12:42 pm

The Ekwosi Tribe
The Ekwo Steppes

It was nearing sunset when Amekábn̥los rode into the outer edges of the tribal village at the head of his scouting party. Another quiet day in the plains, though he would have it no other way. Citizens were wandering about their business, clearing land for new construction, tanning leather, among other things. Children ran playing through the motley collection of yurts. He dismounted, leaving his horse to be tended by one of the peasants before heading into the largest tent in the village. A cloud of smoke filled the massive central chamber, emanating from a circle of seated men, all chanting and swaying. Amek waited respectfully as the elders finished their ritual, when all the men clapped in unison and stood, shaking each others hands and talking among themselves as if nothing had just happened. The elders filed out of the yurt, leaving only Amek and the oldest of the men behind. Amek wasn't entirely sure how old the Elder of the Elders was, only that he was there when the Ekwosi first discovered the Steppes. The Elder sat down on a cushion and gestured for Amek to approach, running a decrepit hand over his long white beard.

"Pətēr." Amek began, "The steppes are at peace for now, the other tribes are beginning to settle down for winter. What have the Old Ones decreed?"

"Pūpos, this winter will be favorable to us, and we will enter into the new year stronger than ever." The old man closed his eyes and smiled. "Do you know how the Ekwosi found this land?"

Amek groaned inwardly. "Yes Pətēr, you tell it every year at the Əsnātis Festival." Age had certainly began its decay of the mans mind, he was becoming forgetful.

"Yes, I tell the tale, but do you KNOW it." There was a sense of urgency in the Elder's voice that almost concerned Amek. "We came down from the frozen wastes while hunting herds of beasts. For generations we had been a nomadic people, never calling any place home. But that changed when we discovered the Steppe. Fertile farmlands, sparse forests, and vast pains on which to ride. We settled here." The old man closed his eyes again, leaning sideways to rest his head upon Amek's shoulder. "This is our home, this is your home, you must protect it." His voice was becoming weaker and weaker, his breaths ragged and slow.

"Pətēr?" Amek said quietly.

Slower, quieter. "Promise me...you will keep them safe."

"Yes Pətēr. I will."

"Good..." The old man sighed, and the slow, ragged breathing ceased.

by **The National Dominion of Hungary** » Fri Nov 30, 2018 5:36 pm

The Kingdom of Sera - City of Serrith

On the river Travek stood the city of Serrith, it's wide expanse of huts stretching across the flatlands. It was home to a well-traveled and adventurous nation of explorers and trades who braved far and wide during the last five decades in a great age of discovery. The intrepid Serans walked far and wide across the world, initiating trade with cities as far away as the Maelon in the mountains far to the west. This trade has enriched the city greatly indeed. Across the generations the Seran people have made themselves a strong home in these lands, growing more numerous and splitting into many Houses. Some had gone to make their lives in new places when Serrith became too crowded, founding new settlements that each contributed to the wealth and power of the Kingdom. The Kames of the heartland told them stories as they advanced through the ages, stories of their ancestors painted with the hieroglyphs of their people. They told of how the ancestors first left the Greatwood far away and settled these lands. How they faced many trials and tribulations, from hostile raiders to harsh winters, but the worst of all was the great plague menacing the Kingdom around a century ago, hundreds died or were driven from their homes.

From the palace on a small mound close to the roomy city's main square, King Farentor II of House Skyspyre ruled the Kingdom of Sera. He was an old man, over six decades to his age and while his body did feel the effects, his mind was still sharp. He had ruled through over two decades of the golden age of exploration after retaking the throne from the usurpers of House Flintshaper. Their future was in his hands, and the coffers were well-filled with gold in order to pay for this brighter future for the Kingdom of Sera and all it's people. The Ancestors that came to this land might have held grand dreams, but King Farentor presumed that they in their... well, more primitive state were not quite able to truly envision the city before them. To them, greatness was a dozen hide tents. To the Serans of the modern day, it was fine ceramics and real homes in this peaceful land with plentiful food to be grown, hunted, fished and gathered. This land had allowed them to prosper to the degree that they did this day.

But... maybe... just maybe they did imagine something like this? Perhaps an ancient Skyspyre did dream of what the aging king did. Of high walls to protect their wealth, of bountiful fields and nets heavy with catches feeding the teeming number of the Seran people as they spread across the land, founding new settlements and claiming new land. Indeed, perhaps there was...

by **Ralnis** » Sat Dec 01, 2018 4:09 pm

Xcotl

It had been 300 years since Xcotl migrated to the River Aphis, in the Deadlands. The people that were ruled by magic and their spirits had grown. Face with the extension of stillborn children, the shamans turned to necromancy for their answers. It was here that their place in history was ensured as the manipulation of life energies allowed them save lives. This in turn developed them to the first magocracy in the world, ruled by the scholars who further the dead magic for their own benefits. Over six hundred years, the Dead-folk had grown beyond what their ancestors had thought that they could become. Lakmal was able to keep the knowledge of the civilization intact and allowed for oral histories to be passed down to the other mages. It was because of Lakmal that the necromantic spells were still in effect and could be used. However they needed to do more, needed to keep researching so that they can benefit their city.

One of the most current issues was the matter of wealth that was spent in repelling the Sand Demon incursion a generation ago. Crops have returned to normal and the population numbers have came back but the Gate Council had decided to look into bring more population to their city in order to keep up with the rest of the people in their alliance. The people had also started to look to gather food from the domestic crops and the tamed ant-hounds. The Gate Council also ordered the soldiers and explorers to find new sources of life in order to experiment on finally domesticating the ant-hounds and no longer needing to use mind control spells to keep them tame.

by **Elerian** » Sat Dec 01, 2018 4:51 pm

Delisle and Sons, Serris

The early morning wind carried with it all the familiar smells that one would come to expect from a city the size of Serrith. As the sun slowly crept its way over the cloudless grey-blue horizon, the city began to stir to fulfill its morning routines. For the moment it was relatively quiet and pristine, a perfect morning something Letho Delisle would have to once again get used to while on the road.

The streets began to fill as the night sentries changed shifts, the cooks got about their cooking, and all the rest of the city folk woke to ready for the coming day. Letho would sup with his family once last time before heading out into the unknown reaches beyond Serrith. A handful of beasts of burden had been prepared and were milling about in the courtyard below the Delisle household. They had trade goods and provisions to last them for sometime, and a party of a dozen or so men would help to ward off any highwaymen during their travels. While Letho could have slept in some to be fresh for the day, he was too anxious to sleep anymore. He and his aide walked quickly among the provisions, double and triple checking that they had everything that they needed for the journey.

His limbs were stiff, and his eyes still bore sleep sand, but he still moved quickly with his aide close behind. They both wore their travel clothes, and after a time they had finished inspecting everything for the umpteenth time. His father, Cecil Delisle, appeared just then.

"Everything’s as it should be son. Why don’t you come inside and eat?” Cecil asked through steamy breath.

"Very well father" Letho replied whilst looking back over his ledgers one last time.

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Sat Dec 01, 2018 6:49 pm

Year 327 of the Common Era

Delisle and Sons: Roaming far from the city lights and fertile farmsteads of Serris, the intrepid men and women of the first Explorer's Company explored to the northeast of the main settlment, and then north further, accquiring detailed maps of the route to distant Gergan, their employer's homeland. Results TGed

by **Saxony-Brandenburg** » Sat Dec 01, 2018 8:59 pm

Mara, The Honori Nation

The Honori people passed another two years by quietly, working in their castes without grumblings or discontent. The Learned Women of the Bureaucracy sat by idly, unable to innovate, and so resigned to their average duties of governors, scribes, and the like. The sun rose, and the sun set, and the only news that passed over the Honori Nation from 327-329 CE was the exploration of the Northern Territory, which, to all those besides who traveled there, is utterly inconsequential. Everyone, was utterly bored.

The recreational activities for the Honori people were rather simple- they made do with what they had. Board games had their start for the Honori people around 300 CE, and took many years to be more refined. A common game was played using a rectangular wooden board with divots and various small stones. The game, referred to much later in history as "Movere", was played between two opposing players, who took turns moving however many stones were put into said divot, attempting to place as many stones into their reservoir as they made their way around the board. It was often played by the more well-off of Honori society, as seen in some of the board's more elaborate design.

Poetry became a very common pursuit of many of the intellectual elite, and in one famed story, a suspected murderer's defense was stated entirely in verse, which just so happened to also acquit her of her charges upon the over hour-long testimony's completion. Poetry competitions were also very common among the learned elite and middle class, and many would gather in the common areas well inside the city, or in sacred fields well outside it's gates in honor of their ancestors and the gods who protected them. Case in point for instance, was the festival of the thunder, conducted every Summer equinox, or the approximation, as the Honori had no formal calendar as of 329 CE, inwhich various songs, poems, and philosophical works about the wonders of nature were conducted in attempt to coerce the spirits of the storms to bless the desert with their yearly monsoons.

along with intellectual pursuits, athletics, particularly in the areas of running, throwing, and wrestling were common, and future historians have found traces of 'tracks' marked with large stones for athletic competitions, most often held at nighttime, when the cool air made such strenuous activities bearable and safer. The largest runs were often held yearly, with smaller, shorter sprints occurring more often.

Wrestling matches were also held, most famously as a ritual between two of the many candidates for the Sun warrior title upon the death or resignation of the last, although this was not the sole occasion. But, wrestling was almost always in some way dedicated to the Sun god beforehand, with his association with the brute stregnth exemplified in such feats, and, as such, most competitions of the sort were held during the day, in the blistering heat.

Dancing and singing were also very prevalent, with many clay tablets with such songs surviving well into the future with these performative songs written down onto them. Often telling stories from the past or the time of creation, they served as communal activities, ranging from simple chants and stomps to more along the lines of a performed epic poem, sang from memory, with many, many actors in elaborate costumes, making noises with the clattering of bone chimes and the banging of crude stick instruments. The largest if these drew crowds of hundreds, often being performed by firelight outside of the city in a large enough field to accommodate such teeming masses. This was the entertainment most sponsored by the priesthood, and often those who participated and worked in the dance would be given free grain and accommodations by the government for their service. But simple chants were never less popular, and the same ancient tune from well before the city grew so huge was one of the most popular:

Yaren, Yaren, etu na de Daet sun,
Yaren, Yaren, mushe Rush é mushe Tun,
Yaren, Yaren, mushe Rae é mushe Rue,
Yaren, Yaeen, na Silar é erse Mun!

Very short, it has appeared as a sort of chorus in a few religious chants, and can be translated as follows:

Prosperity, Prosperity, you are that which comes from the gods,
Prosperity, Prosperity, much fruit and much wealth,
Prosperity, Prosperity, much light and much life,
Prosperity, Prosperity, from the sun and his mother. (Moon)

The Division of Labor

by **The National Dominion of Hungary** » Sun Dec 02, 2018 1:33 pm

The Kingdom of Sera

Across the last two years, the City of Serrith had been a hive of activity, the city's artisans and freemen had been hard at work, digging a trench around the city, heaping the excavated dirt into a low mound upon which a palisade surrounding Serrith, the heart of the Kingdom, and it's wealth was erected. And indeed, which the realm had rarely been plagued by marauding nomadic tribes or hostile states the King was of a firm opinion that the city needed proper defensive measures. There was talk in the royal court of military reform as well, in this day and age the military forces the Kingdom could field were simple warbands drawn from the warriors of various Houses following some lord or local man of power. The King had the opinion that a conscripted force of warriors should stand ready to defend the nation in time of need, drawn from the peasantry, they would be called together in the face of the enemy and do one month of training in the winter each year. But those plans were an issue to handle another day as many nobles felt such a move would erode some of their powerbase, they needed their warriors, the aristocrats of Sera were not a warrior-nobility, they were scholars and philosophers in the image of the First Thinker among the ancestors, founder of House Skyspyre.

Reports from the coastal village of Sorncost to the south were pleasing, while food had been ample and none had gone hungry in the last two years. Sorncost had produced a great amount of food, one that could be used to feed the capital but the most important thing at hand was an increase in the amount of food produced, as the King Armandir, the founder of the Kingdom of Sera said 122 years ago. "Every realm is one missed meal away from chaos." These measure were already being undertaken, the scholarly aristocrats were already working on new methods of planting, harvesting and irrigating to increase the bounty of the fields. However, more time and resources had to be invested before those experiments bore any fruits. Another thing that had to be improved was the condition of the farms surrounding Serrith, the heart of the realm needed to have it's food supply secured in order to grow in both wealth and for the population to grow in number. As the work on the palisade was being finished and payed for, the goal for the time ahead was to improve the rural infrastructure of the heartlands while in the northern village of Sarfuth, the mine would be put on hold in favor of other concerns namely that of hunting lodges, bows, arrows and spears. Brave hunters would soon sweep the northern woods and hills for food.

And so, new plans were being put in motion to secure the Kingdom's prosperous future. Farmers marched out into their fields, hunters into the woods, women with woven baskets gathered fruit and chatted lively as they worked. The lands around the capital were improved and prepared for large-scale agriculture while the scholars kept working with their minds as others did with their hands and the strength of their backs, each and every one contributing to the whole. The little wealth has being created, the potter's workshops had been quiet lately, but the Kingdom's coffers were still well-filled. They still had time...

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Sun Dec 02, 2018 2:54 pm

4th of Summersheat, Year 329 of the Common Era
Hall of the Mind, Kharbarinth

Mendishev carefully bent at the knees, nodding to the laborer across from him.

"One, two..." and then the immense structure touched the floor and the two men exhaled, smiles crossing faces swiftly. The artisan wasn't sure exactly how much the sarden bookshelves his team had been hauling into the newly raised edifice near the city-center weighed, but it was absolutely enough to make him grateful nobody had taken it into their heads to order a more ornate design. He was pleased to see the sturdy and utilitarian creations installed in their final resting places though, and dashed a few drops of sweat from his forehead.

"Hard to think they're going to try to educate the masses here, eh?"

The other man shrugged, his mein that of a swarthy hillman out of Steelsworn more nearly than that of the folk of the lineage of the City of Bells.

"Perhaps. I know my Mila and I are thinking of sending our boy here, when we can spare him. Numbers we can teach him easily enough- can't exactly work with wood without a good head for numbers- but letters, those will hive him even more choices than mere arithmetic alone. Certainly a boon I wish I could have had at his age."

The lead carpenter nodded thoughtfully. It was true. And, indeed, one of the reasons he, as a lesser son of the noble House Sundsvar, stood where he did atop the chain of command in this business.

"Let's get the last stand. Father only knows where they will find manuscripts to fill these, but so long as the silver is good, I could care less."

Year 329 CE

by **Holy Tedalonia** » Sun Dec 02, 2018 3:40 pm

The Imperial Republic of Saladonia
The City of Salli

The new huts lay within the city, vacant and untouched by men. The relatively unpopulated city was lacking both manpower and development. Jobs left vacant waiting for a man to wield the axe, or hoe.

This was the view the Lord-Imperator Tibus saw, as he peered out of his window. Reality however interupted the middle-aged mans thoughts, "Lord-Imperator please keep focus, the citizens in Salli, starved last year due to a miss-management by your administration, to prevent that this year we must be ready and find a way around."

Lord-Imperator Tibus Rylander shifted his eyes to the man, shrewdly staring at the speaker, with his fist pressed against his check. This man was of Vallenian's direct decendents, the Bryres. His deep blue eyes and brown hair would give it away, his name was Daros Bryre. A aged politician who opposed his father's rule.

"I find it amusing that a senator accuses my administration, without attempting to legislate new farming laws last year," said the Imperator, "rather than blame me for your shortcomings Daro's in bed and in politixs, you should consider you should try to mend them."

The senator blushed furiously as laughter erupted within the senate. The Lord-Imperator glances at Davian Lazos head of the Lazos clan, head of Brexonburn. "I heard the harvest was good, Davian, and so was it in Vallenia. I propose we have the excess food from the two settlements be brought in to feed the citizens of the capital. Would you oppose this idea, Davian?"

The senator ponders a moment and shakes his head.

Tibus smiles, "good, the food issue is resolved for now. What's next?"

"Reports say, the scholars of Salli havent finished the 'Liquid Manus' project."

"Give them one more year, I understand it takes them, but we cant have them doing it forever, they need to study other things," stated the Imperator.

"Lastly, the artisans need a project to work on."

"Order a monument constructed, inscribed with the ideals of the republic, and put the most prominent figure of the founding fathers, my father. That should be all this senste session is over."

by **Olthenia** » Sun Dec 02, 2018 3:46 pm

The City of Fastaqui
Twentieth Day of the Arc of Shoals
The Third Sitting of Gorama the Kindly
The Second Age after the Founding

“Heave!”

The sun was baking. It made the air shimmer above the rows of stilted wooden huts. And that was fair. It was that time of day for it, after all – when men snoozed and women gossiped. The heat made anything else unbearable, anyway. Unless poverty forced toil to your doorstep regardless. Clustered in the shade, elders shield their eyes and wafted their faces with bully-bark fans. Dogs yelped. Children squealed and dunked themselves. The air was alive with the scents of a Fastaqui summer.

“Even the gods swelter in this heat!” crowed Old Nuas, and stole a gimlet glance at her neighbour across the ganu-board.

“Maybe they do, aye,” murmured Lunga, whom children called ‘the Lame’ on account of her lame leg. “But that still won’t save you.”

Old Nuas rolled her eyes and made a uniquely Fastaquian noise - a groan of exasperation right at the back of her throat. Lunga pretended not to hear her. Instead, the old crone calmly hovered a wrinkled hand above the ganu-board to pluck another stone from Nuas’ side. The third one in as many moments. A pox on her, and both her legs!

“Fine. Fine!” retorted Nuas. And decided to play for time. “Say, did you hear the tales told by Kajah and her kin? A river-raft carried her out west, it’s said – her and some man-fool Barenda boy. They saw spiked trees! And-”

“Yes, yes,” Lunga cut her off with the no-nonsense tone of an experienced fish-monger’s wife. “And hunchbacked creatures with squat, leery faces as long as a slumdog’s hut? I know, sister.” She finished her drawl with a languid wave of her spotted hand; the sort that said ‘And what of it?’ without quite as many syllables involved. But Old Nuas was not so old she did not catch the hint of tension in her neighbour’s ‘sister’. It was the sort of tense usually reserved for haggling customers or cheeky grandchildren. ‘Oh, none of that, girl. I wasn’t born yesterday’. “Your move.”

Ah, well – reflected Old Nuas. So it was.

And casually flipped the ganu-board.

The fray that followed was just loud enough to give pause to the rivermen toiling in the nearby shallows. Not for long, though – for while crones cawed and argued in Fastaqui’s shade, men labored. The heat might shimmer across the rooftops, aye – but down by the river’s edge, where rich, red mud and water mingled in a glossy soup that reached higher than a waif’s breast, the air was cool and sweet. A blessing for broad backs and bronzed arms, certainly – for it made toil easier to bare.

“HEAVE!”

Each cry heralded a sweeping splash of muddy water. For there, in a long, meandering line of wooden posts and woven reeds, a straggling fence ran along the river’s shore. Inside it laborers were dumping baskets of silt, mud and dirt. Leaves. Branches. Soil and clutter. Soon, this new land on the river’s edge would be full enough. To walk on. To plant in. And to harvest sweet, life-giving crops from. All summer had sons and daughters of Fastaqui laboured to that end. Hauled dirt and cut undergrowth. Cleared rocks and made strong the reed-fence. Soon, ‘ere long, the quinoa would sprout.

If the gods willed it.

by **Kelmet** » Sun Dec 02, 2018 7:54 pm

The Kingdom of Lordaeron

Year two of the Reign of King Varian Menethil

The Land of light was as generous as ever for Lordaeron as the people enjoyed having plenty of food on hand. The Village of Brewnwall was hard at work constructing the foundations of a lumber industry that would fuel the kingdoms future as a naval power. In the capital itself was a more productive scene, as a dedicated docks area was being cleared, zoned and constructed to be the baseline of the city's natural harbor.

Lastly but arguable the most important was a great monument to the people of the light. A testament to their common values of Loyalty, honesty and nobility and a constant reminder that in a life without life, there is only darkness. The centerpiece of this monument however was a memorial to the paladins, clerics and mages of the light who died to turn away a great storm that surely would have been the death of their people.

The King forms a council of lords to oversee the individual fields of work within the kingdom in an effort to improve efficiency and hopefully overall public order. The King writes a letter and sends it along with a messenger to their alliance ally the Xcotl.

Assignments.

by **Elerian** » Sun Dec 02, 2018 11:36 pm

Wilderness Beyond Serrith

They’d left the last vestige of civilization behind several days prior. Since then there had only been the largely deserted hinterlands and the occasional wildlife. They’d made camp in a clearing under the stars. The bonfire glowed softly, dying embers in the darkness. Letho Delisle and his troop had stopped for the night. The embrace of the flames was a boon beyond all others. The gentle warmth caressed the mishmash of cloth and bits of leather he adorned himself with. Though it was no proud work, the limited protection it offered helped to ease his mind. There was no telling whether bandits prowled these parts, however unlikely.

Letho carefully rose from his bedding beside the fire, and walked past the pack animals to the sentry, a young man from a village just outside Serrith by the name of Balder. He was wearily stalking around the perimeter of the camp with a spear in hand.

“I’m off to take a piss”

Balder nodded briefly and resumed his routine. Letho walked a ways into the dark, toward the outcropping he’d seen as they’d set up camp. Once he reached the rock, he did his business. While he was turning around, he saw something glisten out of the corner of his eyes. He crept towards that direction, trying to get a better look. There was a glittery grey chunk partly encased in the rock, a large one at that. He had no mining tools but he looked at the club he carried at his side. Using the club, he picked at the rock as best he could before the chunk finally broke from the rock and fell to the ground. Surely this would be worth a pretty penny back in Serrith. He looked around at the rock around him, hoping to see more.

The fire was just dying down as Letho came back to the campsite, looking cheerful. His companions were either preparing for the next day, or trying to catch some sleep.

"You're looking happier than when I last saw you," Balder said.

"I just found something that’s going to make us rich," Letho replied.

by **The Grim Reaper** » Mon Dec 03, 2018 3:51 am

22nd of Sunfall, Year 327 of the Common Era
The Mosaic Kuriya, Monastyr

A humble place, the Mosaic Kuriya was not itself a room, but rather the recession at the distant end of Monastyr's grand refectory, or dining room. Separated from the main refectory by a small raised platform from which announcements were made, offering a small amount of privacy, it was nonetheless considered desirable that the matters of state were exposed to the common areas of Monastyr.

Father Nestor Lyu'Tayeborn was the standing Grandmaster, having won the position only recently by election to replace his predecessor. She was an elderly woman best known for her humility and her upstanding moral fibre, taken to silence and grace in contemplation. But, most of all, she was a strong mediator. Her work had given all in Monastyr a sense of connection that was not purely scholarly, or philosophical, but idealistic. She had given them a sense of community, one that seemed to be a thing wholly beyond a simple academic fellowship of individuals.

It was in this spirit that Father Nestor had been elected, and would serve for his life. His heart had been recognized as that of a man dedicated to spreading the work and the community of Monastyr - not to supplant, but to amend and improve understandings of communities outside Monastyr. He believed fully in a Monastyr that could serve all, and that could help all serve themselves. Like most in Monastyr, he was a man who was taken with the philosophical; a thinker, rather than a fighter. But he was also the driving force behind the now overwhelmingly dominant faction in Monastyr, emphasizing the need for empathy between selves in the pursuit of self-understanding.

This was the moment he had wanted for so long; to step beyond the traditional, introspective philosophy that many believed to have been passed down by the Monast. Who could blame the Monast for introspection, for understanding the world in terms of one? That was the necessary first step to the philosophy that was apparent in the Monast's own teachings - it was not a coincidence that they were recounted as dialogues. It was not just the form of the philosophical teaching, but its practice. Only through dialogue could one understand themselves.

It was not usually a particularly important occasion, a transition into a new Grand Master. Their decisions were mainly administrative, and their power primarily to nudge Monastyr's elections through a firm hand on the nomination process and on brokering compromises between factions. But there had been some buzz about Father Nestor - virtually all of Monastyr's prominent figures had been interviewed in the Mosaic Kuriya, and for matters that seemed unrelated to the interests the Grand Master. In fact, they seemed unrelated to any meaningful interests at all. He had asked of personal details, of histories, and in asking people on their grasp of philosophy, he had chosen not to interrogate the nature of their beliefs or to debate their merits, but on how they had developed them over time.

Those who passed through the refectory threw silent glances past the platform at the Kuriya. But they could glean nothing.

Yet, there was a palpable sense that something was to change. Not so much a gut instinct, but simply necessity. He'd interviewed virtually anyone with any sort of interest in greater service.

And so it did.

Today, the residents of Monastyr gathered in the refectory as usual. They took breakfast together - all were roused at first daylight by the doorknocker, and it was the only time to guarantee a communal meal. They were surprised to see their Grand Master standing at the platform of the Kuriya, as it was usually a second who would make those announcements of little portent. To see the Grand Master prepared to speak usually spoke of horrific misfortune, but there had been no deaths recently - no disastrous situations, no wars or plagues that anyone was aware of. Some took glances at each other, wondering if anyone they knew had passed in the night, but all quickly disabused themselves of that fear, noting that there were only as many empty seats as the previous day.

"Brothers, sisters. I have decided to put to a vote my decision that we should better engage with our neighbours in this world. To each great city, we shall send a missionary; someone to profess the merits of philosophy and of scholarship, and to encourage both rich and poor who show an interest in our craft to visit Monastyr, and to immerse themselves if only for a moment in our practice. With them, they shall take back a stronger understanding of who they are, and of the beliefs and principles that are intrinsic to their own culture and their own society. Their time within our teachings shall make them more a part of their home, and not less.

My intention is to send a messenger to each of the great cities, asking for an introduction from their governors and their influential societies that we may use to obtain some small property, humble and of gentle means, from which we can conduct official business. To those who respond affirmatively, I shall dispatch a missionary. They shall serve as our representatives to those cities, through which we can assist all people in pursuing a relationship beyond their city. In this way, we shall facilitate the passages that are so essential to an empathetic understanding of the self."

The motion was passed by general acclamation.

Action: Dispatch messengers to each of the great cities (player or non-player) asking their governments (and influential private citizens) to accept a small Chancery - an embassy. The messengers shall argue that the Chanceries will allow host cities to make use of Monastyr as a neutral party to mediate & broker agreements, to simplify trade, and to expose residents so-inclined to Monastyr's international academic community.

by **Pasong Tirad** » Mon Dec 03, 2018 5:37 am

Ita
Day one of the third year of the Chiefdom of Chieftess Bacani

Every machination if Ita was now geared towards two things: the continued attempts to domesticate the goats that roam the valley, and the eventual settlement of the land to the east that contains the truesilver. Several tiny bits and pieces of the valued metal were given over as specimens to the elders and the Chieftess. And to do this, they had to make sure first that Ita was capable of a sudden depopulation. They would bide their time. That land was not going to go anywhere. For now, they had to focus on making sure Ita was wealthy enough to be able to support a sister city.

Personally, Chieftess Bacani was excited about the prospect of inducting another city as a land of the Ita, for that would make her a Datu. Not just the tribal chief of a random city in the middle of nowhere, but the leader of a people who aren't limited to a single area. To be the first datu of the Ita would be an honor practically unheard of since the legendary first days of her people.

But first, her people were now eternally curious about the outside world. The Wanderers too were craving to once again head out of the valley. They had filled their pockets with bits and pieces of truesilver and antelope horns, making them immensely wealthy. This wealth had to spread. It just had to, and so before the Wanderers would be allowed to once again set out in search of new lands, they had to give back to the people.

"Before we can head out and fully establish our roots in other lands, we must make sure the mother valley will flourish." Chieftess Bacani was holding a meeting with the leading families of the Wanderers. They were all keen to once again set out into the unknown wilds and get wealthy. Just two years ago they had to be bribed in order to get them out of their homes - now they're begging the Chieftess to leave. "Our silver mines have long since been depleted. Before I allow you to settle new lands, the Ita need the Wanderers to return. Go forth, explore to your heart's content, and then return home. This city cannot afford to lose its people. You shall get all the support you need from this city to continue your expeditions - but only on the promise of your return." The leaders of the families were all in agreement. They just wanted to be able to loot the countryside, now that they've relearned the riches that are present outside of their valley. "You will make this oath before Amas tonight. My dear friends, don't forget that we still have enemies nearby. We're unsure of where they're from. We may be certain they're not from the east, which means there's a higher chance that they come from the west. Do be careful. Tigbalog be with you." Tigbalog, the source of all life and the source of all action - he made the sun rise in the east and set in the west, he made the rivers flow and he made the earth shake when he was displeased.

She headed for the city walls at the end of the meeting, followed closely behind by her small company of advisers who are ready to make sure that the people obey her word. In the past two years Chieftess Bacani has basically done away with the formal powers of the elders. They are now there as traditional authorities and as the council that elects the next chief, and nothing more. No more asking for permission from the elders. While incensed by this, they seem to not have raised any protests, as her rule has been stable, and somewhat bountiful thanks to the discovery of truesilver to the east. "Make sure our learned men continue attempting to tame the goats. We need this," she said while walking. Many of her advisers have asked her to stop this, many even believing the idea of domesticating a wild animal to be madness - but not the Chieftess. She was ready to persevere. "Capture the goats, feed them, make them follow our commands, capture pregnant goats and raised the kids ourselves - how difficult would that be? Just make sure they have a reason to follow us around. Make sure we're the only ones they get food from, actually treat them better than the cats and the dogs. Do something. We must continue this." Several advisers then split from the pack, heading off to do her bidding.

She gave away several more orders here and there. Smaller stuff, such as maintenance of the wall, which company of men would conduct the patrols for the week, where the wealth to pay for the expedition of the Wanderers will be acquired. She kept giving out orders until her party finally reached the city walls. She overlooked the surrounding hills, pointed to a spot, and said: "There. We shall build a mine there."

This was the main goal. The Ita made their initial wealth out of the lucrative silver mines that used to litter the valley. But as time progressed, fewer and fewer people went work there, and fewer and fewer silver was found. Now, she wanted to restart this industry.

"And the rest of the people, Chieftess?" asked an adviser, speaking for about half a dozen who were still there, ready to receive her orders.

"We go on a hunt, of course. We're all going to have a feast together tonight. Oh and make sure to tell the hunters to not go on a hunt in the same place they went to last time. We want the goats left in that area to be able to replenish in number, after all."

by **Novas Arcanum** » Mon Dec 03, 2018 6:24 am

The Magnum Opus
Xcotl

The Eye of Arkane

It was the dawn of a new age.The Magnum Opus had fled from the ravaged nation known as Cadmus and traveled far across the world to the fabled lands of Xcotl.The Xcotl had welcomed the wizards cordially and they soon earned their place in this mystical society.The wizards of the Magnum Opus where eager to learn the secrets of the Xcotl,no longer chained by the moralistic culture of their homeland which forbid necromancy and blood magic, the Magnum Opus would grow it's arcane reservoir of knowledge by learning from the powerful necromancers of Xcotl in exchange the wizards would share the secrets of Cadmian magic.Eventually a great academy would be founded a center of arcane learning for all the world to see. A new alliance was born,with the Magnum Opus aiding the Xcotl in becoming more powerful in the ways of magic.

"Archmage Severus, we have prepared the spell"a apprentice mage said to the elderly wizard.

The Archmage frowned,his grey hair and wizened face exuding a air of authority.He was a powerful mage and had practiced the arcane arts for decades he had no time for foolishness and tomfoolery.

"Then let us waste no more time then!" The Archmage soon went to the arcane circle that was drawn outside the Academy.Seven wizards stood around the circle, a young mage walked to the center, and cut a knife into his hand the blood dripped to the center of the circle.The crimson red glowed in the light onto the Rune of Production.The mages chanted the spell, and the Archmage raised his hands,glowing with arcane power.

Action:The Magnum Opus researches the Rune of Production

by **The GAmeTopians** » Mon Dec 03, 2018 10:16 am

The Great Zhou Imperium
Year Three of the Second Era

As dawn came once again, the Zhou people had formed a united front in the advancement of their city. Hundreds of workers flooded the newly formed rural district, all banding together for the construction of what the scholars were calling an "Irrigated Farm" - a newly discovered form of crop production that was a far more effective source of food. The promise of more plentiful food was a suitable incentive for almost anyone.

"Zhou Shuhang! Wait up!" A young man ducked and weaved through the dense trees of the forest, chasing after a young boy. The child giggled with glee as he frantically fled from the young man, but his short legs could only take him so far - in short order, the young man swept him off his feet, setting him on his shoulders.
"Brother Xiu, you're no fun..." Zhou Shuhang pouted, looking down at Zhou Xiu.
Zhou Xiu simply smiled, taking a few more steps forward. The forest abruptly stopped, revealing a clearing on the Great River's edge. A sprawling farmland was laid out in the area, with countless labors working away. The little boy's eyes widened at the sight.
"Wow... Brother Xiu, what's all this?"
"This, Little Shuhang, is an irrigated farm."

The Ascent of Man [IC|Closed]

The Ascent of Man [IC|Closed]

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