The Ascent of Man [IC|Closed]

by **The GAmeTopians** » Fri Feb 22, 2019 4:47 pm

The Great Zhou Imperium - Two Years Prior
Turn 30

Bargle flargle.

Has been engaged in a Diplomatic Union through marriage with the Lordaeron City-state, deepening diplomatic relations and increasing social cohesion. (Syncretist Triggers)

by **Saxony-Brandenburg** » Fri Feb 22, 2019 5:19 pm

Mara, The City of Heroes.

May the gods have mercy upon their proud souls.

Silence. Silent was the response to the Herald, as the storm had begun to gather. A chill began to run through the air, gradually, before the north wind blew it through the land. Ever growing, ever rising. A drum, somewhere off in the distant began to beat. Slowly, rhythmically. Breaking the lull, a horn, coming from the far west of the city, began to blow- and as they looked on they saw but six large masts begin to rise. Six, macabre, black masts- hoisted by men, with faces red, and bodies white. Skulls dangled from this mast, and vast, black banners of some make were it's flag. Large was the symbol drawn in white upon those sails, in plain view, for sure, they could see the seal of Mara. Another glorious horn blast, and six more joined them, upon the eastern side of the walls. Hoisted high as man could reach, looming above the field. Another blast, six more, and six more after, and after, until thirty-two of them blew in the wind.

The thirty-two Houses stood united beneath their black banners.

More and more, louder and louder, the drum beat grew, ever quickening, as along the walls they grew in number, one, two per banner, thundering, thundering! Across the battlefield. So was the call of Mara, so was their reply- but it was not through. Horns began to blow- and from rear and lesser gates to the city- hundreds of men atop camels began to stream. Whooping and blaring their horns- they beckoned their foes, toying with their bows, spurring their mounts ever onward. Down the hill Mara sat- the streams of devoties could be seen filling the streets, as their warriors marched to the walls. Like a whisper, they began, the drums slowing to their stepping cadence, as their haunting words became clear.

Sons of Mara, march to glory,
Victory is hov'ring o'er ye,
Bright-eyed freedom stands before ye,
Hear ye not her call?
At your sloth she seems to wonder;
Rend the sluggish bonds asunder,
Let the war-cry's deaf'ning thunder
Every foe appall.
Echoes loudly waking,
Hill and valley shaking;
'Till the sound spreads wide around,
The Heathen's courage breaking;
Your foes on every side assailing,
Forward press with heart unfailing,
'Till invaders learn with quailing,
Mara ne'er can yield!
Thou, who noble Mara wrongest,
Know that freedom's cause is strongest,
Freedom's courage lasts the longest,
Ending but with death!
Freedom countless hosts can scatter,
Freedom stoutest mail can shatter,
Freedom thickest walls can batter,
Fate is in her breath.
See, they now are flying!
Dead are heap'd with dying!
Over might hath triumph'd right,
Our land to foes denying;
Upon their soil we never sought them,
Love of conquest hither brought them,
But this lesson we have taught them,
"Mara ne'er can yield!"

Inside the walls, the mad dash of a people under siege became clear. Hundreds of men, women, and children had been ordered to work- while the priestesses crowded the streets- shouting orders and commands to all who would obey. Camels, innumerable, were slaughtered beneath the obelisks of the city, before her temples, before her gods. Soldiers, armed devotees, and priestess alike kneeled before the Sunwarrior Raegin himself, as he painted their faces red with the blood of the sacrifice. To his noble soldiers, they were painted white and grey with the ashes of the temple's hearth, while they stomped and chanted and whipped themselves into a frenzy. Surrounding the obelisks, the priestesses did they work- channeling their power as best they could for the battle to come- to bring the god's strength into the very hearts of every warrior- Aslani, Northmen, Ita, and Honori- who stood to defend their walls. Others, clad in their blood-soaked finest, began a great procession throgh the streets, along Mara's walls, carrying with them icons and relics of their faith- calling to the people, and driving them to action. They carried whips, and wore skulls dangling from their belts- and began to crack the air, the earth, and the walls as they passed, invoking every demon of god they could name to join them in battle, ever fallen comrade, every hero of myth to come to them in their time of need. The world might be ending, but they would put on the greatest show of force ever seen upon this mortal plain.

Sons and daughters of Mara! Stand up! Fight back! Fight onwards! God is with us!

The Matriarch's Orders

- 1000 Peasants begin barricading the city more- with whatever at hand, to prevent them from being overrun.
- 2000 Peasants flee to the most defensible parts of the inner city- bringing with them food, wealth, and arms. Stashed to avoid any gain for their potential conquerors
- 600 Peasants are ordered to act as porters for the warriors any anyone else in need, bringing food, water, arrows, sling bullets, anything that their men and women under arms need to keep up the fight.

As many peasants as possible are called into service in militia-fashion to defend Mara's gates and prevent any breakthrough from turning into an overrun.

- 200 Freemen and 500 Artisans to their best to craft supplies for their soldier comrades- repairing bows, carving arrows, repairing swords, and working shields of hide, wood, and whatever else they may find.

- 300 Scholar- Priestesses Parade around the city- using wealth X in their processions and holy acts- to whip the people into action and to defend their city- raising as many men as they can into bands of club, sling, and spear-armed militia.

- 200 Scholar- Priestesses sanctify, and channel the obelisk of strength the best they can into the bodies of their warriors, calling upon divine favor to aid them. Sacrificing wealth V in their attempts

- 400 Explorers act as scouts, and stand atop the walls and far fledged flanks of the city, to help coordinate and spot any incoming attacks

- 300 Honori and Aslani Professional soldiers take defensive positions along the walls, all armed with composite bows, ready to rain hell down upon those who oppose their city

- 200 Honori mounted archers form up on the city's flanks- all armed with composite bows, they make ready to begin harassing their enemy's flanks, and breaking their great spells with the charge and volley- using their more flexible and manuverable mounts to try and avoid direct contact with enemy chariots and spearmen.

- The 300 Horde (Northmen) warriors of the city take position and prepare to fend off any challengers to their fitted walls.

- The radiating energy from the obelisk of strength is channeled by their most loyal priestesshood, into the souls of their mighty warriors.

by **Novas Arcanum** » Fri Feb 22, 2019 5:45 pm

I walked in fields of graven ash

The world burned around me

Then I closed my eyes

And I feared no more because Arkane is with me

He guides me in fields of light and sunshine

He taketh all woe and sorrow from me

And in that place, he gives me strength and hope

Final Action: If Tau allows so, return to Xcotl, and relearn all the knowledge they had lost since the Battle of Sun's Height. They will take the apple seeds, wheat and maize seeds from the land and carry with then these seeds of life for the time when the gods have blessed them and they have settled. After regaining their lost knowledge they will head to Lordaeron to learn shipbuilding. Through the decades they will attempt to acquire a sailing vessel and sail the seas looking for their sacred island. Lady Fey, Prophetess of Arkane, and Queen of the Arameri seeks the Holy Land a homeland for all Elves. However many years this takes will be determined onwards.

by **Kelmet** » Sun Feb 24, 2019 9:50 am

The Kingdom of Lordaeron

Year five of the Reign of King Anthony Menethil

Turn 30

Important/Reacurring Events

Civic Pride
Lordaeron maintains close marriage ties with several allies, increasing stability and public order.

Holy Vengeance
The Wastlanders to the north, for a long time the people of Lordaeron have extended their hand in freindship, only to be rejected at ever turn and now with the raid on stormwind still fresh in the minds of the people (With the new Bloodright civic) holy warriors of Lordaeron will begin raiding their settlement is retaliation.

Need a Creditor
Diplomats representing the crown are on the look out for creditors, if anyone is interested they will find them.

by **Elerian** » Sun Feb 24, 2019 2:17 pm

Kingdom of Serys

by **Nuxipal** » Sun Feb 24, 2019 7:11 pm

Kingdom of Nekhen

First Year of the Rule of High King Ramesses

A period of mourning takes hold in the capital of Khasut as High King Tafari is laid to rest. A procession through Khasut takes place with his sons leading. For three decades, Tafari led the Kingdom of Nekhen into prosperity since the last rulers were ousted in favor of a new dynasty. The procession ends in a large celebration of Tafari's life and accomplishments and a decision of Ramesses. Within mere days of the old King's burial it was evident a new ruler was in charge. A scriptorum is being constructed under the careful watch of the young Khatep who has taken an interest in the arcane arts and wishes to delve further into its mysteries. Amhose is sent with the scholars up river to observe the giant lizards to determine first hand if they are something that the Aslani could use for economic or military purposes.

Elsewhere in the city, a Jewelers workshop was being constructed to boost the economic advantage of the city and bring wealth over from Arshak, which had completed its mining sector. The town was growing in complexity, but not in population just yet. There were plans to expand its capacity, but with the death of Tafari it seems those plans have been put on the back-burner to give way to more soldiers and economy in Khasut. While this didn't sit too well outright, Khalida's family were still putting work in at Arshak and began working on starting an urban environment to produce a better economic base.

As the first months of the year pass by 100 soldiers are dispatched north to assist the Honori in their siege against the Midnight Horde. Their goals are to harass the enemy until they can join the main Maran Defense.

by **Olthenia** » Mon Feb 25, 2019 10:09 am

Fᴀsᴛᴀǫᴜɪ

Queen of the Skazahad Delta
________________________________________
The Fourth Matriarchate of Hashpatha
The Fourteenth Day of the Arc of Songs, Year 387 of the Common Era

“A man must be judged by the work of his hands, not the words of his mouth.”
- Takama the Spotted

by **The Empire of Tau** » Tue Feb 26, 2019 5:51 pm

Xcotl
Year 385 of the Common Era

Life moves on as always. Farmers work in the fields, miners crack away at precious deposits of gold, crafters turn the gold into art to be bartered at the market, labourers work about in restoring damaged buildings. Much has to be done in order to set the City of the Dead back on track.

Two great rulers has lead the great city of Xcotl in the past ages. The first were the mages of the great council. Wise men and women that guided the city with their hand and extensive knowing of blood magic. Second were the guild of Magnum Opus, a ruling power not so different from the mages of the great council. The Magnum Opus, with their army of writers, book-keepers, mages, and what-not, continued the traditions of the city and its thirst for knowledge.

Now, there was a third ruler in power - the Shambling Legion. In following the traditions of Xcotl, the teaching of knowledge will be further pursuited. The Hall of Records, the Hall of Scribes, and the House of Enlightenment are all proof of concept of Xcotl pursuit of knowing. Soon, more will be added to those buildings.

The scholars of Xcotl have been hard at work in the meaning of what is. Philosophy, the answering of life’s most fundamental questions in the concern of existence, knowledge, values, reason, mind, and language. Many questions will be answered. What is life? Why does it rain? What is the nature of man? Is there a right and wrong? Is there higher powers that be? Questions that will hopefully be answered.

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Wed Feb 27, 2019 11:15 am

The Siege of Mara

Beyond the walls, they waited. Back into the city the hosts of Mara had been drawn, ready for an assault - an assault that never came. Soon it became apparent that the foe would be content to starve them out, and let nature do what force of arms would struggle with. An insidious strategy the Honori had ill planned for. Within the confines of the town activity filled the streets; men with shovels sank new wells, seeking life-giving water that was now beyond the reach of the citizenry, others constructing barricades in major thoroughfares in case the enemy broke into the city.

But as the days stretched onward, a grim reality began to set in. For the thousands that lived within the city, food was already being rationed - but it was already scarce. There was little within the walls to eat that kept for longer than a few days. That was the province of the root-cellars and farming settlements beyond the walls, out there where the barbarians roamed. Without central stores of grain, the government had little room to distribute food to the masses, and those that had immediately began hoarding, while those who didn't sought to take from those who did. Theft is already on the rise, and not a few murders over men or women trying to steal food from homes.

Of course, there were other sources of food. Camels from the mounted riders could, in a pinch, feed many for some time. But that was only so much sustenance, and hundreds of hungry mouths would soon be clamoring to their rulers to eat.

There was good news, in some ways, at least. Messengers had been sent out and slipped past the besiegers, informing both the Aslani of the south and the Itans of the north of their dire need. It would take months, probably, for relief to arrive. But it would be coming, if the allies of the Honori held to their oaths. And raiding parties, sneaking out from the city under the cover of darkness, had slain several of the warriors of the Lord of the Earth before the enemy had drawn their siege camp closer to the walls. Still out of shot of even the most skilled of slingers, the nighttime raids on the enemy encampment had had to be curtailed when a dozen camel-riders were lost to pit traps dug by the enemy.

An enemy that was systematically moving through the farms of the city, looting, ransacking, and burning what they could not take. They would eat well on the seed grain of a generation of farmers, and their foraging parties could be seen intermittently moving throughout the countryside. But within the walls of the city... things looked more dire.

The second week of the Siege of Mara.

A week of blood and death. A sortie at night to harass the enemy's supplies ended in disaster, more camel riders falling prey to hidden mantraps, sentries alerting the enemy encampment virtually before the besieged had had time to sally. After the loss of several dozen men, the Marans retreated back into the city, forced to leave their dead. Some few of their number managed to sneak through in the darkness, and gathered a small amount of food from the surrounding farms. Though some of their number were also slain by enemy patrols, others managed to make it back into the city - bringing with them enough supplies for at least a few days of consumption for some few hundreds within the great walls.

It is a city under siege. Wells are dug after any hint of water, and even the rats and snakes are hunted through the streets by hungry citizens, or those merely looking to line their pockets from the sales of the meat. It will not stave off starvation, not for long; nor will the few small crops sown in the areas of the city that lie fallow. But it keeps the spirits of the people alive, even as their stomachs begin to gnaw at their backbones as rationing sets in.

The third week

Tempers were running tight as supplies dwindled. A stratagem was devised, to buy time for reinforcements to arrive, and fill empty bellies. It was a strategy not without risk, but something had to be done.

As the hour drew near evening, the great gates of Mara opened. Into the narrow channel of land between the sides of the moat that enclosed the city filed hundreds of warriors, some mounted, others marching on foot. Horns blared within the war-camp of their foes, and in a matter of minutes black-clad soldiers bearing banners of scarlet and charcoal streamed out of the encampment, obviously preparing for a full scale confrontation.

The soldiers of Mara had just passed beyond the moat when, elsewhere, small parties began departing the gates of the city. They had to swim across the flooded channel, of course, but that little concerned their commanders. Their purposes were much more varied than that of their more warlike comrades; but their danger not less. As they departed, galloping riders could be seen moving to and fro around the city.

Back at the main gate, a volley of arrows rose from the besiegers, descending into the ranks of the Maran warriors. Their foe far outnumbered them, but the soldiers knew that this was only a distraction. Under their shields they sheltered, begrudging each fallen man. Every minute of delay, though, improved the chances of their comrades leaving the city without opposition.

Forward the camel riders of the city of the Honori rushed, pushing past their comrades at bellowed orders from their captains. As a tide they split, making their way to either side of the enemy host, peppering the formation with shots from their shortbows as their harrumphing beasts carried them at speed. Shields flickered with blue light where their shots fell, and red sparks flared from tattooed bodies, turning aside shaft and head. But still, some of the foe fell, and others clutched at wounds.

To that volley was added the fire of the Aslani, kneeling behind their sword-armed fellows to shower the enemy in return fire. Many of their number had fallen, but those that remained gamely exchanged fire with the foe, bows singing. In front of them the Horde warriors with their dark skin began driving prepared stakes of wood, sharpened to disrupt a charge, into the land in front of the entrance to the moat. Another line of defense, if the enemy thought to assail their little salient.

To this the Midnight Horde responded with force, strength meeting strength. Great thickets of arrows, bronze tipped and eager for blood, were shot from the inner part of the host against their foes. Most sought to overthrow the defenders of the moat-bridge, but some also were fired in volleys against the camel-riders. On the eastern side of the host the ranks of the warriors opened for a minute, and out swarmed at least a hundred mounted riders, horses saddled and moving at speed after the mounted camel riders on that flank.

Elsewhere, no further sign of the Midnight Horde's scouts was seen, the raiders and scavengers from the city having forded the moat and now cautiously heading out into the fields and farmlands to gather what they could.

As the Camel Riders sheared away from the enemy formation, seeking a wider berth about the foe, the Midnight riders slammed into their eastern contingent. Faster and more experienced in the saddle than the Honori soldiers, the impact of their charge was devastating, shearing cleanly through the depleted detachment. Elsewhere the desultory exchange of arrows continued between the ranks of the Horde and the archers that remained in the Honori salient, but dwindling numbers due to casualties lessened the effectiveness of the Aslani skirmishers.

Horns blared, and soldiers moved. The front ranks of the host began to march forward at a quick time towards the beleagured foes beyond their moat, while others, a small detachment of slave soldiers some few hundreds strong, began moving back towards the camp to intercept the western camel battalion.

Other forces of the Horde, responding to some unknown orders, began marching away to the east at speed, their numbers many and disciplined.

Outside of the city, the soldiers of the Honori were beginning to set fire to the first field. Others had begun gathering food, the peasants seeking their hidden stockpiles. Anything they could retrieve would be beneficial, and the more time they had the better their efforts would succeed.

The camelry were now in full retreat, blaring horns from the walls signaling them to fall back towards the city. With them too withdrew the Aslani Skirmishers and their Horde counterparts, the camels carefully picking their way through the few stakes that had been emplaced. Behind them came the serried ranks of the Horde, apparently scenting blood, and the onrushing force of mounted warriors, pursuing their foes, the eastern camel contingent, which they had all but broken and slain.

Elsewhere through the streets of the city Honori messengers rushed at speed, making for the eastern postern gate. A message of warning they bore, to those men and women who had been charged with firing the fields of the city while the Horde was distracted. Their errand was dire, their need great, but men could only run so fast.

As the Honori retreated back to the safety of their stronghold, their foes behind them, shot fell thick in their closely packed ranks as men crowded through the narrow region between the edges of the moat. The great gates were opened, and as the mounted warriors rushed towards them men stationed on the walls began to fire on the foe, their plan to lure the enemy forward finally successful.

But the foe seemed numberless. Their ranks soaked up the arrows and kept pressing forward, apparently now perceiving the weakness of their enemies.

The Horde advances, undeterred by the fire from their enemies upon the walls. Towards the gates, still open to allow the passages of the party that sallied, they surge. The camelry, navigating the stakes, are set upon by the Horde's mounted warriors - their casualties are immense, and, their spirits breaking with most of their comrades dead or fallen, they flee blindly towards the gates, many falling or stampeding over the retreating skirmishers and Hordesmen.

But the fire from atop the gates is withering, for the main body of enemy troops is now entering the range of the archers, and the setting sun illuminates targets the Aslani and Honori archers and slingers can boast of for years to come. Their stones and arrows fall like rain, sending dozens of the foe down in ruin, though the obsidian-skinned troops of his main host shrug off the onslaught with little care.

Even with the onslaught begun, the Horde wades forward. Through the moat the Slave Soldiers pass, wading with faces devoid of expression through the muggy fens, ladders on their shoulders. Behind them come serried ranks of Midnight Warriors, bodies resplendent with glowing runes displaying their devotion to the Lord of the Earth.

Men rush through the streets, and to the walls. Peasants called to battle by the fervent pleas of the priesthood stand ready at barricades, and those survivors of the sortie clatter up staircases in armor to ascend and join the exchange of death that rages above the walls.

As the great gates close behind the warriors of the Honori, a fell energy builds in the air. Somewhere in the Horde's serried ranks, a foul magic is building. In the midst of the hail of arrows captives dragged along from somewhere in the north perish, and fire and lightning falls on the defenders. The soldiers of Mara have never seen such terrifying power, and as men perish in bolts of thunder and kindle like torches their comrades cry out in horror and dismay, only held in place by the love of their city.

Against the walls the ladders begin to rise. Men try to cast them back down, but with the force of many slave soldiers holding them firmly in place, their efforts are in vain. Blank faced soldiers and bloodthirsty warriors begin the climb, their masters moving forward towards the gate. Now an answering hail of black-fletched shafts touches the defenders, black-skinned Midnight Warriors supporting the slaves of their Lord with bow and arrow.

Towards the gate advances a thick knot of Midnight Warriors, shields glowing with blue runes overhead.

Elsewhere, in the city, the priests move through the houses, calling out citizens to man the barricades. Many answer, sons and husbands ready to give their lives for Mara, women alongside them. And beyond the walls the messengers have reached the looters, calling them back towards the postern gate - just in time, perhaps. Just to their north come harsh marching songs, and the sight of many hundred moving in the gathering gloom.

Back at the walls, the Horde's mounted soldiers have withdrawn, and are riding west, alongside what appears to be a strong contingent of other warriors.

The Battle of Mara

The first climbing slave soldiers reached the apex of the walls. Blades were drawn, spears readied, and soon the fighting had begun. Dozens of blank-eyed warriors climbed the ladders without heed for the others cast down to death at the base of the walls, and soon their weapons began to bite on the ranks of the Honori who tried to hold them back from the apex. Into the ranks of the Honori the black-faced Midnight Warriors continued to fire their bows, obviously uncaring of any casualties their shots caused in their own thralls assaulting the walls.

Beneath the walls, the gate of the city began to shudder. A heavy object beat against it from without, slowly cracking and straining the timbers of the defense.

Elsewhere, the Honori pillagers and looters waded back across the moat to the secondary eastern gate. Shouts pursued them, soldiers obviously of the besiegers noting their passage, informed no doubt by scouts of their sally. Illuminated by the half-light of the burning farms, arrows began to fall amidst the fleeing Honori soldiers and peasants - but soon they were back through the gates, marching quickly for the main defense, only a few of their number fallen.

Even as bodies tumbled from the top of the wall, the enemies of the Honori continued their climb. Their sheer numbers and reckless assault were beginning to gain them purchase atop the defenses of the city, with nearly a third of the defenders of Mara having embraced death. And there seemed to be no end to them; beneath the walls still hundreds swarmed, their black-clad masters waiting patiently as the enemies of the Lord of the Earth were worn down by disposable bodies.

And then it happened. Another round of death filled the air with desperate energy, and fire and lightning fell, this time not against the soldiers on the walls, but against the gate itself. Where the battering ram had already damaged and rent the timbers, now they were burst asunder in an immense explosion of light and sound. The Midnight Warriors, having fallen back a distance in preparation for the sorcerous stroke, yelled in triumph and ran forward - embers and fire surged about them, but the runes on their bodies merely glowed hotter as they passed through the inferno, rushing upon the stunned defenders with bloodthirsty glee. Behind them crowded hordes of slave soldiers, driven forward by nothing save a desire to kill.

At the eastern gate, the camel riders emerged, bearing their mission to disrupt the enemy host. As they forded the moat they were suddenly struck by arrows, and javelins. Apparently the force dispatched to slay the raiders had not yet returned to the main host, and had been considering fording to attack the postern themselves.

Also, in the west, a few hundreds of soldiers suddenly appeared out of the gathering dusk. They carried with them ladders, and had mounted soldiers in their train, obviously prepared to spread their assault about the city and so force a breach somewhere.

Men strove against each other, outnumbered defenders selling their lives dearly against the endless horde. But it was a losing fight. The foe was too many.

"Away. To the second level. Retreat!" came the cry of their commander, and men's faces filled with hope. Yes, the second wall. To make the enemy pay the butcher's bill again, and clamber up stones and against an entrenched defense. They fought, and they died, men of the Honori and adopted sons of the horde laboring to extricate themselves from the howling masses that beat against them every step of the way, pursuing them as they made their way back down defensive towers into the streets of the city below.

The streets of the city. Streets barricaded and manned by eager militiamen, eagerness now tempered by fear, as the enemy poured into the city through the gates rent by magic, and boiled down off of the walls after the retreating warriors of the Sun. Men trained and hardened for battle, fleeing before the foe. In the eyes of the humble craftsmen and farmers, fear boiled, warring with a desire for the glory the priestesses had promised. It was glory they would have, at least - through the gates the Midnight Warriors of the Horde poured, pushing past the paltry dozens of their turncoat brethren as a bear will discard a single mastiff. They came howling against the barricade, eyes filled with red fire, battle-chants of the Lord of the Earth on their lips. In their hands were weapons of glittering bronze.

Bronze that reflected fire.

For as the defenders retreated, they set fire to the district where they could. Many fell, choosing unwisely to take time setting alight their own city when closely pursued, but others fell back successfully to the second wall. Through the great gates of the fitted wall they streamed with little heed for order. Their hearts were strengthened, though, for a hundred of their kinsmen stood ready to the defense; the first few slave soldiers that had followed them closely fell with arrows in their hearts and chests, and faces looked up in relief.

The city burned. Many perished in the conflagration, civilians who had hidden from the evacuation efforts thinking to save their homes from looting, Honori warriors with the ill fortune to be trapped by collapsing structures, Horde slave soldiers mindlessly pursuing their quarry into the very flames. And the Horde withdrew, obviously not willing to risk its force in the inferno, or to dash its men against the second wall without respite.

For four days the city burned. And as the flames and soot danced over Mara the Magnificent, a change came over her people. Their hope burned in those flames.

More than half of their fighting men dead. The homes of many no more than ash. Little food, and little water, drawn muddy from wells down in the center of streets. Disease stalked the streets where it had seldom touched the Honori before, bodies weakened by rationing and fear prey for specters in the night. It would have been one thing to die in glorious battle, for the splendor and honor of the city. It was another to waste away cowering within the walls of their fastness, glancing in fear at one's neighbors lest desperate former friends steal what little was had to fill empty bellies and push back the shadow of starvation.

Another month they held out, scavenging parties managing to steal more mouthfuls from the formerly bountiful fields to fill the mouths of a few dozen lucky souls with sodden seed-grain and what could be scavenged from the leavings of the Horde's provisioners.

Then someone broke. The gates of the city were opened in the dead of night, and it was over. Into Mara, the inviolable, the Horde poured. It was not an orgy of death and looting, like might have been expected. But the city was made to bow, once again, and a yoke placed upon her neck that would be ill-placed to be removed again. Those of their number who had turned against their Lord, they put to the sword. The priestesses, the leaders, the wise and bold, they put to the sword. Wealth, idols, tools, weapons, they took for their own. The walls of the city they forced the people to demolish, removing stone from stone until nothing stood between Mara, queen of cities, and the elements save trust in the Lord of the Earth.

Defeat. It was a bitter word. But Mara would live to see another day, another day when ashes would slowly wash away, and bloodstains fade. Another day and another dawn, but this time a dawn in captivity again, where they had known what it was like to breathe free.

Ash. Ash clouded the sky for the Honori people, their will broken, shattered against the rocks. Humiliated, starved, and slaughtered like cattle, they died in droves. Many fled into the countryside. Many fled to the embrace of death. The city was quiet, as over a thousand souls departed this land to the great beyond. The Honori civilization could not do it. They, for this era, had failed to stand the tests of time.

Total Casualties of Siege, Battle, and Aftermath:
200 Camel Riders, 200 Aslani Skirmishers, 300 Hordesmen, 300 Honori Warriors, 200 Peasant Militia, 100 Peasants, 100 Artisans, 200 Scholars
700 Slave Soldiers slain, 50 Midnight Warriors slain, 50 Mounted Warriors slain
(4) Fitted Stone Walls demolished
(1) Urban District [9 Huts, Training Grounds, Scriptorium, 2 Jewelers] burned to the ground
3 Irrigated Farms burnt to the ground

by **Saxony-Brandenburg** » Wed Feb 27, 2019 1:28 pm

Heavy and hard is the heart of the king
King of iron, king of steel
The heart of the king loves everything
Like the hammer loves the nail

Humiliation. Shame. Dishonor. Pain. The Honori people were lost. They were without hope. High were the bodies of their fallen heroes. Quiet, were the songs they sang. From where they once had thought that the divine smiled down upon them, that the heavens mandated their rule, now laid barren, empty. Oh how far they had fallen. No one spoke of the high times. No one spoke of the sun. No one spoke of the moon. No one reached for the sky. Their faith had been lost, and as the horde departed their lands they had none to reach for. Their leaders were killed. Put to the sword was their bearers of knolage, the speakers of their stories.
Their golden age was over, their lives ruined irrepribly. So began their dark age. There were no tears, there was... Nothing. Their honored dead, those reveared with ceremony and flame- thrown in a pit, and set alight. Such were the Horde's cruel ways. Mothers were barren- their children born still for the next two years. Their fields lay fallow. The people regressed. Without the ancient custom, and the beurocracy to maintain it, the status of the mother fell. Weak were they, who ruled the city before. Weak and womanly, who cared more for family than steel. The culling of a culture began when Assur I claimed the throne. The old priestesshood, for hundreds of years strong and powerful, were lowered to the status of court servants, petty beurocracy. Many of the highest were taken as the ruler's concubines, and bore him beutiful sons. Perhaps one day, a restoration would take place. Perhaps one day, the old ways would come back with a vengeance. But until that day, the women were laughed at. They retreated to their homes to bake bread and roast mutton for their husbands. The Shah now ruled Mara, and so too, did a new reign of feudalism. One never knows one's progress, until it is wrenched from them. Gone were the grain for the poor. Gone was the exemption for the sick. They would recover with an iron fist. Life reset slowly, and painfully. At the site of their burial, a small monument aimed itself towards the sky- it read.
"To the fallen Men of Mara, they reached for the sun."
And ever, was it said to be.

Women were banned from the Garrison. Women were shunned from artisnal work. Women were shunned from hard labor. Their weakness were the cause of their plight.

They were sent to be healers, scribes, midwives, tenders of the home. Soft persuits, while a social structure in opposition to all societies around them was upended.

The sun, once more, set.

The Lord's Orders

by **Holy Tedalonia** » Thu Feb 28, 2019 6:23 pm

The Sons of Saladon
Wilderness Abroad

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Sun Mar 03, 2019 6:27 pm

Year 387 of the Common Era - Turn 32

Departure

Into the north from Mara the Horde rides, bearing away with it much of the goods and spoils of the once-great city. The Southlands are, for a time, at peace once more. If they knew of the treachery of the Aslani and the Itans, the Midnight Horde gives no sign of this fact.

The Sons of Saladon: Through the Southlands the Clan-Marchers travel, training for war, searching for opportunity. A small amount of wealth fills their coffers slowly, as they perform odd jobs for the folk of Ita. The artisans report to the Marcher-Lord, though, that they need skilled men to devote their minds to new methods of slaying a foe from afar; the simple bows they have devised they can happily turn out in quantities, with the right resources, but they are no men of science or learning, to create new designs.

An Ending
And so the age of the Ascent comes to an end. Man has taken his rightful place as master of his own destiny. No more do beasts and the vagaries of fate oppress him; with farms and plough he tames the land to his needs. With sword and shield he defends his home, no easy prey for those who would seize what is his. In fire and blood this right has been forged, but now the myriad states of the Age of Bronze are more than simple townships and chiefdoms. Across many towns and settlements the rule of lords is cast, and a new Era beckons.

The age of the Strength of Empires is soon to dawn.

The Ascent of Man [IC|Closed]

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