New Civilizations ( IC, Open )

[Ralnis]

Battle of Fort Surn,
Chezdek's Point of View
First Month of the Urukian Invasion

I was standing over the plans of the castle and in the camp. This was acquired by the princess herself. Bless the gods for her skills as a spy but sometimes I fear for her life. Still she did good work and now we knew were to hit. I was studying this damn thing for three days, the Uruk rebels had not only entrenched themselves for five years but they built these massive complex fortresses that could be a small town itself. It was known as the Three Shields of Uruk that marked the control between mighty Ur and her rebel rival.

These have been built as some of the most heavily fortified places in the known world. Nothing from the Dilmun, Nestos, or even Egypt could try to breach these walls. Hell, only Indus could rival the defensive engineering that the rebels could do. They knew this and they proudly boast their pride in the name of Nanna herself. If we were to make any gains and break into Uruk proper, then we have, no, must break through the castle itself.

I had an entire cadre of people with me to give me advice and understanding with my armies. From a scholar of Nestos who lead the siege weaponry, to my colonels, and my battalions. We even had a representative of the Night Watch that had infiltrated the Fort a week prior with their own idea of causing chaos among the ranks of the enemy. After we had gathered for the last meeting before the day that started it all, I prayed to the Seven for guidance and victory against the rebels.

The Next Day

Thousands of our troops had gathered side by side in a Manepole formation. On our backs were the war machines of Nestos. Giant counterweight trebuchets that can throw stone and incendiary bombs further than before, new triple crossbows that were a first use of a mobile artillery outside of the ballista that could be used against both formations and fortifications. The triple crossbows are those specific for quicker deployment and adjustments than that of the standard ballistae.

Even the handheld crossbows finally became more. Heavy variants with a sort of lever action for better reload time and the repeaters were of a more faster use with larger magazines of bolts that were tipped in poison. No more longbows or slings were seen in the army anymore and I grew sad at that. We have been fighting Uruk for ten to fifteen years and both sides had grown more advanced and experienced.

The Nestosian scholars had told me that the other countries in those of Europa were always been fighting and grew stronger for it, stronger than us. Even still, we are more experienced than those of the rest of Mesopotamia and even in those of the Mediterranean but it doesn't say much if we can't take down our rival today.

With everything checking and the ramps a sound of a horn from my massager starts the siege. I moved my iron sword and the first volley of rocks were being sent out. Like the fist of the gods the rocks battered at the walls, biting away chunks of Zagros stone as some land true or land close.

The Urukian rebels in turn started to prepare their own return fire for which we responded in kind after a shield wall. Both screams on anguish and death filled both sides but morale was still good. As a second volley was launched and this time struck more pain as I saw a watchtower from the left side broke as a boulder broke through it and hit something inside the castle itself.

The advisor came to me and told me it's not enough to do the assault as we both fired at each other and our forces became more peppered. I gave the call within the fifth volley to switch the boulders to the incendiary ammo but the catapults were slow to reload and the defenders started to take shots at the siege engineers.

They manage to kill a few of my men and then I realize the sun glare reflected from one of them. Scopes? They have scoped crossbows? This was something that we didn't expect them to have such increase of accuracy before we did. I had to react fast and had the crossbowsers focus fire on those that I could see, which wasn't much to begin with. Still it did the job for covering fire enough for the first incendiaries from ballista and trebuchet were thrown. Not all made their hits but the fires started to lick at the walls of the fortress and but those that made it beyond the walls, beyond the defenders the bombs hit of different varieties to their infrastructure.

It took an hour and two volleys but a raging inferno hit. Such a sight to spit in the eye of the king and this was the sign. I blew the horn and the message was passed, ramps and siege towers were allowed to test their mettle against the walls as arrows cover the fire against the defenders. The defenders now switched out from archers to spears as a sea of iron started to sprout from the sea of arrows and bolts of cast iron. I knew that the Uruk warrior was more trained than that of an Ur professional but we had standardized equipment and of better quality.

They both met when the siege towers and ramps smashed into the broken walls of the castle. Men fight men in the struggle against ideals, creed, or just a wage. Uruk strength met Ur advance iron metallurgy but I could already see where the Uruk military machine had been made to bleed Ur's economy. However the castle's garrison was still split between the fires and the first three waves trying to assault their walls. Still the defenders held in stalwart as their training managed to break one wave and another had burn down a ramp but there was more.

Another reinforcement had started to pull up from a ramp and already had captured some parts of their outer wall had been taken over and the fires had spread with an unending hunger. Many of the castles reinforcements had been trying to put out that raging hunger but only more oil was being thrown to fuel the same fire. This helped my cause in taking the castle as the forces of Ur had slowly taken the fort.

This went on into the night as Uruk warriors held their own as they were part of the Iron Shield. The very thing that was meant to keep the Queendom from attempting the invasion again. However the opening of the gates of Surn had given that idea a long pause and I rushed in with my men. Like a flood our footsteps were the footsteps of Nanna herself as the moon hanged high in the night sky. I saw the bodies of both friend and foe littered the ground and are still fighting. I knew that the blood that was letted was on our side more than theirs but I was more determined to end this.

As I ushered in my bodyguards we got into the throne room of the castle. There was the leader of the castle and he said something that was going to be a namestay for this invasion.

"You will not stand foot in Inanna's land heathen!" or "We will push back the tyranny of Ur!"

Fools, they were all fools. Uruk could've just talked with her majesty but now they were high off their stalemate that nearly destroyed the Queendom and now this invasion, this crusade to unite the land and to finally crush this resistance once and for all. So I dueled the Uruk commander, his martial might more so than a common grunt. However I fought with more skill and grace than just martial might. Such a swing and block was not enough to keep our dance going and I took his head.

Once I walked out with the head, the rest of the castle surrendered and this was the first victory. The men cheered and I put the commander's head on a pike as I took the cost of this invasion. As the quartermaster and the medical team started to count the dead while Priests of the Seven had shown their dedication associated to the godly aspects that they still focus upon. The butcher's bill was a heavy toll, we lost many to take a castle as large as Surn but it didn't matter.

This was only the beginning of the invasion to bring Uruk down. Already it will be an uphill battle but I'm curious how Long Heart and his army will try to start taking over the rebel cities now that he has a shot to get through. Till then I had my orders, reinforce the army and make sure to make the enemy retreat deeper into their lands as their Iron Shield has been fractured and we're going directly for their cities and Uruk herself.

[UniversalCommons]

At Surn, Scholar Etana observed the taking of the fortress. He watched as the walls were destroyed and the stones burned in silence. The trebuchets tossed boulders and incendiaries, but this was not enough in his mind. It took too long. He counted the time between when the stones and burning incendiaries were thrown and the time they reached the walls. It was too long. In the hurry of battle, they had not built all that was needed. For the next time, they would build towers with hides soaked in vinegar and alum and backed with metals that would not burn and battering rams with iron heads and covered roofs. The siege engineers would have cover from wicker and bamboo screens as well as layers of woven baskets filled with earth. Too many had died or been wounded in this battle.

But, it was not just on the battlefield that they would win. The Naturalist scholars would provide support to the medical teams with distilled alcohol, opium to dull pain, tools to remove arrows, make poultices for wounds with mixes of herbs and honey, catgut to sew up wounds, and salves for burns. They would make splints for medical teams. The scholars washed their hands and helped sterilize instruments for the combat medics. They also provided journals to keep careful notes on the wounded. There were enough to support the teams, but not do the work itself.

Waste would be buried and the soldiers would get soap to stay clean if they could make enough of it. Cleaning stations for soldiers equipment would be made. Small dogs hunted for rats and young men were given a small bounty with slings to drive away vultures and other carrion birds. In this way, more men survived the battle and the camp remained clean.

The few hunter warriors that had come with the scholars had gathered all the dogs they could find fit for war. They had been training them. The baying of the dogs could be heard in the camp. Many had woven padded jackets and spiked collars. The hunter warriors had picked out some of the strongest soldiers and laborers they could find to train them in the use of heavy two handed clubs and long spears. They were to fight next to the dogs.

[Ah-eh-ioh-uh]

A couple days later, Marcio expanded the experiments to include a nearby body of water. Marcio sent the word that females and the young especially ought to have older relatives there with them for this part as it involved indecency. Marcio needed to see how different concoctions reacted when in contact with water on the skin. He could not within reason ask these people to leave him alone with loved ones, especially youths and females involved in nudity.

Marcio was not about to have accusations of inappropriate behavior befall him so he was not having bathing women or children alone with him. These experiments ran at both the sea, and the hut now. People scrubbed with different brushes and used different plants. People had been grinding up herbs among other procedures and now people bathed somewhat shyly with eyes averted.



A few days of that and he felt it was time to stop being so cautious. Only a single rash or anything of the like had occurred but everybody knew what they had signed up for and this dissuaded no one. They had found out what so far had smelled the best, what consistencies theses plants had in reaction to other things, and how they felt on the skin. There had been the sniffing of plants, rubbing of oils and the gathering of materials. Brushes among other things had been created and everybody was getting tired of experimenting with little forward movement in results, including Marcio himself. And so Marcio was forced to show them something involving a next step.

Having ordered the correct supplies gathered and constructed, Marcio began showing the volunteers how to create soaps in a makeshift fires outside the healing hut. The volunteers watched him as he heated animal fats, oils and added different strong smelling herbs. The volunteers watched as he explained what to do and how to do it, adding things like ashes and sand to the soaps as he spoke. Eventually Marcio singled out the yuckiest, unhealthiest looking person in the village and asked them if they were willing to be brave and bold so they could be closer to the holy world and for the good of the village.

This volunteer would need apply the soap bar (an extremely gritty, strong smelling thing. First of its kind in this time and part of the world at least) to their unclothed body in front of all to see. It was a woman so coaxing her to do it took a little more than usual but to his pleasure she stepped up to the task and a huge crowd proceeded to the seashore to watch.



The woman with some help from some others scrubbed the gritty bars of soap onto herself, using brushes in between scrubs of soap onto her body. Marcio was both sickened and fascinated to see large swathes of dead skin being replied off from the body, nearly the entire village watching in amazement. Flakes of white ash seemed to spray in all directions as she was wet, scrubbed and brushed slowly from head to toe. The procedure took on a religious air, Marcio sensing it was an opportunity and time to raise his standing among the villagers. Marcio began to give a sermon, waving his oak branch about with flair as he spoke about how the young lady (Hotaru) was being (metaphorically) sacrificed at the altar of the spirits of the sea.

"See how her body falls from her bones before your very eyes?" Marcio said with flair to the village as dead skin falls off in chunks as the ultra gritty soap is scraped roughly against the skin.

"Fear not, for Neptune will not allow her to be stripped dead to the bone so easily for her sacrifice" Marcio spoke with a wave of his oak branch and a small theatrical twirl befitting a ceremony.

"Lady Hotaru was gifted with the power of self healing at birth, allowing her more than one skin over her bones" Marcio continued as a disgustingly long time's worth of poor hygiene fell away from her.

"Just like all of us, she in fact has more than one layer of skin. One corrupted that must be purified, and the other more pure, clean and holy. A skin with potential to shine like metals, a skin that pleases the will of the gods"



Marcio explained that she had needed more than one bar of soap and brush because her outer layer had been gathering corruption without being interrupted sufficiently for so long. The lady was a little distressed at what was happening but none the less continued on til the end. Marcio told her that the village was a family she should be able to trust and be very close with. She was told that at least for this such holy act, there was no need for shame and there was no indecency in the act. Marcio had directed her as she cleaned her body from head to toe, making sure she did not hurt herself on the rough grittiness of the soap once the yuck had come off.

They had poured a liquid version of the stuff on her scalp and one could see the lice fighting for their lives as the people painfully yanked at her hair tangles with the strongest hair combs they could construct and flooded their homes with a concoction the lice did not like. They could see lice jumping out of the hair and into the ocean to drown. Lice from humans and flees from dogs fell dying into the ocean to be washed away.

"See how these small spirits of sin fall from her hair and clothes?" He said as he joined the people helping her in her rebirth.

"These little animals are drawn by corruption and sin and must be repelled by holy acts such as this, the acts of self purification and cleanliness. These animals bring more corruption, they enter your homes and taint the village further. They keep you from being close to that which is holy!" He proclaimed in a regal voice as he began helping sheer the lice riddled hair of the lady from her scalp, resisting the urge to leave and vomit.

The hair was combed and then cut with tools, the hair falling in chunks into the sea to be washed away. More villagers were called to participate by washing the clothes she wore in the sea with yet more soap. All the things that was practical to bring from the lady's home were brought in and washed, blankets and the like so she would not be cleansed only to go back to wearing filthy clothing and whatnot. Eventually they gave her the closest shave they could do, leaving her venerably bald.

The lady cried much of the time, being reassured and encouraged on. Later she would begin to cry tears of joy as no bath or self treatment had ever given her such sensations. Some of the procedures hurt at first but soon the feeling of being clean filled her with such joy that they were tears of happiness. They brushed her teeth and cleaned her face. He told her to wash her mouth out, gargling and swallowing salt water, as well as snort and blow the water out of her nose. They cleaned her ears inside and out, cleaned every crevice, she having chosen the ones closets to her with these tasks as her body had certain areas that were not to be touched lightly.

"Hold your breath and count to seven when you submerge" he told her, the others having hoisted her in their arms in a laying position.

"When you resurfaces you will have been blessed by Poseidon and the sea spirits, your exact beliefs being technicalities" he said as he prepared to submerge her.

"Sato, anything you wish to add?" Marcio asked as he looked back at the shaman who stood wading in the water with the rest of them, his role as the village's spiritual voice having been overshadowed and forced to take a backseat.

The man nodded and began to chant and hum the seemingly nonsense words of healing he had used in rituals to heal before. Sato saw that Marcio had clearly overshadowed him in this moment in a spiritual role, but chose not to forget him entirely and instead included him, allowed people to be reminded that he perhaps still had value and a part to play.

"In this moment with the power invested in me by the spirit world and the gods, lady Hotaru of the family of Takano, wife and mother worthy of extreme admiration" he said in ceremonial drawing of what limited knowledge he had of the lady.

"You have been cleansed by the powers of fire and earth, spirit and the gods of water. You shall now be baptized by Poseidon and Neptune and then be reborn in a state of divine purity" he said before signaling to the others to dunk her under the water.

"Wind and water! Fire and earth! Poseidon and Neptune! Enter the body of this woman to rise from the water born anew! Spirits of the sea, heed my command!" He spoke as the wind took a rather auspicious time to pick up and the waves of the water chose a rather awe-inspiring time to start flooding the shore.

The shaman and others were drenched from head to toe even as he chanted his ceremonial words, people gasping at the mundane environmental fluctuations coinciding with acts of ceremony. When it was time the lady gasped and sputtered upon being raised from the water.

People came nearer to see what she was like now and a few people in particular were commenting that she had never looked so beautiful (her family presumably). The lady was skeptical and asked if she truly did not look too odd. Her family reassured her that her skin glowed and that if she smiled they could not hold back from crying anymore. When she did smile, they did indeed cry....

[Joohan]

FINALLY CONTENT

16 s

Stranix

---

Nothing beat coming home, after being away for a very long time. Tanen had been reminiscing on that very idea since he'd come back, taking in for the first time just how much he had missed the sights and sounds of home: the way the sun set just below the hill facing his house, the creaking sound that the door made when someone opened it, how all his younger brothers and sisters would mad dash to the fire place the moment his mothers called out for dinner - while the older siblings feigned being above such childish nonsense, choosing to walk over with a deliberately slow pace. He missed the neighbor's toothless grin, he missed being awoken to the sound of bleating goats in the morning, he missed Brunel's market beer stand, and he even missed his older brother, Tanal.

For years, he couldn't wait to leave, to move away from the monotony of farm work, his father's bigotry, and Tanal's infuriating malignancy. He had dreamed for, and longed about the day he would be sent off to Basic Combat Training. As a boy, he'd fantasized about being a muscled bound soldier, mowing down rows of savages with his his spear - leading armies into battle as a hero like champion, greater than Dread Teaghen or Courageous Recuridan. A few months after his fifteenth birthday, that time had finally arrived. His mother and most his sibilings had seen him off with a tearful farwell outside the Gense's quarters - his father did not bother to show, while Tanal himself was still in the midst of his training.

That first farewell he had bid to his home and childhood had been over a year ago, and so had much had changed within him since then. Thankfully though, home hadn't changed that much.

He struggled to keep his eyes focused on Kenrenii, his younger sister, as he attempted to pass through the thick market crowd. Passing shoulders, animals, and market stalls, he kept his gaze on the the swaying blond pony tail his sister wore. She'd darted into the crowded venue practically the moment that they'd arrived - bidding her brother follow suit so that they might reach Brunel's as quickly as possible. Of course, she'd not bothered waiting for Tanen's response before executing her plan, leaving her older half brother behind to fend through a sea of market dwellers. His feet did a sort of dancing maneuver as they dashed and darted between the various persons and beasts which moved amongst the stalls. He felt somewhat ridiculous, trying to weave his way past merchants, pony's, carts, just in order to keep up with the twelve year old. He did his best not to bump into anyone for politeness sake, but on more than one occasion he'd felt the gentle push of a shoulder against him, throwing his graceful dash through the crowd out of rhythm. One particularly nasty bump actually had him stumble to a stop. The perpetrating figure had disappeared into crowd before Tanen might have had chance to identify them; instinctively, his hand reached down toward the sash worn round his waste - feeling for the purse of shells that he kept hidden there.

Looking down to feel at were the bulge of the purse should be, he was met with it's reassuring soft outline against his sash. Whilst looking down though, he had noticed, for the first time since having arrived at the market, that the mud and dirt of the venue floor that he remembered, had been replaced by a kind of cobbled stone. Well that's interesting, he thought to himself. Another bump from a passing shoulder and his focus would be redirected once more toward the pursuit of his younger sister. Else where in the market place, his mother, several siblings, and a few more half siblings were out doing the tasks and chores allotted to them during this market day's venture. That he and Kenrenii were going off to drink beer and eat salt cake was on account of his younger half sibling's birthday having occurred only a few short days ago. With his own money, he'd promised to get his sister her first mug of beer at the finest drinking stand in all of Stranix: Brunel's.

By the time that he had finally reached his old favorite drinking spot, he had found Kenrenii already pestering the beer baron - pointing frantically over to her brother as she insisted loudly that today she would finally be allowed to partake in his famous libations. Brunel, the most famous brewer in Stranix, was around forty years old, sporting long untamed auburn hair and beard alike, a round pot belly that children joked must have been a child, as well a personality so warm and jovial that it could melt snow off a witches heart. He'd been filling up mugs from a keg and placing them upon a tray which one of his many daughters was holding up, when Kenrenii had first ran up to him. Following her pointed finger, Brunel would finally spot Tanen at the edge of the watering hole. A yellow toothy grin spread across his bearded face, as the jolly brewer put the mug down onto his daughters tray and began walking directly over to Tanen, who in turn began striding towards his old friend.

In mere moments, the two would be engulfing each other in great spine cracking bear hugs. Though Brunel had easily eighty pounds over him, Tanen had a year of Army service under his belt, and for every pound he lacked he made up for in strength and vigor. A half dozen pop's echoing from the beer baron's back would be enough for Tanen to finally let go of his friend, who placed a hand tenderly upon his musical spine.

" Morrigan's teet, what have they been having you do over at Hashend - carry the whole fort on your back? " Brunel laughed and chided towards his young compatriot.

" Well I've been carrying this shit hole of business for years now, what's a few thousand logs to that? "

The two would engage in yet another bout of scornful laughter before more gently embracing once again. Kenrenii would meekly appear along side the two, clutching her arm from behind her back, content to be silent while the two seemed to catch up. Brunel though, would notice her presence immediately, and clasping a hand round Tanen's shoulder, he would point to his half-sister. " So I hear from her that she's turned twelve just a few days ago... and that you're going to buy her her first round of beer? With your own shells no less, that true Tan? "

Though no such laws as pertaining to the legal drinking age of a person existed across the Virtuous land, or even within the country of the Ablan, Brunel was adamant in that he would not serve his libations to anyone below the age of twelve! Tanen nodded his head and tapped at the bulge of his purse along his sash,

" That is right. I've got more money then sense now, and i've promised to do something special to every one of my brothers and sisters while i'm here. This is gonna be my birthday present to Keni. So if you could, make us a spot for two. "

Brunel shot another yellow grin as he placed his hands upon his hips at looked down at Kenrenii, who was blushing from her brother's apparent genorosity. " Why not make it three then, I've not had a break all day and I haven't seen ye in a whole year! Panet! "

No sooner had the brewer yelled out his eldest daughters name, than three cushions had suddenly appeared on the ground next to them, with yet more of Brunel's daughters coming over with trays of beer and salt cake. Tanen had set himself down upon his cushion easily and quick, a stark contrast to the flamboyant whomping down of Brunel's rear upon his own cushion, or Kenrenii's nervous and almost almost embarrassed demeanor as she sat - bringing her legs fully onto the cushion and almost apologetically accepting the mug of beer passed to her by one of Brunel's daughters. Once Tanen and Brunel had gotten their mugs, the older brother turned to his half sister,

" You ready? "

She starred into the mug with a look of uneasy captivation, before looking up at her half brother and nodding, " Born ready. "

" Then bottom's up lass! " Shouted Brunel as he threw back his mug, prompting them to do likewise. The moment that the brew had touched his lips, a wave of nostalgic flavor and the memory of good times had in this market square came rushing back to Tanen - filling his chest with a glowing warmth. In mere seconds, he'd finished his entire mug, lowering it down to see Brunel gleefully laughing at Kenrenii's disgusted expression. The twelve year old had put a hand to her mouth, and had shut her eye's tightly, evidently trying her best not to throw up.

" Born ready huh? Hahaha! Wash it down with a bit of cake, so you don't spew on my cushions - you're brother's treat! "

Right on cue, a plate of salt cake was lowered down next to Kenrenii, from which she hastily plucked one of the glistening rolls. Tanen chuckled to himself, remembering his first time tasting the market's beer, remembering how bitter it had tasted, how it had made his stomach turn. The only reason he'd kept drinking was because his friends kept drinking. It had taken him years to get a taste for it, and so it was humorous to see his sister acting just how he had his first time.

" Say Tan, how did the brews over in Hashend compare to my brand? "

He was referring to the fort at Hashend, were Tanen had been stationed for the past six months as a guard. Though primarily an Army installation, whose purpose was to facilitate travel to the outposts and Callion fair, as well as guard the narrow strait, a small town had arisen not far from outside it's walls, which catered to the needs of the soldiers who lived there. Tanen has been among those few men who'd saved his earnings while stationed at Hashend, not partaking in much of the entertainments offered by the town.

" Like warm piss water... so a bit above average. "

" That sounds about right, yes. " Kenrenii said between a mouthful of salt cake, starring between the two men. Brunel laughed yet again as a he gleefully slapped a hand down onto his knee.

" It's an acquired taste lass, one you'll get used to with age. "

Kenrenii looked back down at her mug with conspicuous skepticism, running a finger along it's top, " Eh... I suppose, maybe. When did you two start liking it? "

" Mother had a bit of a problem so I started fermenting in the womb. " Tanen nearly choked on his own spit at the comment, and after regaining composure shook his head at the brewer - Kenrenii, smiling despite the fact that she clearly didn't get the joke. Another round was then passed around to Brunel and Tanen, to replace the mugs that they had downed - leaving Kenrenii to continue nursing her still almost full mug.

" So Tan, you said, while you're here. Am I to believe you'll be deploying off somewhere else here in the near future? " Brunel inquired of Tanen, who looked over to an absent minded Kenrenii before turning back to Brunel, answering in a low voice.

" Ah, no... nothing like that. I did my tour of duty. Beyond monthly training, i'm a civilian again. I mean't, um... i'm not going back to work on my father's farm. "

Brunel's eyebrows shot up with understanding, " Ahhh, now I understand. I don't blame you Tan. Old man Gethurn is good enough kinsman... just not to all his kin. "

What Brunel was refering too, was the altogether and all too common practice of successful soldiers treating their conquered wives and the children born from their union's with malignancy. To treat their wives and children, as some kind of mixed race savages - as opposed to the equal men and women of the Virtuous Land that the Service dictated they were. It was not a universal practice, but it was more than common enough, and could certainly be said for Tanen's household. The worst chores were always alotted to the children of the conquered wives, while pure Ablan were left to easier tasks. It was the pure Ablan and most honored wife who sat closest to Tanen's father at dinner. It was the Ablan children who would always carry offerings to their ancestors during worship. It was the mixed children who most often faced the worst of Gethurn's rage. There was no illusion equality at Tanen's childhood home. Though according to the Sevrant and the Service, they were all Icedonian, Virtuous, to his father, Tanen and the rest of his mixed siblings were simply mongrels.

He sniffed at the amber liquid in his cup, before taking a conservative gulp. The bitter aroma making his head swoon in a most delightful fashion. Tanen, for years, had both loved and hated his father. He hated his furious attitudes, his mistreatment of his mother and siblings, as well as his seeming apathy toward any attempt by Tanen to impress him. Even though Tanen had known his father to be a rotten man since his earliest days, he'd always dreamed of impressing the old man. Holding out hope that he might somehow impress him enough to show anything akin to compassion for his son. In vain though, for that bitter old soldier had only love for his pure Ablan spawn - most detestable of all, his pride and joy first born, Tanel.

Only a year older than him, Tanel had been born by their father's first and most honored Ablan wife. He had been given everything by their father, from the best toys, presents, seat round the dinner fire, best cloths, was always spoken of the most highly by his father. He'd even inherited Gethurn's deplorable sensibilities. The boy was an absolute monster to his half siblings and his father's conquered wives, who delighted at every opportunity to harass and pick at the mongrel children. Tanen, being the second oldest in the family, made a point to stand up to the devilish twerp, and the two had come to blows hundreds of times. Their childhood together was one of constant competition and battle, always trying to out due or surpass the other. When Tanel had been called up after his fifteenth birthday to be sent to BCT, their father had thrown a great celebration to see his eldest off. Tanen had simmered in rage the entire time, especially when only months later when he was called up to be sent off to training, his father had not even bothered so much as to see him off.

It was with great shock and surprise then, that upon returning to his home, after a year of being away, that who else would Tanen find home than Tanel! Apparently, his older brother had broken an ankle during the final phases of basic combat training; and because the expected recovery time was months off, it was decided that his attempt at BCT would be terminated. Tanel had failed out of Basic Training, and was sent home in shame. Of the few things at home that had changed, Tanel was most certainly one of them. The hate filled monster of his childhood youth, was now only a quiet, and subdued soul when in his presence. In the few days since he'd returned home, Tanel had not once tried to bicker, or insult, harass, or even come to blows with his half brother. Tanel had been defeated, and he wasn't the only one who knew it either. His father's rage had seemed to cool over since his return, and for the first time in memory, the old man looked and referred to his son with, if not compassion, then at least as someone upon equal standing.

By that point though, Tanen didn't care anymore. Not about his father's approval, or his childhood conflict with Tanel, or even about being recognized as Ablan. After a year in the Service, and seeing what true struggle and conflict actually entailed... the concerns of youth just didn't matter to him anymore. He was a man now, with duty on his shoulders, grit in his smile, scars on his hands, shells in his pocket, and a flame in his heart. He didn't want to be like the rest of the Ablan children, he was finally content with being Icedonian, which he decided, was much better anyways.

" Figure i'll look for work round Stranix. Maybe in one of the new factories they're opening up. Or, maybe i'll even look to move somewhere else. "

Brunel nodded, sniffling a bit, and pursing his lips together as if in thought. " Say... do you enjoy being a solider? "

" Well, yes I suppose. It certainly beats out farm labor, but I've not much else to compare it to. "

" Well then, once you turn seventeen, why don't you join the... uhm... the black... what is it, the black - " Brunel began snapping his fingers together, trying to pull the name from his subconscious.

" The black... to hell with it, join that one army with the Hibernian's in it! " Tanen smiled and gave a small, hmph, before replying,

" You mean the Black Banshee's? "

Brunel clapped his hands together before pointing toward Tanen. " Those are the black hearted bastards! "

[Orostan]

Aaron Dawson - Month 6, Day 5

Bottleneck

On the first day Aaron had the closest thing to a doctor he could find, a priest of some sort claiming he had the ability to heal the sick, treat his injured workers. Aaron doubted the effectiveness of the rituals and incense, but the herbs the priest applied to his workers probably made them at least feel better. Aaron had also tasked one of the workers who said they were a craftsman with attaching the Halberds they were making to poles with plant fiber rope. Both the plant fiber rope and poles were sourced from a different craftsman in the city, who would pull a cart every morning to the front of Aaron's metal working compound with the necessary products. He was paid with half of an iron ingot for his troubles. Aaron also needed a blacksmith to make the iron halberd heads, and had taken to hiring blacksmiths from the city to come in and work the iron. The halberds, the ji, would be made of three layers. The first layer would be softer lower carbon content iron, the middle would be harder and more brittle higher carbon content iron, and the last layer would be softer iron again. The middle layer would form the core of the weapon and also the blade, which would be sharpened on a polished stone by another worker. Using this very primitive assembly line, Aaron had been producing halberds at a very high rate and smoke was rising above the blast furnaces in large columns by the second day. In addition to halberds, Aaron had also made iron armor and shields part of his products. The shields would be made of three relatively thin low carbon content iron plates which were fused in a kiln using iron dust. For additional reinforcement, the shields were given a wood frame carved to match the curved shape of the shield by a craftsman. After production they were usually painted a green color and given the symbol of the Dai dynasty. Armor was made in the form of scale armor. A black smith would produce small iron or bronze plates with two holes at the top of each. These plates would be sewn into an otherwise unremarkable tunic or shirt by a weaver Aaron had hired. Helmets were made more conventionally, with a simple bronze or iron helmet being produced by a black smith and a craftsman adding cloth and metal plates sewn onto that cloth on the sides to provide flexible neck protection. Tools such as scythes and hoes were made of spare iron, usually higher carbon content iron, and those could be traded with farmers for food. For a farmer used to soft copper tools iron was a godsend, and Aaron could buy many pots full of rice for even one iron hoe.

Over time he and the workers settled into the routine of work. At midday, Aaron would dismiss the workers and stop production for a lunch break. Both for the workers and for him. Aaron had also taken to paying his workers with small bits of iron they could trade with. For workers who were supposed to be enslaved, they were well paid. Captain Zhu frequently visited Aaron's compound sporting an iron halberd and helmet, just to "see the progress", Zhu would say. Sometimes he'd take a particular halberd or iron item he liked the look of on his way out. Aaron's pile of halberds and armor was growing anyways, even as his pile of iron ore and coal rapidly decreased in size. Zhu's men liked showing off their iron weapons in the town square more than delivering Aaron iron. This had been such a problem that Aaron had begun paying people he found on the street to go out and get him iron ore and coal. However, another source of iron ore that Aaron had was northern merchants who came from an area Aaron believed to be around where modern Beijing would be. The merchants from that area told Aaron the trip by foot was six days, and by a good horse four or five. They didn't have much iron ore with them, but they promised they would come back in the coming weeks with more. Aaron was making a special effort to build relationships with the city's community of merchants and artisans. It never hurt to have friends.

Three months into production, a group of bandits tried to break into the city. Zhu's men repelled them, but Zhu told Aaron that more would come. Apparently Zhu's men had been showing off their weapons to merchants, which was a problem because knowledge of the iron weapons would spread. Bandits were especially keen to act on information from merchants, so it was no surprise they’d try to get themselves some iron weapons without paying. In response, Zhu had stationed guards outside of Aaron's compound during the night. Aaron regularly slept in a former storage room made of mud brick that he had claimed inside the walls of the compound, so it didn't matter much to him. In the village he'd slept on a bed made from a wooden frame and plant fiber that was tied to each side of the frame, forming a relatively comfortable surface to sleep on. Fortunately he'd been able to procure the same thing in the city and get a reasonable rest with a animal fur blanket over him. The guards outside couldn't enter if they tried, as Aaron would always put an improvised door stop under the gate that provided an entrance to the compound. He knew it did its job because the first night Zhu's men had been stationed outside he was woken up by the 'guards' trying to force the gate to open without success. Similar attempted attacks would take place over the course of the next month, ending with Zhu burning down a bandit camp in the woods thirty days into the month. Aaron knew it was thirty days into the months because he'd carved a calendar into the wall of his house. Over time Aaron also grew closer to his workers, talking to them and learning where they came from and why. Most of them were villagers whose chief had not paid tribute to the Emperor, but a few had been captured enemies from conflicts.

Just about five months after the blast furnaces had been set alight, Aaron ran out of iron ore. The diminishing stock of Iron ore was a looming threat he'd been appealing to the government over and over again about. But no matter how much he asked Captain Zhu would not send his men outside the city to gather iron, and the Emperor would not authorize a mine. He had some coal left over, but coal on its own was useless to him. Production stopped, and Aaron prepared to send his workers home after lunch. The cleared skies attracted the attention of the government, who had been voraciously procuring iron equipment for their soldiers. Captain Zhu visited Aaron only about an hour after the blast furnaces stopped. He entered through the gate to find most of the workers sitting around the furnaces eating rice and talking. Aaron was sitting at the front of the work area, eating at his desk. The only people working were some craftsmen using the last metal plates to finish some armor. As Zhu and two of his men walked towards Aaron showing off their iron equipment Aaron's people had made only days before, all eyes turned to Zhu, and Aaron stood up.

"Where is the fire? Why are you just sitting around doing nothing?" said Zhu, yelling into Aaron's face and pointing at a group of workers sitting at the base of a furnace.

"I can't make iron with no ore, Captain. Your men won't bring me any." responded Aaron, doing his best not to show nervousness.

"Excuses! If you cannot make the iron the Emperor demands then you are absolutely useless!" shouted Zhu, this time louder. Aaron's workers began to crowd around the two squabbling men now, leaving their bowls of rice by the sides of the blast furnaces. The craftsman at their tables stopped their work to watch. Zhu withdrew his sword from his leather scabbard.

"Aaron, you have spoiled your slaves and sold iron to merchants illegally! I have chosen to ignore this so long as you continued to provide iron tools and weapons, but you can’t or won’t even do that anymore!" said Zhu, brandishing his sword. His guards leveled their halberds at the crowd, and the crowd kept their distance.

"I've used that iron to buy the materials i need to make you weapons. If you didn't want me selling the iron, you could have-"

Zhu cut Aaron off.

"You came to this city promising wonders, and instead you have undermined my authority and the Emperor's. In the past months the merchants have treated your slaves with more respect than my soldiers! I see right through your manipulation of the feeble and sick Emperor, you-" Zhu suddenly stopped his loud ranting. The expression on his face turned from anger, to confusion, and then to terror. His knees buckled, and he fell to the ground face first. Blood began to stream from a deep wound at the back of his neck and onto the sandy ground. Aaron took his gaze from the dead man in front of him to the worker with a bloody halberd behind him. While Zhu's guards were distracted with the crowd in front of them, a worker had stabbed the Captain in the back of the neck. The halberd came in beneath the helmet and above the back of his cuirass, the blade slipping under the metal plates making up the flexible neck guard of the helmet. It was aimed well. Surprise mixed with horror on the faces of Aaron and his workers as the guards realized what had happened and workers farther away began to pick up halberds and shields.

[Ah-eh-ioh-uh]

The husband took the woman into his arms and began carrying her shivering figure back home. In the large wave that came upon the bathing woman and her surrounding people, the soap bars, combs, dead skin and hair combs among other things were washed away, lost to the water.

"Let the sins of your past be washed away with the tides and the wind christen you and your lungs with great joy. May the great Aolis bless you with great health, rejuvenation and beauty among many other things" Marcio said by way of parting.

Marcio and the congregation left for home with reflection in their demeanor, having for all people's perspectives concerned, witnessed a holy event. Volunteers came up to him and asked him if it was over and if that was all to be made of their experiments. Marcio told them no. That they would of course be very welcomed to continue retuning to the healing hut and trying out the different herbs. Marcio told Sato that if permitted, they would diversify experiments and eventually even begin the profit-creating part of it.

Sato would have to think about this for a while on his own but would eventually meet to put aside his feelings of obsoletion and inferiority. He would not stop these gatherings while they happened, though not entirely convinced. Some couple days later the same lady who had been "baptized" would return to him for advice, having become a little ways obsessed with cleanliness. She had been baptized but her house and the rest of the village remained much the same. She noted that the "filth" as she called it, had begun to return to her body and after that ordeal she went through, she found herself flinching at the state of her home and of the village at leather.

Marcio told her that her concerns were admirable and her commitment to changing her life in the eyes of the gods was commendable. However she need be careful not to grow too zealous in her commitment lest she became like the germaphobes back home. It was good to keep up ones daily hygiene but not every speck of dirt would turn her decrepit. Certainly she had been riddled with unimaginable corruption before hand but she should not that even a few days of neglect on her body was magnitudes better than she had treated herself before. One missed day of bath wouldn't ashen her skin like before.



Indeed others had come to him, asking if they TOO could be baptized in purity like the ritual before. The entire village had seen the lady's transformation and noted her beauty far surpassed that of any in the village (barring Marcio himself, many women and men would think in secret). She moved with a liveliness rivaling a child in their prime. Her skin glowed and she was just about the happiest person in the village, the feeling of cleanliness overtaking her. They too wanted to feel clean like she had, to feel the liberty of shedding their old skins into the sea.

He had actually been planning and speculating over sanitizing the village with Sato. Hotaru need not worry TOO much because Marcio had thought up a way to make the entire village quite a ways less disgusting. Reassuring Sato that he could have a much larger role in the endeavors this time around, he planned for the entire village to undergo a cleansing ceremony far larger in scale than the lady's own personal baptism. Instead of just one woman being bathed, this time the entire village would all gather at the seashore to bathe. Not just the villagers themselves but their clothes and the dogs and even the village interior itself. They would rouse the entire village to pitch in in gathering all the necessary ingredients and tools.

Hotaru need not worry because whilst they did not have the manufacturing capacity to continually make hygiene products for the entire village all year round, they could at least stave off the corruption for some short time. That's what he told her anyways. Yes, they didn't have quite the capacity to have everybody bathing all the time. But more than that Marcio needed some sort of insurance and leverage on the village to keep himself safe. He would make no profit if he just gave away the secrets of soap making to the entire village for free and also created soaps and handed them out on mass for free. That was hardly industry.

He needed to have the village dependent on him and his talents. He needed to raise his standing, his status. He would also not do well teaching them about finance if he just gave everything away for free. And so soon word spread the word to village that if enough people showed up to say they wanted a baptism like Hotaru, Marcio would begin the preparations for a village-wide cleansing ceremony. People who wanted the sea's blessing came and left him to tell others what he said. He told them to pass the word that if they wanted to be blessed, they only need ask and spread the word.



In the meantime, Marcio met with the village's most influential minds and spoke on length about other things he could do for the village. They spoke to him about religion, what was known about the surrounding world (quite little it was), his obscure mentions of "money" and other things. Marcio helped Sato during the day and supervised the experimenters when there was no illness or injuries to treat. He spoke on length with the villagers for the next couple of days on the people and their ways of life, getting him acclimated to the local ways of living.

He soon began to feel as if the likelihood of this being an illusion or kidnapping plot dwindling to his mind. The reality of his situation began to dawn on him which is another book in length (speculations I will not put here). He and some other villagers who had spared time attempted had begun helping him in his odd idea of "staying in shape". Having thought it over, he and the others took sticks and wrapped them in something soft so that they would not hurt each other too much. They would practice fighting with sticks. Why he chose sticks of this kind when there were other weapons to choose to practice using they didn't know.

[Spiritual Republic of Caryton]

The Prophet Marley Camdens

Sariah, Sertig Valley, Switzerland
-
The Land of the Camdenites

---

A hostile nomadic tribe of 60 struck Sariah from high on the mountains above. They seemed to not care about the smaller villages that were spread out under Camdenite control. Arrow fire had been exchanged as both Camdenite soldiers clad in their gear rushed against a perpetually advancing enemy. Marley Camdens took his personal iron sword (because such things were a rarity for any society's inner circle, and it was only befitting that he had one as well), and followed his men into battle. No civilian lives were lost, and their attempt to throw flaming nests over the walls into the crops did minimal damage. It was clear that since the tribe had ventured so long to attack Sariah, they had not anticipated that the city would grow so much and that they would be so vastly outnumbered. Arrow fire raged over the Sertig river itself, but as the enemy dropped like flies, it became clear that swords would be clashing in no time. Camdens rode into battle, his yellow cape and band fluttering in the wind alongside a stone lance, his blade sheathed. As copper blades clashed with stone and bone tools, it was clear that a battle had turned into a massacre. The Prophet rode on horseback, impaling man after man on the lance. When his lance broke on the back of a female archer, he drew his sword and dismounted, slaying the wounded that his men had missed.

Out of the 60 that had initially attacked, only about 7 lived to be taken prisoner. The first question that was asked was if they were willing to repent of their sins and be saved. All seven denied. The next question was where the nomads' main base camp was, and this question had been asked at swordpoint. At the prophet's orders, 40 men were ordered to guide the tribals back home, and slaughter the camp's combatants. The civilians would be spared, but their belongings would be torched as a show of force.

It was that moment that those governing the Land of the Camdenites realized that their land needed to be more filled out. Under the Prophet's orders, all church-owned nomad groups not proselytizing abroad would be forced to be sedentary, forming villages evenly distributed among their land claims. Small churches would be built to honor this and assert theocratic dominance.

The first two missionaries he had sent out-- sisters Emma and Elena, wrote back to Camdens, a message delivered by myriads of church owned nomadic groups and neutral third party couriers. Word had escaped of two independent countries near them. Immediately, Marley had ordered them back. Within weeks, they had returned from their posts in western Switzerland.

In the tabernacle, opposite of the temple, he had made an announcement.

"The Lord, our Heavenly Father has anointed me to tell you that opportunities of spreading the gospel and making the truth known have befallen us. In the Book of Mormon, a wise man who also communes with God-- Lehi-- takes his family out of one land, and into a separate land so far away one may not understand it-- the New World. Here, you all will befall the fates of Lehi. Let it be known that on this day, I am ordering pioneers venture out of these mountains and deeper within the continent. If you are selected, see it as your God-given destiny. I see blessings in store for thee. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen."

Marley had now ordered two groups before him. They would each have the following:

4 missionaries
16 church leaders
30 soldiers
~170 pioneers
Several domesticated pack animals.

Using the Landing Point, stars, hearsay rumors from nomads, natural landmarks and directions indicated in the letter as reference, the two groups were aligned in their directions with their belongings. Scrolls, clay tablets, parchments, and faux books with doctrine, scripture, and history were seen as just as important as food in their preparations. They were tasked with testifying of all they had been taught-- things from the Bible, Book of Mormon, things of Jesus Christ and Marley Camdens himself. Things of love, inclusiveness, and the importance of family, baptism, and temples. One group of pioneers was sent towards the Imperium of Man in the approximate direction of Prague. The other was sent towards Nestos in the approximate direction of Serres. ( G-Tech Corporation and UniversalCommons )

"Millions shall know Brother Camdens again!"

As they began to walk for a long journey, it had become apparent that Camdens had beefed up the numbers of pioneers because he understood there would be casualties. If it happened in the 1800s with Brigham Young, it would happen now with himself.

[Ah-eh-ioh-uh]

Marcio had been asked what his name was, the villagers having been calling him many things thus far regardless. He told them as kindly as he could that they couldn't pronounce it and shouldn't even try. It would never sound right coming from their mouths, ones trained in such a different language. Besides, they had already given him names of their own variety, he might as well assimilate to the locale. He decided that his real name should be reserved only for those significantly close to him. After some deliberation he chose "Shinjiru", "Shinji" for short. It meant, "to beleive".

"Shinjiru", aka Marcio, aka "the Yokai" and all that jazz, had been visited by crowds of people in the healing hut. Secretly whilst there were no actual hints of peer pressure or threats of discrimination, there was potential for it nonetheless. EVERYBODY signed up to be ritually purified. Because while there was not even an indirect pressure to do so, inwardly, nobody wanted to be seen as dirty. They weren't told so but they knew that if they did not embrace this new, partially religiously motivated culture of loving cleanliness and "purity", they would not be very welcomed among their peers. Who wanted to trade with someone who was covered in lice?



It took several days for Marcio to feel as if everybody had volunteered, Sato having confirmed that the number showing willingness roughly matched how many were in the village. Having spent a few days practicing with the village's warriors on his odd fitness form, he organized the cleansing ceremony now. People soon began creating skins, bags and other containers because they would need a lot more. Untold numbers of herbs and plants were gathered from the wilderness and animal fat was gathered in large amounts. People began gathering sand and ash in large containers. Fire wood was gathered and combs among other such devices were constructed in great quantities. Toothbrushes and herb-doused string (floss and picks) were made. Soaps began to practically create clouds of fragrance and smoke above the village as multiple wood fires began being tended to by the volunteers, among others.

Bars of soap began being produced in large quantities and it seemed Shinjiru was determined to never let them stop making them. It WAS more slow going than it could have been given that the original volunteers for the most part held a monopoly on the knowledge of the actual creation. But never the less as people made the products, Shinjiru began coaching Sato on the rites (and vice versa) that should be performed during this ceremony. Sato was glad to know Shinjiru was keeping good on his promises to include him and not obsolete his place in the village. Soon enough the ceremony started.



Masses of people began to bring large containers of sea water into the village, handing the first one to a family who then began clean the insides of their dwellings. They doused salt water on the surfaces where Sato directed and scrubbed them down with brushes and soap. The soap making process was not done at one particular point but rather an ongoing process. Tools were churning through the village as fast as they were made. Befitting a witch, Shinjiru showed people how to make brooms and other things like it, the statement that they should not divulge their knowledge without permission was not one ignored given that someone with supposed supernatural abilities was telling them.

People watched as the family swept their dwellings and performed other procedures, Sato making ceremonial gestures and chanting meanwhile. People yelled in fright as cockroaches and other vermin were revealed during the process. Sato gave a sermon just like the kind Marcio told, having been instructed on them by said man. He said these were more unclean spirits that fed on corruption. People were armed with broomsticks and viciously attacked the vermin for some time, fear holding them back for a small time.

Sato used his own considerable oratory skills to instill bravery into them and press upon them their duty to be pure for the sake of the gods. Eventually the home was checked and there seemed to be no vermin left. The family went to seashore and washed their clothes among other things that couldn't be washed at the home, other villagers helping carry whatever they could to the shore for cleaning. Dirty tools were washed, utensils, weapons, a large chunk of their home carried out to the sea. The rest of the village was told to follow suit and when they were done with it to ask for further instructions.



It was explained by Sato that this community needed to trust one another to prosper and part of that was helping each other. They couldn't very well do that if they always had their eyes averted and so it was revealed that a mass community bathing ceremony was to take place at the sea, meaning everybody would see everything of everybody else's. This was a difficult thing to spin them but between Sato and Marcio's oratory skills combined with what the seemingly spiritual benefits were, people got around to it soon enough. Hotaru noted that since she was cleansed, lice among other things neared her but seemed to be repelled by the cleanliness of her body. They didn't seemed to like her skin and seemed to jump off her the moment they scouted her for potential housing.



This ceremony was not small. It was not a quick affair. Folks began cleaning their house, the things in their house, everything. All buildings in the village were being cleaned by as many people as practical but there was just so much stuff to do. Rats ran through the streets among other things, one of the difficulties of this ritual. They scared people into a panic and people jumped to dodge their scurrying. It was a long and arduous process, if anything was learned from what had been done so far. Marcio and Sato had quite some difficulties as they could not be in all places at once. Resources would be stretched past their limit and progress occasionally halted. Supplies were crafted on an ongoing basis and steam rose to the sky. Roaches went from one house to another. There were MANY buildings to visit, many things needing done.

People went to and fro, from the shore, back to the village, soon it would be utter mayhem. But a good kind hopefully. And for a good reason too. It was said that this would not be done even in a day as there were many houses to clean, many things to wash, many vermin to drive out and kill. People DID have to eat and do other things so some people had to take a break from the ceremony. Soon the sun began to set and people had to halt the ceremony til the next day.

At least a whole week went by and people were tired. Day by day passed and rats ran wild through the streets, having been driven out of one house if not killed outright and to go into another. But the more and more people's houses were cleaned, the less pleasant they found their stay. Marcio had advised the people to keep their homes clean even after the ritual cleansing, not leaving things like food out and touching up the house when needing. People were instructed to be very thorough, roaches escaping to a house next door only to find there was no food they could reach, not even a crumb. The entire village pitched in and people lay in wait for vermin in homes so they could be killed. Vermin soon found they left one recently "blessed" house only to go to another house that was similarly squeaky clean.



After grueling days of being killed and driven from clean home to clean home, the vermin began a mass exodus out of the village entirely. Some were killed, others starved eventually. And finally, many fled to the forest to try to find an easier environment. It was horrible. And wonderful at the same time. Wonderful that they were leaving/dying off, horrible because watching insects and other things crawling in masses about the village made Marcio want to vomit. Yeah. Vomit was a thing during this time and one side effect of this "festival" was that some people had no appetite. Plenty including Marcio himself vomited when the disposing of the vermin bodies came. Masses of the disgusting creatures were carried in containers and dumped into burning fires.

I won't go into detail but this was by far the yuckiest thing Marcio had ever seen or taken a part in. For good measure even the containers themselves were burned and disposed of. Human waste was also quite yucky in cleaning, Marcio making a speech about what should be done now and in in the future. Marcio was not an expert on this stuff and knew that whatever he did it had some major downsides. Most trash would be broken/torn up, then burned in a huge bonfires at the beach, Marcio not liking the idea that they had been burying these things underground or throwing them into the sea all this time. Marcio taught them about not passing gas or bodily fluids just anywhere and other basic stuff like that, because no one liked the part where they had to clean up that stuff on mass from the village. With all the trash being taken out of the village vermin found the place less nice.

During these ceremonies, (because really it was so much stuff to manage that they were REALLY a bunch of different procedures that would be both occasional and ongoing), the "streets" (lol) ran clean with water, the smell of cleaning agents actually being overpowering because it was just everywhere soon. Masses of people armed with containers of water dumped water everywhere and the village looked almost like it was flooding.

[Europa Undivided]

Nikolai “Sasha” Sapohznik
The Sixth Month
Yauzagrod

The news of the apparent death of the Lord of Yauzagrod did not truely shock Nikolai, as the man was already old and sick. However, he kept on an expression of awe and surprise, so that Yaroslav would at least feel that he really cared for Jaromir. “What?”

“He collapsed just a moment ago!”, Yaroslav exclaimed.

“Where is he?”, Nikolai asked as he dropped everything he was doing and rushed out of the workspace that Jaromir had provided. He suspected that the they only thought that Jaromir was dead, but rather, probably choked on something, maybe a piece of meat or hard bread. After all, it is not like these Bronze Age people were at all knowledgeable about how the human body actually works, and what constitutes death or mere lethargy.

“In the hall, right there in front of his chair.”, was Yaroslav’s answer. “What are you-“

“Tell me, was he eating before he collapsed?”, Nikolai asked the two of them broke into a sprint towards the large wooden hall that served as the administrative center of the burgeoning town. “I suspect that he may not be truly dead...”

“Yes, he was.”, Yaroslav replied as they entered the hall wherein Jaromir presided. There, in front of his throne and surrounded by the elders, was the supposed dead Jaromir. He was slowly turning pale, and his chest was no longer rising. The old man’s eyes were closed, and he held a piece of bread in his hand.

Nikolai wasted no time. He had been taught basic CPR as part of the high school curriculum, and he was about to use that knowledge for the second time in his life. Quickly, he rushed over towards the whitened elderly Lord, and began to initiate CPR.

The elders opened their mouths to object to what they originally perceived to be sacrilege against their leader, but Yaroslav held up his hand to silence them. “He knows what he is doing .”, he explained to the dumbfounded elders as they simply watched the CPR unfold.

After what seemed for be am eternity to Nikolai, Jaromir coughed and gasped for air. Relieved, Nikolai told him to stay down for a while. However, he insisted to get up, only for Nikolai to firmly shake his head.

Jaromir understood. He placed his hand on the clean shaven face of the stranger that his son had brought over a mere six months ago. Who would have thought that this man was going to buy him a few precious minutes in this world?

“Nikolai, was it?”, Jaromir said, tears dropping from his eyes. Yaroslav was also right there, beside his father, and Jaromir’s free hand was soon caressing his eldest.

“Yes, that’s my name.”, was the reply. “What is it?”

“I want you to always accompany my son as he takes the rein of leadership of the tribe. You have... proven to be a great help to us. It does not matter that you have been with us for a mere six months as you have described. What matters is that... you... are truly one of us, now that you have brought to us your ideas, and your passion. You are truly a Kolochin.”

“Sir Jaromir, I save your life and you are saying farewell...? Why...?”

As he was held by Nikolai, Jaromir turned to his eldest son, Yaroslav. “And you, my son, are to defer to his wisdom. He loves our people, you and I included. That’s why... you... are to give what’s due.”

With that final word, Jaromir’s hand went limp, falling off their faces.

Yaroslav panicked and nearly yelled. “No, no, no, NO!” He began to weep; his father had been seemingly brought back to life, and now he was gone; for real this time. “Please, Nikolai, do something!”

“I... I’m sorry, Yaroslav.”, he answered with deep regret. “Your father is truly gone. I cannot cure death. No one can.”

The elders looked at each with grave faces. Of course, they knew that the death of the Lord of Yauzagrod was only a matter of time before it happened, but to see him briefly brought back to consciousness before dying in absolution awed and shocked them.

Several servants soon rushed in, bearing a woven fabric that had beautiful patterns of nature embroidered all over its surface. Quickly, they bound the dead Jaromir in it and carried him out. The elders stood in absolute silence as they watched the chieftain get carried out to the service of the priest. However, Yaroslav was still sniffing and weeping, and he held on to Nikolai, who was awfully silent, though he did his best to comfort the man with whom he made such a deep bond over the last few months. A few hours passed as the people of Yauzagrod all gathered in reverence to their late chieftain, who was buried in a grave more ornate than all the others.

After the funeral, Yaroslav was hailed Lord of Yauzagrod, and Nikolai would be his advisor... and mastermind of the projects of the Kolochin. As Yaroslav bowed before the priest of Perun to receive the blessings of the gods, Nikolai thought about the future. Surely, Yaroslav would be well guided by his “wisdom”, would it?

With this crown of leaves, an empire will rise.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

Bruno Davids
Southern France

From my newly constructed chair, I could feel the last rays of sunlight beaming from across the treetops. Every day, the sun sank behind the forest in the west, giving a marvellous spectacle of colours, not unlike a painting itself. Every day it was different. Ever since losing access to the internet, and to on-demand entertainment, I had found myself enjoying the small things tremendously. The smell of petrichor after a shower, a bed of flowers blooming, the green sprouts growing from the newly acquired farmland.

I had set my chair up in the village centre, which was unrecognisable from what it had been mere days ago. Around the water well, now rounded with a low wall of brick, was a round square. The square, twenty meters in diameter, was surrounded by one-story brick buildings. A new granary, standing on stilts, next to a warehouse for keeping goods dry. Across the square from me was the new meeting hall, where all village members could assemble to have dinner. In the past, this was only possible outside, but with the new communal hall no weather could stop the villagers from enjoying each other’s company in the evening. With the sun going down, I could see the cooking fires rise from the chimney to the back of the building.

Cooking. I had almost forgotten about the possibility, but there was a lot of progress that could be made there. Cooking, here, meant making the food safe to eat above a cooking fire, nothing more. The people here were unfamiliar with the use of various herbs to flavour their food. I decided that, when I had a free day, I would go into the forest to get myself some unions and garlic, if I could find them in a recognisable form. I loved cooking, so it would be great to cook some for people who had never had a tasty meal before.

A free day would have to wait, however. I looked down to my hands, muddied and dirtied by soil and mortar. Me and a few volunteers had begun construction on what would become some sort of rudimentary sewer system for the town. It was nothing more than a buried brick ditch than ran down the main avenue of the town. When finished, it would carry running water down from the river, allowing filth and materials to be flushed away easily downstream. It would be a tremendous boon to hygienics, especially when the public toilets finished construction. Although I insisted on the importance of the public toilet, the townsfolk wondered what was wrong with the cesspool their normally used. However, in their eyes I had proven that most of my ideas were at least somewhat useful, so they were willing to go along with this.

I took a sip from my steaming cup. I had not had a warm beverage since arriving here, so I took kindly to this little indulgence I had created for myself. Just as I began pondering what more there could be done, Telda came out from the brick building in front of which I had seated myself.

“I will not even try to pretend that I understand what it is” she said, pointing at the building over her shoulder. It had been constructed for me personally, at my own demand. It had a small office in the back, with a place to sleep. The biggest part of the building, however, was filled up with wooden constructions, what I called ‘bookcases’. To the townsfolk, they were just empty wooden frames, and failing to know where to even begin explaining, I had cryptically said that I would tell them later.

“All will become clear, in due time” I told her. I was still working on a way to reliably make paper. I knew it had to do with wood pulp, but I wanted to make sure before I started manufacturing it myself. Unbeknownst to the townsfolk, several bowls of wood pulp were soaking in my office, ready to be pulled through a sieve when I felt the consistency was right. Everything would improve once I could write down my thoughts in actual notes.

“Try me” Telda answered, unexpectedly. Most townsfolk were interested in stuff as far as it involved them, and did not ask questions beyond what they absolutely needed to hear at that moment. Telda was different in that regard, though. She asked questions beyond what was immediately relevant. In her, I saw a spark of curiosity to find out more about her world, not for the sake of anything besides knowing.

“It will store knowledge” I said simply, yielding a questioning look. It amused me. In another life, Telda might have been more knowledgeable than me, which is why I enjoyed teasing her like that.

“By which I mean… Alright” I added, setting myself to a proper explanation of terms.

“Where I come from, we use a system of ‘writing’. We have symbols that represent certain sounds, like A, O, E, K. We put those symbols in order, which then represents a word. For example, ‘man’ would be M-A-N. That way, you can put down sentences in symbols, and that allows you to read them back whenever you need.”

“Ah… So, you put thoughts in symbols?” she answered, and I nodded.

“I’ll show you. Give me a list of items” I added. Telda thought for a moment.

“Three bricks, two rivers, twelve sheep, fifty trees… Is that too much?” she asked, but I shook my head.

“Alright” she continued. “eight flowers, thirty-two stones, a hundred bees…”

“Bees!” I exclaimed, jumping up from my chair. “Of course! Bees! Remind me to build a beehive tomorrow, once I am done with…”

I sunk down to my chair again, my exhausted legs giving out underneath me. I had been working from dawn, and without clock to count the time I had worked until the late afternoon. My legs had grown to ache incredibly, and they no longer provided any form of support. I slumped back in my chair, suddenly hyperaware of every ache.

“There… there is so much more still to do…” I whispered. Telda had tried to catch me, but had only grabbed my arm in time for me not to topple over, and for safety’s sake was now making sure I stayed upright.

“Could you tell me more about where you come from? Not just the food or the drink or the safety, but about your society. How do you manage that kind of settlement?”

I wondered if I was going to answer that question truthfully one day. Whether I would ever tell them of the inequity, the war, the poverty, that was so rampant in my own world. And the longer I didn’t tell them, the less I could bring myself to actually tell them. I just decided to whitewash a bit, as I always did.

“That’s actually my task, back home” I told her, oversimplifying the matter.

“Where I come from, we have laws. Rules that govern what we can and cannot do. The government, those are the people in charge, make laws, and then other people make sure those laws are executed.”

“Executed, how?” she asked.

“Well, that depends” I said. “Sometimes we lock someone up, so they can’t go outside for some time. Or we make them do work they don’t like. Sometimes we force them to do something anyway. Oh, and there are fines, which…”

Which take away someone’s money. Money, a concept I had not yet introduced, and which I felt uncomfortable bringing up. The small town managed fine without it. Food was shared equally, and everyone laboured for a common cause. People did work because it fulfilled them with a sense of belonging and pride, and because it helped people they knew. There was no need for currency. Some people bartered, but even barter was uncommon when food and other resources were gifted kindly. Even when fights arose, Torsen was quick to come in and give his own verdict, not based on any rule of law or jurisprudence, but based on the knowledge he had about the people in his village. I elected not to tell Telda of money, and wait until some later time.

“And because we live with so many, you can’t simply trust the people you are dealing with. You might never have met them before, unlike here, were you grow up together. So laws also tell you how to keep your promises, what is mine to use and what is yours to use, and then wise judges apply those laws in relevant cases”

I could see Telda ponder everything I said. Of all people, I think she was most critical of my ideas. The rest was overwhelmed by the material benefits it brought. Telda thought about implications. She was, in many ways, the opposite of her brother, although both were very charismatic.

“I would not like to live in a town where everything is guided by mistrust” she finally said. I could not blame her, and I actually thought she was quite right about that.

“Me neither” I said carefully, taking another sip from my tea. It had gone tepid, but the minty taste from the leaves was still very nice. It just lacked some honey, but the bee hives would take care of that eventually.

“Oh, before I forget” I added. “Three bricks, two rivers, twelve sheep, fifty trees, eight flowers, thirty-two stones, a hundred bees”

[Ah-eh-ioh-uh]

At least a week had passed and most of the yuckiest of things had been dealt with and now people all gathered on the beach to have their communal bath. People were tired. Marcio's feet hurt. A few people grew calluses from all the activities and people had to be given healing salves because of all the extra work they were doing, their hands rough from the work. People massaged each other quite often throughout the day, muscles sore and achey from doing things like killing rats and stomping on roaches. When all the yuck was gone people breathed so much easier.

People smelled the interior of their homes with smiles on their faces and they liked how things were looking. Injuries were more often now, the cleaning process causing people to get splinters and cuts. But those were healed as best as they could be at the time and were well worth it. People began scrubbing themselves down, as well as helping others. This was the first true bath (with soap) Marcio had since getting here. It was nice and they chose to do this when it was warm and the sun shone. Marcio made sure to avert his eyes not for modesty, but rather because people had chunks of dead skin falling from them. Actually, he stood significantly far from the crowd of people dropping lice into the water. After a time people's new look set in and they began to have fun with it.



Marcio had gotten over the disgust soon enough and joined them in splashing about. Laughter rang from people and he began to forget what he had seen. Disgusting as some elements were, it had been quite nice to see people helping each other like they had been. The entire village pitched in some way or another. They had been scrubbing one another down, helping one another in sheering the yucky hair. And now they organized and submerged on mass under the water for several seconds. Not everybody could do it at once but it was still a lot of people. Certain people had to be helped back up or under, the old and young especially, as well as the injured or infirm. But eventually the last groups of people had reemerged from the water, reborn into a new way of life.

They had even washed their dogs and removed all ticks and flees from them too, because all dogs go to heaven of course. The dogs were told they would being baptized for being the goodest of boys and girls of course.

Marcio had been accenting the process with ceremony, Sato assisting. And now they all made their way out of the water, everybody having enjoyed this experience so much that it hadn't mattered that no auspicious waves proceeded Marcio's blessings or gusts of wind accented their baptisms. They got their clean clothing from makeshift drying racks held over fires on the beach and returned to their newly transformed village. In clean clothes and clean bodies they returned to homes free of pests and a village clean of any yuck. Now all dirty things had been burned, scrubbed, driven out of the village or washed out to the sea along with their sins....

[Orostan]

Aaron Dawson - Month Six, Day 5

The Red Flag

Aaron tried to get over his initial shock quickly. The late Captain's guards were quickly overwhelmed by a swarm of Aaron's workers, both of them falling to the ground in quick succession. They'd tried to defend themselves, waving their halberds in wide sweeps at the now rioting workers, but it was for naught as they were stabbed in the back by halberds they couldn't even see. Aaron understood that right now that was going on was a chaotic riot, and that if he and his workers wanted to avoid execution for what they did they had to turn a riot into a revolution. Aaron stepped over the three corpses on the ground and into the middle of the workers.

"Hey! Everyone!" shouted Aaron, waving his hands in the air and trying to get the attention of the people around him.

"We have just killed Captain Zhu, and I am sure nobody will mourn him." said Aaron, trying to be loud enough for all the workers to hear. Aaron's statement met applause, and Aaron tried to calm the workers down. In a few moments they did, and Aaron continued.

"But we have a bigger problem now. If you want to avoid your own execution and possibly your families, you need to help me organize a revolt. The Emperor is ill, and his best enforcer is dead. We are already winning, but we will squander this chance to liberate Luoyang if we aren't organized!" shouted Aaron, the workers around him either listening or donning armor.

Aaron pointed to a cart in the corner of his compound.

"Load that cart up with all the weapons you can gather, and take it to the city square. Announce what we've done and what we are about to do." Aaron said, still trying to make himself heard above the noise of the workers moving. Right now every worker was trying to load the cart, without organization or discipline. This wouldn't do.

"Hey, Hey! Half of you, get away from the cart. Half of us are going to liberate the slaves, while half will go arm the townspeople and farmers!" shouted Aaron, over the growing noise and chaos.

Aaron went into the crowd and began telling workers to move towards a nearby blast furnace. In short order, Aaron had established dominance over the crowd. Roughly 50 armed and armored workers stood near the cart laden with halberds, and another fifty near the blast furnace waiting for orders. Aaron picked out the worker who had started the revolt and approached him.

"What's your name? I have to thank you for what you did for me back there." said Aaron. Upon hearing his words, the worker smiled.

"My name is Xian Cai, General!" said the worker, finding it a little funny to call Aaron a general.

"Well, Xian, you have started this revolt so you will lead a detachment of it. Go to the city with the cart, the blast furnace men will be lead my me and guard this compound as well as liberate the slaves. Now go!"

Xian gave what Aaron assumed was the bronze age Chinese equivalent of a salute and began organizing the men around the cart. Aaron put on some armor himself and picked up a halberd. He took the men from the blast furnace, leaving only two behind to provide basic security for the pile of weapons and equipment they couldn't take. As the cart full of weapons proceeded down the dirty streets and out of sight, Xian standing on it and announcing rebellion as the others pushed or escorted the cart. Xian was handing out halberds too. It struck Aaron that in another life Xian might have made a good game show host.

Aaron turned to his own men, leading the 48 he had at his disposal towards the government compound. Many of the men were holding as many halberds as they could carry, and were very happy to give them to slaves and townspeople they encountered along the way. Aaron quickly directed the new recruits to the metal working compound to pick up armor and possibly shields. He assigned one of his men to lead them there. The 47 men and Aaron kept on going towards the Emperor's "palace", if you could even really call it that, until they encountered two guards patrolling on the guards. The guards stopped their walk and conversation upon seeing a horde of revolting slaves round the street corner. As the rebels grew nearer, they began to panic and run in the direction of the Emperor's compound, shouting for help all the way. Only one more block to go. The group was catching up with the fleeing guards. One of them fell down, swiftly being stabbed and trampled by the horde Aaron was a part of. His friend looked back in terror and tried to run faster.

Aaron was horrified. Absolutely no mercy was given by the rebels, and the image of the deep cut on Captain Zhu's neck just before blood had begun to pool once again entered Aaron's mind. All ideas of this being a vacation or dream he could leave at any time had been violently dispelled. Aaron tried to keep pace with his men, many of whom now had bloody halberds. There was no time to think as they approached the quickly closing gates of the Imperial compound. The guards on the gates weren't quick enough, and Aaron's men got through the gates. The four or so guards at the gates were slaughtered, their pleas for mercy drowned out by the blood lust of revolting slaves. Aaron wondered if they had families. But there was no time for wonder, and Aaron found himself being subsumed into the revolution without much time for questions or justification.

The rebels swept through the compound, Aaron doing his best to keep them in a group and prevent looting. Aaron was mostly successful as they moved towards the armory. Imperial soldiers were frantically trying to get their comrades out of the barracks at the opposite side of the small compound, but by now Aaron's group was already sweeping through the armory. Some men were stealing bronze swords and helmets from the racks inside.

Aaron shouted over the horde pleas to stop the looting and to fight the enemy. At first it felt as if nobody was listening, so Aaron repeated his pleas. To his satisfaction and surprise, rebels set down their loot and rejoined the group. It was only one or two at first, but that one or two turned into nearly all of the workers quickly. Without delay, they ran towards the barracks as unarmed guards who had been resting only moments before scattered. The group had prevented the Imperial soldiers from picking up their arms, and as Aaron lead the group through the barracks he ordered his men to take captives. Most of the men avoided killing the unarmed enemy captives, but a few took any attempt to escape as an invitation for their halberds. Aaron would have to say something about this latter. Aaron surveyed the barracks and tried to ignore all the blood.

"Attention! Hey! Everyone, we are going to the Imperial palace now!" Aaron shouted. The men cheered, holding their halberds as high as they could in the building. The sound of the halberds hitting the ceiling reminded Aaron of drum beats. Very crude drum beats that resulted in the men having to dislodge their halberds from the ceiling, but it was a little funny all the same. Aaron continued his orders, and picked out four of his men.

"You four! Stay here and keep the captives. But don't worry, the rest of us will bring you... whatever we find!" shouted Aaron, doing his best to inspire confidence. One of the men shouted something about the Emperor's head, Aaron didn't catch what, but it inspired another round of cheering. Aaron walked out of the barracks, his men following close behind. The men had exited on a side of the barracks building that didn't face the log excuse for a palace, so they walked around it in a rough approximation of a marching column with Aaron at it's head.

Across the compound's grounds, they saw the Emperor and his guards about to leave the compound through one of its other gates. For a moment, everyone froze incredibly awkwardly as Aaron's eyes met the Emperor. A panicked expression took over the Emperor, and he and his men began moving towards the gate again. Aaron had the sense to give his men the order to pursue.

"Get that motherfucker!" Aaron shouted at the top of his lungs. He only realized he'd said it in English after his men had already begun to run towards the panicked Emperor. They had probably got the idea of the order, even if they didn't understand the words. The Emperor's men were frantically trying to close the gate behind themselves, but they weren't quick enough. The group overwhelmed the Emperor's escort in short order, and the Emperor found himself knocked to the dirty ground and at the end of Aaron's own halberd. For now Aaron prevented his men from killing their oppressor as an idea grew in his mind. He ordered his men, who were crowded around the Emperor yelling obscenities to grab a cart for him, which he swiftly dragged the Emperor on top of. He thrust his halberd into the base of the cart, turning a weapon into a pole. He then tore a strip of silk from the Emperor's robes, the Emperor trying to leave while begging for mercy. Aaron ignored his pleas and tied his wrists together over the halberd, essentially cuffing him to the pole of the weapon. Aaron's men quickly got the idea, and began pushing the cart forwards. Aaron stood on the front, and felt like a captain at sea must feel while standing at the front of his ship. The group advanced into the town square with the Emperor as their hostage. On the way there they'd picked up an additional twenty or so men, each armed with similar iron armor and halberds. Some of them had shields, the Dai symbol on them hastily painted over with splotches of multi-colored paint. There were very few merchants left in the town square, most of them having left at the first whisper of a revolt. Just as he entered the square and his men began to crack open jugs of wine left by the cowardly merchants, Xian entered the square from the opposite side of the square. He had a lot more men with him. At least a few hundred men, more appearing every moment from the street. Aaron met Xian in the middle of the square, the two men simply smiling at each other as their men mingled and the wine flowed in the square.

[Ah-eh-ioh-uh]

In the days to come after the village wide cleansing ceremony, the village was ecstatic with cleanliness. People were far more conscious about their homes, people didn't excrete yuck in random village spaces. The streets were full of laughter. Instead of burying their trash, people began to burn them in the occasional purity ritual that he was invited to administer to (thanks? I guess...). Things WERE bit noisier at night as people found themselves much more attracted to one another now that they weren't so stinky and filthy. But it was quieter too as people didn't pass gas near others anymore so often (a villager spreading his advice upon hearing his suggestion). Many people reported that they felt so much freer without feeling like they were weighed down by that yucky, flaky layer of ash and useless skin.



Marcio participated in more experiments, diversifying the experiments and finding better smelling herbs. Herbs were ground with mortar and pestle and water was mixed with oil. Marcio taught the others about varying the level of sand in the soap, fine tuned his instructions on tool creation. He began to introduce the basic ideas of profit, not being an expert on anything like that but figuring something was better than nothing.

Marcio started out however, by simply compensating his volunteers (as promised) with the fruits of their own labors. The volunteers would not need to trade for their own hygiene products. They would be allowed to trade (or use) the very products they made. They each got their own portions of the soaps and other stuff they made, so long as they did not reveal the secret of creating the items to others without permission and also of course, setting aside portions which would belong to the company itself to trade (Sato and Marcio really).

Marcio got the largest portion set aside for his own trade and what's best is he didn't even have to make them himself. That was essentially, company profits and products. Marcio vaguely set in the idea that the new soap making industry that was to be, belonged to him. He came up with the idea, he organized the experiments. He had the knowledge of how to craft the products first and had been the one to introduce it to others. Marcio began to trade his portions of product to the public for things he wanted. Some of these things were quite abstract and it was quite frustrating that just plain currency was not something that he could accumulate yet.



Marcio traded his products to the locals for labor, materials and other items. They built him a building dedicated to this industry. They placed it near Sato's healing hut. He could tell Sato did not like his hut being used for continual experiments and felt poorly running a business out of his building that he didn't even own. He was second fiddle really and he knew it. Yes, he was a business partner but it was still mostly Marcio's thing where he shined.

People began "buying" hygiene products and people began noticing their health, among other things, improving over time with the practice of regular hygiene. Soaps and toothbrushes became holy supplies as bathing became a religious experience akin to daily prayer. Marcio seemed to have nurtured a burgeoning culture with a fondness for "purity". More than culture, Marcio had started a religious movement. A philosophy. He also created more than just a little commerce, he would later grow to find. Trade with neighboring communities was already a thing even before him but soon, something as seemingly unremarkable as soap, was spreading Marcio's ideas. Soon, the people would trade not just hygiene products with the neighboring villages, but philosophy and religion.

[UniversalCommons]

Interlude (Another Book List)

The Scholar Translation Committee had expanded again. Victor Spear had announced a new initiative. They were to gather oral traditions, stories, and tales and make them into story books for the young and old. Oddly enough with the play Star Wars, then the play Dracula, people wanted to read the books. The Crimean plays had caused a sensation. Many of the people could not read well enough. As a reaction, some of the scholars had hastily made illustrated woodcut books of the plays which had proved very popular. People clamored for more of these woodcut books often printed on cheap papyrus or low quality rag paper. Children loved them, many who did not want to read regular books. Some of the scholars called them cheap and dirty, not fit for a proper scholar.

Victor Spear used them as a greater push for literacy. They invested in books with exciting tales and local legends, stories which would grip the imagination. Tales which were recited orally by the Storytellers Association or legends of the gods, or popular fantasies spun out by the Crimeans. The Abdera Blue Press quickly acted to print many of the new woodcut books. They gathered the tales of the gods, heroes, princesses and tricksters from the Aegean, Crete, Mesopotamia, Thrace, and Egypt. In addition, propaganda woodcut books were used to support the War in Ur as well as the fight against the Kraken. They were garish, colorful, exciting, and cheap.

New Books in the House of Wisdom

An Account of the Flood Myth from Sumer as Recited to the Scholar Translation Committee

The Abdera Students and Scholars Association A Guide by Scholar Hypatia

Accounts of the Traveling Poets of the Cyclades by the Scholar Translation Committee

The Aksumite Bible

Alexis the Sailor A Woodcut Humor Book by Uster

Amber A Study of Its Properties, Values, and Uses by Trader Niko

Animal Fables of the Worlds As Recited to the Scholar Translation Committee

Animal Tales A Color Woodcut Book Made by the Abdera Blue Press

Building Pools in the Mohenjo Daro Style by Scholar Charnobog

Dracula An Illustrated Woodcut Book After the Play by Bostwick Printed by the Abdera Blue Press

Egyptian Medicine A Set of Interviews by the Scholars Translation Committee

For Ur, A Heroic Tale In Woodcuts by the Abdera Blue Press

Fox Hollow A Woodcut Humor Book by Saba

On Greenhouses A Guide by the Oak Tower of Learning Committee

A Guide to Understanding the Seven by the Ur Temple at Oak

Hair a Guide to Its Care, Treatment, and Styling for Both Men and Women by Scholar Ishtar

Harappan Medicine A Compilation by Scholar Aprus Daughter of Penelope edited by Scholar Doctor Lukics

Heroic Tales of Greece Illustrated With Woodcuts by Scholar Komozoi

Heroic Tales of Thrace Illustrated With Woodcuts by Scholar Komozoi

The Illyrians A Discussion of Their Values by Scholar Alcibiades

Imperium Shipping Announcements from Singidun

Ingredients, Volume 1 : A Guide to the Constituents of the Universal Formulary With notes on States of the Universals, Liquids, Solids and Gases by Scholar Bassaba, Victor Spear, and Scholar Tuvarek (further volumes forthcoming).

Iron Tools of the Imperium by Scholar Belamun

The Kraken Menace A Woodcut Book by the Abdera Blue Press

A New History of Varna by the Students and Scholars Association of Varna

Proto Elamite Writing and Its Meaning by the Scholar Translation Committee

Proverbs of the Illyrians as Orally Transmitted to the Scholar Translation Committee

A Review of the Imperial Bible and the Bible of Aksum with Comparative Descriptions by the Scholar Translation Committee

The Romance of Phyllis A Daughter of Staro Zagora by Maid Iambe (Romance Novel)

At Singidun An Exploration on the River Danube by Scholar Naxos

Star Wars An Illustrated Wood Cut Book Based on the play by Bostwick by the Abdera Blue Press

Stories of the Great Heroes Illustrated with Woodcuts Orally Transmitted to the Scholar Translation Committee

Sumerian Medicine A Set of Interviews by the Scholars Translation Committee

Tales of the Egyptian Gods and Heroes A Woodcut Book by Abdera Blue Press

Tales of the Thracian Gods and Heroes A Woodcut Book by Abdera Blue Press

Trickster Tales of Thrace Illustrated With Woodcuts by Scholar Komozoi

Woven Rugs of the Crimeans A Practical Guide by Craftsman Orpheus

[Kelmet]

Monroe Ascending

In collaboration with G-tech

January 8th, 21 AG
Monroe Family Estate, Mara

Uniform pressed, fash shaven morning briefing just about wrapped up.
“And your investment return in Adolpha’s bakery is ahead of schedule, here I have a letter from her expressing her thanks again my lord.” Emmet my secretary took a pause

“Excellent Emmet, thank you. Make sure a letter is sent back assuring her that no thanks are necessary.” I finished up attaching my sword to my belt and was fully presentable.

“My lord there is a courier here, directly from the Palace. For your ears only.” Another one of my servants approached in a rush.

“Invite him into the waiting room, express our hospitality. I will be there in a moment.” With a nod, the servant left to follow my instructions.

“My lord, if I may you have been hearing from the white palace a lot as of late.” Emmet stated, with a grin.

“Yes I have Emmet, this is good for all of us.” I placed a hand on his shoulder “Thank you Emmet, I could not ask for a better partner in all this.”

Estate Waiting room

“ Greetings my friend. I hope my people have been welcoming to you. I apologies for the delay.”

“My thanks my lord, but we shouldn't be staying long. You have been summoned to the rose council immediately. There is a carriage out front for us we should leave immediately.”

“ Very well, lead on then”

Carriage ride to the White Palace

As the carriage rode along the cobblestone roads that lead from the estate to the palace itself I locked my gaze with the courier.
“ I don’t suppose you have any additional details for me on why I have been summoned?”

The young man glanced over to the Commander on the other side of the padded room, and shook his head slightly.

“Not really sir, I’m afraid. All I know is that your presence is requested at the Chamber of Swords, not the Chamber of Stars - and you know what that means as well as I do.”

“Aye I do. Last time I was there I was placed in command of the Imperiums expedition to Britain, God help me if I have to go back to that accursed place.”

The soldier nodded. That was one of the things Monroe was famed for in the circles in the know of the Imperium; his expedition to Britain was, by the standards of the Guard, one of the most difficult engagements they had ever faced.

“What was it like, if you don’t mind my asking sir - Britain, that is? They say the Icedonians are a fierce, brutish people, who butchered the innocents around Nevis like animals. I don’t honestly want to believe such a morality exists, even in the dark places of the world, to kill men like that. It isn’t true, is it?”

“ It was cold, and wet. An experience I hope no other imperial has to experience again any time soon. As for the Icedonians, they are a fierce warrior race. A culture dedicated to the conduct of war. When such fanaticism exists men are capable of anything. A cruel truth is everyone is capable of such immortality, as long as they believe they are in the right.”

A silence followed for some time as the courier processed such thoughts. The idea of such butchery was one that wasn’t even yet comprehended by the majority of the post-tribal cultures across the Imperium, and to think that an entire society could be so blinded was a dark notion. It made, truth be told, a sort of twisted sense.

“I suppose that’s why we follow the Hegemon then.” intoned the courier in contemplative tones. “Better to choose a higher road than that sort of blackness of heart. All the same, I am glad I wasn’t along with your expedition to have to deal with such men - though, I’m sure defeating them as you did was very satisfying.”

“Every victory we have makes the Imperium stronger brother. It is up to each and every one of us, even the Hegemon himself to make sure our Imperium is stronger for the generations that come after us. Speaking of, while I'm in the capital between deployments I volunteer at the war college, and every thursday we meet at my Estate to talk about the future of the imperium, to debate tactics and celebrate our nation. Today’s thursday, you should come by. A bright young man like yourself would be welcome there."

The courier nodded, then stifled a chuckle, before looking at Monroe bashfully and apologetically.

“Sorry sir. I just don’t have the liberty or ability to travel away from the White Palace on my own time, usually. I’m certainly not rich enough to rent a carriage, nor do I have my own horse. I do appreciate the invitation though.”
Following that comment, and perhaps to spare the commander further embarrassment, the courier lapsed into silence staring out of the window at the countryside - for now Mara’s environs had disappeared, replaced by the rolling acreages and pastures between the capitol city and the White Palace herself.

“Thank you for the company and conversation...what is your name soldier? And regular posting?”

The courier looked up, reverie interrupted, and answered almost automatically.

“Darius Jorvikson, sir. I’m in the Hall of Ravens most days, except on Sundays when I take service in the Black Forest. May I ask, erm, why you ask sir?”

“So I know who to send a carriage for tonight Darius. No need to feel embarrassed. I'll see you tonight kid. Looking forward to it.”

Monroe gave a wide smile to the young man and departed flanked by two of his personal guard towards the Palace entrance.

Men stepped forward out of the shadows as Monroe approached, their coal-black greatcoats having blended into the darkness on either side of the immense red fir-wood gates. One nodded toward the commander familiarly, and saluted with a clenched fist over his heart, an action which his compatriot mirrored a half a breath later.

“Commander. Glad you made it. Ghastly weather we’re having, eh?”

Truth be told, it was uncommonly mild in Mara these days - it had been nearly a week since the most recent snowstorm, and the roads were completely clear again. But the warrior was no doubt making conversation out of habit, rather than any real thoughts on the topic. He plowed forward, scarcely waiting for a response.

“Lord-Commander Istvan got here just before you. If you’ll follow me, no doubt he’ll be expecting you as soon as possible.”

Matching the salute
“Always good to be back in the capital gentlemen. I hope your duty’s have been uneventful.”
Following up on the soldiers last sentence.
“Excellent news, lead on if you would please.”

It was a familiar route, the padding through corridors out of the cold, hurrying functionaries and bureaucrats deep in discussion parting like shoals of fish before the military men with practiced ease. The White Palace was vast, but not that vast, and before long the warriors padded up the staircase to the upper reaches of the governmental compound, where few men walked. Scarce minutes after Monroe had arrived, the Blackguard nodded and gestured toward the distinctive black pine doors of the Chamber of Swords, before disappearing back toward his post.

As my escorts opened the doors for me as I approached it had become almost regular for me to enter the chamber of swords. As I entered the chamber I moved to the center where I had always stood and snapped firmly to attention. “ My lord’s, A good morning to you all. I am here as you requested.”

Heads turned around the Chamber as the Northern man entered, and some heads nodded familiarly, others simply assessing the warrior as was their force of habit. Their eyes were keen, clever, but it was the young man at the far end of the Chamber who spoke first.

“You honor us with the speed of your response, Commander. My thanks. I hope the trip here was not too troublesome?”

“ Not at all my lord, I do love being back home when I can.”

Heads bobbed again around the table, and the Hegemon gestured with a callused hand toward the empty seat at the table, the one Cerrus Swordborn would usually fill.

“Unfortunately your superior cannot be with us - but I have a request for you, one I hope you will consider earnestly despite your love of the capitol. I fear there is a war brewing in the North. Have you heard of the Alien Relations Act, passed by the Commonwealth’s legislature nearly five years ago?”

“ I have my lord. And I as always live to serve, wherever the Imperium needs me.”

Eyes turned around the room here and there, and two men leaned together, speaking softly. The Hegemon’s gaze sharpened, and he spoke more quietly this time.

“Very good. And, Monroe? Having heard of the Act, what would be your thoughts, as a former Norseman now proven loyal to our banner?”

“As an Imperial, and as a christian it sickens me sir, you all know my opinion of religious tolerance. But to see this, such blatant state sanctioned murder of our people based purley on their faith? Word’s do not exist to express my disgust.”

The man with the piercing green eyes did not speak, but merely nodded again, and here and there in the small chamber fists drummed on the wood of the semi-circular table.

Then a deep echoing voice came from just to the right of Monroe, where a sturdy bearded man in a slate-gray greatcoat was seated.

“That is good to hear. We march north - for war will come upon those marches, the Council fears, whether we seek it or not. The Ninth have need of a new commander, and it is the will of this body to raise you to the office. Will you serve faithfully, Lord-Commander Monroe?”

“I will always serve the Imperium to the best of my ability.”

Heads bobbed around the room.

“Then it is decided. A formality, but one I needed to hear, Monroe. As Hegemon of the Imperium, I formally raise you to the office of Lord-Commander of the Ninth Great Company. May you serve with distinction and your name become a cause of fear for all those who treasure injustice and disorder.”

Rolling applause came from around the Chamber of Swords at the Hegemon’s words, and a man produced a packet which was handed to Monroe.

“Your marching orders, for perusal on your way north. Is there ought else on your mind, Lord-Commander, that the Council might hear? We shall have a new seat graven with you, so you may sit among our numbers when you return. Speak freely - knowing now that you hold equal status of speech to any man here.”

“Only one question comes to mind as of now my lord. How much authority is invested in me on behalf of the Imperium?” An important question, with the kergan treaty still an unfortunate memory. I wanted to be sure I didn’t get burned again.

The green-eyed youth frowned for a moment, before glancing over at another of the men at the table and then smiling slightly.

“Ah, yes. A good question. Since you’ll be operating along latitudes with a foreign power, an emissary from the Diplomatic Service will be accompanying you to handle any negotiations which may arise. And you will retain, of course, the traditional offices of any Imperial soldier to conclude local truces and sketch terms for treaties, subject to approval by the officer who will be your liaison.”

“Understood. Where shall I go to assume command of the Ninth?”

The dour voice again from the burly man, obviously another Lord-Commander.

“The Ninth are bivouacked just west of the Lethmar for the winter. There’s a ship in harbor at the Kasr now which will carry you north to Altamont, and from there an escort will take you to the shores of the North Sea. Safe travels, Lord-Commander.”

“ I will make the necessary arrangements and leave first thing in the morning.”
After Timeskip
Year 25 AG.
Lord-Commander Monroe, 9th Great Company.
A sitting member of the Rose council, a great company under my command and another war to grow my influence. Everything seemed to be going more than according to plan to be honest but then a disguised messenger brought me a message, a tablet that has kept me up late this evening. I found myself reading, then re-reading this tablet from a man called Turner Jackson all but confirming my suspicions about others like me being more numerous than I imagined.

Addressed to: Connor Monroe, General of the Imperium, Architect of Imperial Forces in the North

Greetings,

To preface, I know this may be a shock for you, as you have probably not read anything written in plain English for decades. Nevertheless, if I discover my beliefs surrounding you are true, it will be just as much as a shock for me. To prove myself, I would like to share my background. I seem to have been teleported from the future to the past, as far as I can tell. I am from the United States of America, the state of Oklahoma specifically. Based on what I remember, I was driving home from work and ended up in a bad car accident. I was knocked unconscious, and when I woke up, I had been teleported here. I was completely naked, laying in a field of grass. I walked to a nearby farm before passing out again. I probably would have died out there, but a local resident in Uppsala found me passed out on his property and was kind enough to take me in. I should add that I could understand him fluently, despite never speaking the language before. I reckon I've been here for nearly two years, and have managed to work my way up into this position after serving as a scribe to the last aðalþingmaður.

Now that I have hopefully convinced you that this is no ruse, I propose to establish relations between the Republic of Sweden and the Imperium, and I request that we meet in secret. I understand that relations are quite tense do the recent diplomatic incident involving Imperial missionaries, and I intend to make sure that Sweden makes it through the war with as little devastation as possible. I do not intend to waste Swedish lives in this useless charade cooked up by the Stórþing. You command the force that will presumably invade the Commonwealth and presumably have a similar background to mine in this world, so I believe you are my best chance.

I await your response.

Turner Jackson, aðalþingmaður of Sweden

But this, was to good an opportunity to pass up. A leading figure in one of the commonwealths primary republics. With a final thought I wrote out a response.

Mr. Jackson, Aðalþingmaður of Sweden

I agree to your terms. In one week on the southern tip of the island of Bornholm.
I will send a detachment of my personal guard to secure the location before hand. I will be accompanied by a member of the Imperial Diplomatic service.

In the interest of keeping the utmost level of secrecy I suggest you bring no more than a handful of men.

With Respect, Lord-Commander Monroe.

[Elerian]

Danial Adiputera

He was unceremoniously dumped on the beach, his restraints rudely removed. Sitting there on the beach, waiting for the Teluk to arrive he could only think that this was it. He wondered what method the Teluk would use to kill or maim their runaway slave. He was obviously valuable enough to them that they cared enough to buy him back, but that didn’t mean that they wouldn’t still kill him as a lesson to other slaves.

Finally then, the Teluk arrived and loaded him into their primitive canoes. Few words were exchanged between the Teluk and Pok, and when they began paddling away there was nothing but silence, terrible silence. It would be a long journey back to the Teluk village.

When they began nearing the village, he thought he could hear some of the people in the other canoes giggling quietly. But this went unexplained. They took him all the way back to the village, meaning there would be no escape now. A crowd was gathered by the shore to greet his return. Practically every member of the tribe appeared as though they were present. However, something was off. As the canoes made landfall near to the crowd, everyone was smiling and laughing and cheering and waving. Danial didn’t understand, but he was put on his feet and brought before the big man Neoh. Strangely enough, Neoh seemed almost happy.

Neoh turned to address the crowd of gathered tribal villagers. He said that his son had been killed by the Pok several years prior in a raid against their village. He had tried to challenge the enemy chieftain to single combat, and although he put up a valiant fight, he lost in the end. Since that day, Neoh had been plotting revenge against the Pok for stealing his son from him. The Teluk had been planning a raid against the Pok before. Before Danial had been caught by the Pok, they had planned on bringing him along to toughen him up. But instead, Neoh’s own slave had taken it upon himself to avenge his loss by killing the Pok chieftain. He had to be there before the rest of the Teluk, and took some spears and a club to go and try to kill the Pok chieftain. Neoh declared Danial a hero of the Teluk.

Danial was incredulous at hearing the Teluk interpretation of events. It had been a close shave, but he somehow came out ahead. It seemed as though he was welcomed back into the bosom of the Teluk tribe. Unfortunately, he was still a slave, but also a hero to the village. Perhaps the most important part was that he was now in the good graces of his master Neoh, not to mention he’d garnered his respect. They thought he was clearly someone to be reckoned with, and maybe he'd make a good warrior for the village.

It was shortly thereafter made clear to Danial that Neoh had no intention of paying Danial’s ransom to the Pok. They had given the Pok a few trinkets as a downpayment for Danials’s safe return, with the rest expected later. Neoh had decided that with the old chieftain gone, they would raid the Pok village instead. Neoh wanted Danial to be by his side during the raid, so he gave Danial over to one of his best warriors to learn how to use the spear and club more effectively. The Teluk had two types of warriors at its disposal: archers and spearmen. The archers were fewer and less respected because their bows weren’t terribly accurate, nor were they in the thick of it as much as the spearmen were.

Danial noticed that the Teluk archers had no fletchings on their arrows. Danial would have thought that everyone knew to put fletchings on their arrows, but apparently that wasn’t the case here. Danial pointed this out to them, suggesting that they attach feathers near to the notch of the arrow. It required some demonstration from Danial, but once they saw that the arrows flew straighter, they were quick to adopt this alteration.

So now Danial was back in the good graces of the Teluk, who were none the wiser to his betrayal. Soon he would be a trained warrior of the Teluk, and go on his first raid.

[Holy Tedalonia]

Iron Made
Edward “Ted” Tomlinson
June 16th, 20 AG
Altamonte, Lower Germania

The Company had marched into town the night before last, and then the summons were finally issued to the new recruits from their barracks. A cordial invitation, or a courier for those who didn’t read, summoning them to appear at dawn the next morning for review by the commanding officer of the Company - Captain Onder.

As the recruits lined up, Edward suppressed the urge to yawn. He hated mornings, but it was necessary. Not so fond memories of getting up at six in the morning to go to college, comes to mind. Atleast Im not getting up that early… he thinks to himself rather glumly. Regardless he was looking forward to entering a company finally, no morning could ever ruin that prospect.

A minute passed, and then two, and then nearby a bugle sounded loud and high, blaring the dawn for the soldiers of the barracks-yard. Even as the last notes of the refrain ebbed away into the growing hubbub of the awaking city, a tall man with a long beard stamped out of one of the buildings further away from the training yard, a place where officers often slept when not stationed within Altamont herself.

Two men followed him; familiar faces to Ted, training officers. They held small wooden posterboards, and several sheets of paper. Onder himself had what looked to be a massive frown on his face, but as he grew closer in the diffident light it resolved itself into a slight quirk of a smile, betrayed by more lines than even old leather commonly eviniced.

One of the training officers stepped forward after the three men stopped, a half dozen paces in front of the new recruits. His whipcrack tones broke the still morning air, assaulting ears still ringing with the morning call to wakefulness, speaking each recruit’s name one by one, and waiting until the recruits spoke to indicate their presence.

“Ivar of Nemis!”

“Here, sir.”

“Kuresh Blackbone!”

“Here, sir.”

“Vanash Kannock!”

“Here, sir” eagerly called the hotheaded soldier Ted knew better than he liked.

“Lorrick of Yvarstead!”

“Here, sir”

And on down the line, until it was Ted’s turn.

“Edir Tomli!”

“Here, sir,” he stated with formality, standing straight.

A half dozen more names followed, and then the role call was complete. Stillness gradually overtook the air once more, and as the last echoes faded away the Captain stepped forward, walking to the front left of the line with the two training officers at his side. His thick gray brows bent forward as he gazed at the recruit, flitting back and forth between their face, their posture, their armor, and the notes on the sheet in front of him. No word passed his lips, save a momentary harrumph or sigh, and stolidly he began pacing down the line of would-be Imperial Guards, crunching step after crunching step on the light gravel of the yard.

As he passed Edir he paused momentarily, flipping past the page that doubtless bore Edir’s pertinent information to consider another document - the posterboard tilted slightly forward told Ted that he was looking at the letter of recommendation that Monroe had penned for him, it seemed like half a lifetime ago.

His eyebrows moved upward from that furrowed brow for a moment, and he considered Ted’s face more closely for just a flash of time - so brief Ted couldn’t even really be sure it had happened - before walking onward to look over the next recruit.

It took less than ten minutes, all told. Then the Captain stepped back to speak quietly with the officers, the recruits waiting in parade rest and growing, doubtless, slightly anxious.

Then one of the training officers stood forward once more, and he spoke four names. None of them did Ted recognize, except in passing. Then he said those fatal words.

“You are dismissed.”

A weight left Ted’s chest in that moment. He had made the cut. The Guard wasn’t said to be overly selective of who it took, if you had a few brain cells to rub together, could follow orders, and had a backbone slightly more resilient than melted butter - but there was still that tiny bit of fear that had been in the back of his head, now dispelled.

“The rest of you - welcome to the Third.”

Captain Onder’s tones were almost paternalistic, and perhaps slightly bemused.

Edward had a hard time reading him, was he bemused over the recruits anxiety or how many they had to send away? Hopefully the former, he thought to himself.

“Gather your belongings, and transfer to the western barracks. Your squadleaders will be waiting for you there, to introduce you to your new compatriots. Company, dismissed.”

Onder turned and made as if to walk back to his barracks, then paused and turned back to the soldiers.

“And men? Don’t unpack too thoroughly. We’re not staying here long. I hope you all like forests and the cold.”

That's it? Edward thought to himself. He had always assumed that the induction into a Company being a rather important milestone for recruits. It was strange to him to see it dealt with such simplicity. Guess Imperials get straight to the point, rather than beat around the bush... He respected that, he liked the rather decisive and streamlined aspect of the Imperium. He felt as though he is going to like working under Captain Onder all the more.

He returned to the barracks and began packing his things. While others lamented leaving their many precious things behind, Edward simply packed all his things. He didn't have a lot. His uniform, gear, and crossbow was really the only things of value he owned. As he grabbed the last few items he needed for the journey an idea springed into his head. He considered sentimental and childish, but he was scared of the prospect of dying without having done anything of note. He considered it a silly thought for someone who was in a coma, but he couldn't shake the feeling. If he were to die in the field of battle he wanted something for people to recognize and see that it was him who fought bravely. He etched into the side of the crossbow the few Latin words he knew in his head. "Magna Veritas," it was a stupid name for a crossbow, meaning "Great Truth," but he felt at ease after writing it. Perhaps he'll make further additions to his crossbow to pass the time, however this was sufficient for now. He grabbed his bag of gear and supplies and left to join the soldiers in the western barracks.

[Orostan]

Aaron Dawson - Month 6, Day 6

For one night Aaron let the men party. They drank wine, ate food, and celebrated their victory around an Emperor who was tied to a halberd stuck in a wooden cart. Aaron did his best to forget the killing and death he'd witnessed over wine. Sometimes he looked at the Emperor, who was filthy from rotten fruit and animal feces thrown at him. Aaron understood that he couldn't just take the Emperor down. He couldn't just let him live, and didn't have it in him to kill a virtually defenseless man. Aaron wanted guidance. So as the sun set on Luoyang, Aaron asked one of the liberated slaves he knew could ride a horse to take him to the village. The tax collector that had taken him months ago had been killed earlier in the day by Xian's forces, as the stables that the collector would have been at were stormed by Xian in the town not far from the square. Xian was also the one left in charge of the city while Aaron was gone.

It took a while, but in the middle of the night Aaron arrived at the village. Some of the villagers woken up by the sound of the horse crawled out of their beds and gathered around him. Tan and Su were woken up by Lu, who was on guard outside their home. Lu approached Aaron, not so subtly aiming his spear at him.

"Speak! Who are you? Tribute isn't due for another week!" said Lu, doing his best to yell while remain quiet.

Aaron sighed. He guessed Lu couldn't tell who they were in the dark.

"It's me, Lu. Aaron. I want to talk to Tan." said Aaron. Lu stopped trying to poke him with the spear and held it vertically again.

"Are you a tax collector now? A messenger?" asked Lu, moving to give space to Aaron while he got off the back of the horse. Aaron said a few quiet words to the horseman, who nodded and moved to some grass to let the horse graze. His iron armor made a peculiar clinking sound as the horse moved. Aaron hadn't noticed it earlier.

"Of sorts, I guess. A messenger I mean, not a tax collector. The tax collectors are all dead." said Aaron.

"What? What do you mean dead, was there an attack? Is there a troop levy? Are we-" said Lu, raising his voice sharply.

Aaron tossed his hands in the air.

" Quiet, quiet! You'll wake the people up. Look, some of them are already up. Just let me talk to Tan about it, you can sit in." Aaron said while gesturing to a group of townspeople forming around them.

Lu silently obliged, and let Aaron step on the porch of the Pagoda while Lu went in to wake Tan. In a few moments, a sleepy Tan came to the door to greet Aaron and invite him in. In short order they were both seated at the same table Tan had once threatened to kill Aaron at. Su came in from the door to Tan's bedroom, and sat down next to her husband.

"So what's going on, Aaron? Are you well?" asked Tan, shaking the last remnants of sleep out of himself.

"The Emperor is deposed and I deposed him." said Aaron in a very flat tone.

"What?" asked Tan, not fully processing what Aaron had said.

"The Emperor was overthrown in a slave revolt I ended up leading. He's on a stick in the town square." said Aaron.

Tan put his hands to his head.

"You killed the Emperor?" he asked.

"No, I just tied him to a stick. He's still alive, I think. Should I kill him?" asked Aaron, looking down at the bronze sword he'd made six or so months ago on Tan's desk.

It was then that Lu chose to interject, loud as usual.

"What gives you the right to do this to the Emperor? He's mandated by heaven to rule. We don't know what kind of divine punishment we will incur for this!" Lu said while leaning his iron tipped spear against the wall to gesticulate. Iron tipped. It was bronze tipped when Aaron had left.

"Lu... If heaven wanted the Emperor to rule, why would I have been able to overthrow him?" Aaron said, resting his head on his hand.

"That still doesn't give you the right to inflict such terror. You must have dragged him out of the palace." Lu said, sitting down at the end of the table.

"The real terror is the horror of slavery and violence. You wouldn't be saying this if you were a slave in Luoyang." responded Aaron. Aaron now turned back to Tan, who'd been observing the exchange between Lu and Aaron with Su.

"Please, come to Luoyang. I'll send a horse for you in the morning. We need some cooler heads there."

"You can bring Lu too, if he can ride a horse. Can he?" Aaron said, pointing to Lu.

"He can." responded Tan.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Part 4, Chapter 21: Two Pillars

July 8th, 21 AG

Through the meadow south of the Holtsee Arminus trudged, adjusting his surcoat. It was entirely too hot to be doing anything in armor, and he felt a moment's pity for the poor damn infantrymen further north. They must be sweating enough to fill their boots, for his brow was slick, and the engineer at least had the privilege of air moving between his mail and gambeson. Ahead several shapes loomed out of the midnight mists, and the man from Carrock was happy enough to spot the familiar hunched figure of his second. Up he squinted at the moon for a moment, still visible beyond the occasional scudding cloud, and shrugged.

Not his job to deal with that, though the waiting made it more interminable.

Low above the horizon the full moon hung, filling the meadows with radiance. It was already past the witching hour, but their orders were specific - the precise reason the burly cartman's son had chosen the time he did to relieve himself in the woods back behind the meadow. There would be little time for such mundane concerns soon, little at all for anything save the rhythms drilled into his bones. He moved through the rest of the crew, exchanging quiet nods and the odds hand on a shoulder, mentally checking off that all was in readiness. Perhaps nobody would notice any lapse in the cacophony that was about to unfold, but it never paid to bet against the Captain.

Eventually Arminus settled into his position once more, watching the lead elements away to the east like a hawk. They were as still as he was, waiting for the signal, and that put the crewleader at ease - or as at ease as you could be at such a time.

The minutes dragged by interminably. Then, suddenly, flickers of movement in the other elements. Softly the soldier chivied his own crew into readiness, beginning the arduous task of winding the torsion bundle of the great siege engine back against her immense bowlimbs, the grunts of stifled exertion sounding terribly loud in Arminus' ears as the men worked. It took the better part of a minute to prepare the weapon, and it was well indeed that he had been watching carefully.

For, there! In the distance a single flaming shot rose above the treetops to the east, before descending below the treeline again to meet a frowning block of deeper darkness upon the horizon. It was no more than a pinprick of light from this expanse of woodland, but at its falling the bellowing commands of the other underofficers broke the stillness of the night.

"Loose! Loose! Loose!"

One after another the engines spoke, the groaning of mechanisms and the whine of tortured sinew drowning out even the voices of their operators, suddenly accelerated shot making skyward with the rush of air swiftly displaced. The tiny spots of darkness in the milky white sky were only barely visible, and Arminus could only hope that his eyes tracked the correct projectile - but a rewarding flash of sudden flame illuminating frowning stone battlements swiftly leapt into sharp relief, good enough for the artillery commander. A bit high, and a bit short.

"Downangle, two tenths."

No time to consult the tables, not in this inky abyss. But Arminus had been at this work since longer than most men had marched under the banner of the Great Anchor at all, and the next shot fell not atop the walls of the Nordic fortress at Holtsee, but within the confines of her battlements. Already lurid flames could be seen licking up past the walls, even when the shot was not busy falling.

Elsewhere thickets of black figures moved like ants along the shores of the Eider River, beyond bowshot of the bastion which guarded the crossings into the Commonwealth. They glinted with silver steel, and in their midst edifices prepared over the months rolled forward into the water, great chained pontoons drawn on thick cables that scouts had set after nightfall on the far bank. Aboard each pontoon dozens of warriors clustered, and after a few brief minutes of rowing they made the further bank, both upriver and downriver of the Nordic fastness.

Here the Danevirke already crumbled, earthen ramparts being laid low by the sweat of dozens of brows and black-painted shovels, and warriors clambered up paths that showed clear with white stakes under the moonlit sky. At Holtsee and Pahlen they crossed, further reserves of the Imperium's bottomless manpower committed to beating down the resilient Danes, swarming masses investing the defensive line upon which the Commonwealth relied for her ward against the south. There was much to be done.

Part 4, Chapter 22: Architecture of Nations

October 14th, 22 AG

The piece of paper slipped in front of my face, and I glanced up, striking what my brain said would be a noble pose. Patiently I waited as the copy-artists began her outline, the minutes ticking by, before she finally nodded and I could relax. It was a newer idea, one that the broadsheets in Mara were fond of - those few with the ability to create portraits and the like creating images to supplement for those who struggled to read, and one I found no harm in accommodating overmuch. The masses enjoyed such circulars, and they printed little a spy could find of advantage, save unless they were the most poorly educated agents upon the face of Europe.

Bending forward, I dipped my pen into the fountain and thumbed the lever to fill her reservoir - no point in making a more economical signature on such a document, and placed my initials below the long flowing signature of Osmund Gravenhund. Behind me I felt the man himself hovering, probably with his characteristic cherry-faced visage almost fit to split with a wide smile that concealed his snaggleteeth, his white sideburns uncombed but still remarkably tamed.

I rose from my seat, and addressed the half dozen writers and notables gathered within the brick building.

"With this pen," I began, gesturing with the metallic instrument, "I have just placed Hegemonic assent upon the formation of the Imperial Treasury, and authorized her to begin the issuance of loans, accounts, and subsidies to those of our worthy citizens whom her trustees adjudge worthy of such honors. May prosperity bless her path, and our Father watch over her caretakers."

The scribes scribbled and those concerned citizens who had turned out either nodded or frown, which was really fair enough. Banking was, at her heart, an esoteric institution - but one which the Administratum had seen a growing need for in the last years, and one which I had finally wrangled enough time out of my schedule to address. The Imperium flourished, aye, that much was true. But her flourishing was a fitful thing, a blossom which required tending to reach a fullness of bloom, and altogether uneven so far in her distribution of prosperity. Beyond the central settlements and expanding agricultural acreages south of the Erzgebirge and immediately north, most regions existed for the extract of raw resources, to be shipped back to the heartland and thus processed into ought of worth.

It was an unfortunate reality, this malignancy that ate away at our periphery, and it was my opinion that it was at least in part due to a lack of capital - in the most Marxist sense of the term, the instruments of commerce and industry. A forge took bricks to construct, and a kiln skilled labor, and skilled labor time to train - and lucre to lure away from jobs which clustered thickly about existing manufacturing centers. A loom took iron to buttress, and a smithy tools to equip, and those tools experienced metalworkers to shape - and lucre to make sure those tools ended up out in quiet country towns instead of in the hands of enterprising entrepreneurs.

Thus, the bank. Already it had existed in some places informally, for a granary is, in essence, a bank of seed grain and edible produce; but to trade only in less valuable materials like a bushel of winter wheat or a bushel of barley was to neglect the very function of currency as a store of value. And so, it behooved the state to step in where otherwise it would take too long for private industry to deal with such necessities - and where private industry would inherit the growing pains of centuries unless husbanded most carefully through her infancy.

A letter of credit, issued from one merchant to each other? Subject to the availability of stocks, and the welfare of the individual, and the good will of the issuer. A letter of credit, issued from one mint to another? Built upon the security of the state, and the state's ability to support financial burdens, and the dispassionate engines of bureaucracy. At least, in theory. I was no economist, and the devil always lay in the details with such things. My brief acquaintance throughout misremembered history classes of vanished decades spoke as often about the failures of such institutions as their benefits, but with Providence we could avoid some of the worst pitfalls, and enjoy some of the most pertinent advantages.

They waited, as if they expected me to say more - but my brief speech, such as it was, was at an end. Truth be told I was uncomfortable enough saying even that much to the press, such as they were, for those laymen trying to explain the arcane mysteries of what exactly a bank did to their readership would be amusing already, and only more inane for every word that I deigned to posit toward the explanation. Begrudgingly the men and women dispersed, and I turned to shake Osmund's hand once, twice, before smiling and wishing him the best.

He would need it, no doubt. There was only so much I could contribute, and he and the Bank would have to navigate those treacherous waters otherwise unguided.

[Orostan]

Aaron Dawson - Month 6, Day 10

Barricades

Aaron stood on top of a loyalist barricade breathing heavily, his nonathletic frame unaccustomed to lifting heavy iron armor and using a halberd. In the past few days the rebel army had been forcing the loyalists, who had bunkered up in the southern city, back. Barricade after barricade, house by house, and man by man. The loyalists themselves had only twenty men, but those twenty men had turned a long street into a fortress. The makeshift fort was built around a rice warehouse, and this warehouse was why the loyalists had held out for days. The Emperor in the town had been taken off of his pole and held captive in a simple mud brick dwelling. Aaron would like to make the first act of Luoyang's new justice system a trial of the Emperor. Unfortunately, Aaron had other matters to attend to. An arrow hit a wall behind Aaron. He began to move again now, slowly climbing down the barricade and stopping to rest at the bottom. His friend Xian was commanding the assault on the other side of the street while Aaron took charge of this side. Tan and his wife Su were in the city center with the majority of their men trying to set up a government of sorts and organize the production of more iron equipment. A soldier suddenly ran up to Aaron from the front lines at the next barricade.

"General, we have almost broken through their barricade. They're abandoning it and going to the next one!" said the soldier. Aaron wasn't sure if he liked being called a general.

"Continue to press them. Have our archers keep firing into the barricades and suppressing the loyalists." Aaron said.

The soldier gave a more western style salute that Aaron had taught his men to do yesterday and ran off shouting the orders. Aaron observed his men breaking apart the barricade, wood beams and boards shattering as they hacked a hundred holes in it. Aaron began walking and then jogging towards them. It was better to lead from the front than behind. Once Aaron was among his men he began shouting encouraging words and orders, urging his men to proceed to the next barricade. The next one was much smaller, and looked to be their last one. Suddenly a rhythmic beating began to start, slow at first. Aaron looked over to a soldier.

"Do you hear that? It sounds almost like-"

A trio of horses and their riders suddenly jumped the barricade, one of Aaron's bravest and most forward soldiers was impaled by one of the rider's spears. The spear was left in the dying man, and Aaron called for a medic as he urged his men to pursue and to shout a warning. It didn't take long for his men scaling the barricade to realize that all the loyalists inside were surrendering and that their commanders were those horseman. The cowards wouldn't even die with their men. It was no matter. Tan could handle a few asses on horses. Suddenly a messenger ran up to Aaron shouting, and Aaron turned to face him.

"Message from Tan! The horsemen have taken the tyrant with the aid of a spy, come to the north wall at once!" screamed the messenger as sweat dripped from his body onto the dry ground.

Aaron thanked the messenger and got his men together.

---

"So you're absolutely sure you killed the Emperor?" asked Aaron, looking at his friend Tan.

"Yes. The archer says he saw the blood." stated Tan.

"Alright, reward him with some iron tipped arrows. Thank you Tan. We've got a lot of work ahead of us." said Aaron as he turned his eyes to the clearing and forest outside the city's walls.

From the watch tower over the northern gate Aaron could see quite the distance. He leaned on the railing of the watch tower. The Emperor was dead and so were two of his commanders. The Emperor's last loyalist had been able to escape to the north. Tan informed Aaron that he was probably going to seek help from the northern city states, most of whom were friendly with the late Emperor. Tan had also said that the northerners liked to campaign against their enemies in harvest season, which would begin in a month. That meant that Aaron had thirty days to produce as many iron weapons as possible and to turn a swarm of former slaves and peasants into an actual army.

[Saxony-Brandenburg]

Olivia Ingels

I sigh arjously as I sit up in bed, sweat covering my body head to toe, a thin, sticky sweat - that which, combined with the gaping dread in my stomach, made me feel queasy, nauseous. I had not been able to sleep - for hours I tossed and turned, feeling every hooked hair on the wool blanket scratching my skin, feeling every rope on the bed frame digging into my back, feeling every straw in the pillow on my neck. Comfort eluded me, while the light of the full moon amidst the dark sea of a desert sky seemed to reach out it’s hand, compelling me outwards. I heard the gentle breeze whistle through the town, I heard the whispering voices of the neighbors, compelling me to leave, to clear my mind, to abandon these chains. But I knew if I stood up, my burdens would not be left laying there, they would be at my ankles with every step, they would weigh down my strides as I stepped out of home, the weight of the dead always seemed to do that, the weight of failure attacking the brow, crippling my breaths and thoughts. But alas, I could not stand the heat of Alya pressing against me, usually comforting, but within the confines of my stress, it only made me long for a walk more - and thus I stood, wrapped a large, thin shawl around my shoulders, that which was long enough to reach my mid-thigh, and tied it at the front, as to give myself a modicum of modesty - covering my chest and privates enough to seem tasteful. Putting on my leather sandals, I left the house without a word, Alya fast asleep from a long day of physical labor. I asked myself why my own did not put me to sleep, why the hard work of keeping those alive failed to drag me into the void another night. The only reason I could come up with, was that while she could rest easy knowing what she had done had not been for not, that her work ended when she layed down, my very body knew I could not, that I could not rest because I did not accomplish what I stepped out my door to do, the empty home of the sick now gone, and though I could try as I might, I could not do what I tried.

My soul ached with guilt as I walked out and between mud-walls, the faint glows of hot coals just barely lit enough to continue to the next morning radiating, the only warm glows I could find this night. It was cold, though I welcomed the chill, which seemed to distract me from my internal woes which burned in my heart like a furnace, of a great forge, white hot with malcontent, ready to make it’s bearer melt away like the copper to its mold. I stepped through the muddy paths between the houses, skipping over the pits where I might sink into, between the homes until at last I was released from the town, and gazed over at the hills and fields that surround it. One step two step three step four, I walked with complete serenity away from home, feeling like a light cloud, floating through the tall grass and over the rocks both big and small. I stepped over the first small hill, barely a rise in the landscape, and continued onwards, passing the grove in which I can fondly recall hacking dates off the branches in long, chandeliers, crashing onto ready cloths below. Now they lay barren, ready for the next harvest to come, and more memories to be made. I pass by the trash heap, where the fefuse lays smouldering in white ash, while the pungent smell of the fertilizer pile is carried away in the wind, back towards the town. I pass through more fields as I make it to the next hill, and smile upon the barley which has begun to mature, the green stalks slowly turning golden, “perhaps they will be ready early this year”, I think. I trace my hands over the stalks of grains as I continue, closing my eyes for a moment, breathing in the senses of the quiet pastoral silence. The wind, caressing my face and fluttering the ends of my hair, which has grown down to the bottom of my back. The earth beneath my sandals, rocky, rough enough as to feel it, smooth enough to not hurt. The stalks prickling against my fingers, tickling my palm, while shorter grasses scrape past my ankles, as if to say hello. One step two step three step four, my slow, long strides keep me going with the utmost serenity. It was only when I heard the burbling of water that I opened my eyes, and gazed upon where I had come to.

A Wadi is a beautiful thing. Right after the floods have gone, it remains a beautiful oasis for the entire region for a few months. The water runs deep in this one, sequestered between two rock formations that begin the mountains you can see all the way from home, deep and clear - the bottom more rock than mud. But tonight it reflects the night sky, a deep blue, black even, the moonlight dabbling across it’s gentle ripples. Such calm, such serenity I felt I needed in a time like this. Two children, their father, and their neighbor were dead, and though I tried all I could I pale in comparison to the reaper, who cuts down men like the barley with his scythe, leaving nothing but ashes and fertile land for the next field to be planted. I yawn, my mind finally letting loose of these thoughts, not as oppressive burdons, but as… parts of the universe. Parts that float beside me, present, but not confronting, visible, but not obstructive. I undo the bronze stay on my shawl, letting it fall to the ground, my bare naked body chilled against the wind, far more than I expected. I look down at myself, and shake my head to discover the mess that months without shaving had made - a terrible sight, one which I rarely allowed anyone to see for fear of mockery. Though my chest was bare, and thus were my arms - my legs and what was between were like bushes, and I quietly thanked Manat that such meant I did not have to gaze upon the genitals which thus far gave me more pain and sadness than I ever knew it would cause. Sitting down on the rocky shore, I dipped my feet in the water, tracing circles in it’s dark pools with my toe. Like ash upon a fallow field, thus their death did come. Isolated, well fed, watered, and bathed - they had their best chances I could provide. But I am no miracle worker, I am no god, no sage - I am Olivia, a person. And the wrong person to lead a people. And as I pushed myself off that rock, now knee-deep in the cool, crisp water, I invited the shivers to come up my spine, to acclimatize me to it’s cool feeling, to embrace me. I sat down where I stood, buried in the water up to my stomach, and kicked my feet gently up and down, watching the ripples move across the pond, all the way to the shore perhaps a hundred meters away, down the ravine and in towards the rocky outcrops of the hills. I closed my eyes oncemore, and bowed my head, feeling the world around me oncemore. A certain warmth, a certain feeling of life I thus felt from the rocks, from the wind, from the water, that made me forget the cold, and forget my nakedness, left still, left safe, left hale. The wind changed from whistles, to that of music through the ricks, as if the world was playing a reed pipe. A musical symphony played for thousands of years, this time, just for me. My muscles relaxed , and before I knew what I had done, I leaned back and began to float upon the lake. Upon my back I felt cradled by it’s waters, I felt creadled by the world of which I could call home, a land which I could call my own, one which I felt her presence, not with the things upon, but from whatever was within. And as I opened my eyes once more - I saw a strange occurrence, as tonight was a waning moon. “The past is now the future, time is no longer linear, but no longer perfectly straight either, as I am sure we will never see the future of the world I once knew…” I whispered, gazing up at the cloudless sky, seeing the blanket of stars which shone faintly behind the beauty of the moon. “I could have sworn it was a full moon when I left… but perhaps, perhaps it was simply a fault of my memory, as it tends to do.” The quiet thought passed just as gently as it came, and, stretching out in the water, I finally began to swim, with long, exaggerated, sluggish strokes, moving through the black water, as if traveling through the cosmos itself, the dabbles of light reflected on the surface stars, I, a being simply experiencing it all. Then upon I realized somehow I had lazily made my way across the wadi, what must have been a football-fields size, and thereupon did push myself up on a rock, and lay down to rest a moment, letting my skin drip dry in the pale moon light. But as I did such, a slight movement, however slight, caught my eye, and across the wadi in the dark, it seemed as though a form of a person was seen. This seemed unlikely, as only a fool, or myself, would go out alone to swim at night… but surely it was a person. Strangely, I did not have the fear within me to run, to hide myself, I simply sat and watched the form move to the edge of the lake, kneel down and take a sip from it’s cool waters, stand, and wave. Something seemed familiar, something seemed comforting, though I knew not what, and I stood to walk around the creek, and back towards her side of the water. I saw her drop something where my clothes where, and, mystified, I continued to walk, until I saw her much more clearly, her back turned to me, taking steps away. Something in my mouth kept it gently shut, not like glue, but like a compelling lethargy not to move my lips. Upon the rock where I placed my clothes, I found something intriguing - a cup, of all things, a silver cup, sat beside it. A white iris stuck up from it’s bowl, and as I looked deeper, a thin pool of a dark, thick, runny liquid, that smelled of iron, and tasted of blood. As I sat in wonder of this, holding the cup in my hands, tracing my fingers over the script I could not read which formed a band around the side, I gazed back over at the other side of the creek, where upon I saw another two figures, one low, and on all fours, the other stood up, like a human should. They did not wave, they did not speak, but watched me. A similar warmth returned to me as I gazed back at the two, transfixed by their blurry forms, utterly unsure what to make of them. I blinked once, again, realizing how tired I was, when I opened my eyes seconds later, however, they were gone. And I none the wiser, and yet none the more fearing.

I gently plucked the white iris out of the cup, a thin drop of blood still clinging to it’s stem, and placed it behind my ear, into my smooth wet hair, the drop trickling back behind my ear and onto my neck without notice. Taking the cup, I quietly knelt down beside the wadi, and poured out the trickle of blood in the cup, washing it with fresh water. As I pulled it from the water, it was strange to me that I felt no script on the sides, it seemed to have changed metal when I pulled it from the water. Out came not a cup of silver, but one of copper, plain, but shining bright the setting moon. Trasfixed by the phenomenon, I ran my fingers along it’s polished surface, and thereupon bowed my head and whispered a quiet prayer to the wind.

“Though I am a fool, and poor, weak, and low, what your gift may be to me, gods, I receive it with the utmost reverence. Please, walk in my steps, and stay above my people, nurse the sick to health, save the brave in war. Keep us fed, keep us strong, keep us wise, and keep us kind. Keep us reverent, and keep us grateful, and you will have the adoration of the people of this land for as long as we may live here. Keep me proud, keep me kind, keep my words gentle, keep my resolve firm. Keep my mind sharp, bless me with long life - and I will be your servant. Let me love the world as much as it tenderly loves me, let me spread it’s warmth, and not sully it with blood. May I have the strength to do what must be done, and may I have the bravery to face it. Through your names, my people pray, and thus do I. Manat, Uzza, Allat.”

Pushing myself up, I quietly wrapped myself in the shawl, tying it back at the front with the bronze stay. It was warm, as if a body had been in it recently, though I had been without it for over an hour. I put on my sandals, and held the cup firm, walking back the tracks I came, walking back home, walking back with that same serenity I came here with.

…

I returned to bed just before dawn, took off my shawl and folded it, placing it upon the stool by the bed. None the wiser, Alya lay snoring, peaceful, content. The night was free of injury, free of death, free of robbery. I layed down beside her, my hair now almost wholly dry, and fell asleep for a brief period, feeling her prod my shoulder with the dawn. “It is time to get up Olivia - another day the gods have blessed us.”

I looked up at her, the morning haze now above me after such little sleep, and nodded, smiling pleasantly. “That they have Alya, Manat grants me another day with the people I love, so I’m surely blessed.”

[Lord Dominator]

Mathew Woods
Day 1
Unknown Location

I've never been a particularly religious man, but life has a way of calling that into question sometimes, it really does...

I've been something of a light sleeper as of late, which makes waking up without bother nice. Certainly an actually restful sleep is nice, before my alarm even. However, I'm not one to waste such an opportunity, and I really need to work on that job search business. Or at least pretend to do that and faff about on the Internet instead. Not healthy behaviour I know, but a lifetime of bad habits is rather hard to undo just in college and now. Sighing I move to get up... and find that not only am I not in my bed, I'm not even in my room. Or house.

"The hel is going on here," I grumble getting up. This is of course when I notice the next big thing here, namely my nakedness.

"Fuck" I swear softly.

Obviously whatever is going on here isn't a normal thing, or even a really odd prank by my friends - if I had any in person who might do something like this. Sitting down again for a moment to hyperventilate for a time, wondering what the heck is happening. This obviously isn't a dream, my dreams are never so vivid. All the afterlives I've heard of certainly don't look like this, except perhaps that Wakandan one from the Black Panther movie. The lack of supernatural events in my day-to-day life before now would certainly seem to say that such things don't happen. This however, might be straining that belief.

Sighing, I get up to at least look around to figure out how to get home. And... there are no pine trees around here. Or roads it looks like. Honestly, I can't say I've ever seen any environment like this, at least not in person. No airplane trails in the sky, no smoke either. No noise of civilization, and honestly these plants look pretty vibrant if they're anywhere humanity. Wherever I am, it certainly isn't anywhere I've ever been before. Ugh, this is going to be fun to get out of, I can already feel it. I set out in essentially a random direction, no real way to figure out the proper direction to go. It seems to have been hours before I even hear anyone, and honestly it'd be more accurate to say they found me. Walking for hours without food and bare to the weather isn't great for one's health, particularly as underfed as I probably am back home.

"Hey, you there!" the man who has just come across me shouts, in some language I've never heard of before.

"I'm sorry, I don't speak your language," I shout back, before realizing that not only did I understand what he just said, but I seem to have replied in the same language. Odder and odder indeed. Still though, the man here speed up a little, before coming near enough to me to not have to yell.

"Hey, you all right there?" the man asks, gesturing to my naked body before continuing, "you responded to me just fine."

"Honestly, I have no idea," I reply, "I seem to be the victim of some cruel joke. Do you have any clothes I could borrow? I can help you with near anything I think, if you need that."

"Aye, I can get you something to cover up yourself there. No need for the labour, it'd be simply cruel to leave you like this. Certainly appreciated however."

Gesturing me to follow him, he starts walking off. It's only now I realize that his own clothes clearly aren't modern mass-produced garments of any sort. And whatever he's carrying there certainly isn't a modern tool...

[Lazarian]

---

Mark Ivarsson
Dawn of the 45th Day
May 31st, AS 18

---

As the salty wind tousled his now overgrown and messy hair, Mark smiled. It was probably one of the first times he’d done so since he’d landed in this cursed land. Beneath the boat he stood upon, the waves surged, tossing it up and down in the bay. He felt a little seasick, but he wouldn’t trade this for the world right now.

The boat was constructed of wood planks, sewn together with strips of rawhide. Pitch, derived from pine sap, was used to caulk and coat the seams of the boat, making it watertight. A large log served as the bottom plank and keel, with two additional planks attached on both sides to create a hull. Two hollowed timbers served as the stem and stern-posts, and large vertical struts of oak fastened the boat together. The boat lacked any sort of sail, but had several benches along its length, with nocks for oars accompanying them. It really was impressive, what these people did with their limited resources. Of course...other things were much less impressive.

It had been infuriating to watch Ivar and his sons scatter barley seed here and there, without rhyme or reason. He’d suggested straight lines, but they ignored the foreigner. It’d be too much work, they said. They’d spend all this time bent over for no reason. Scattering the seeds had been done by their father, and his father before him, and his father before his still. Generation after generation of ignorance. Of course, he couldn’t blame them. Their methods, though flawed, worked well enough.

His gardens simply hadn’t grown in enough for him to be a credible source yet. But he held a strong faith that when the harvesting season came, he’d go from an odd stranger to a treasured resource.

He’d finished making the beds a while ago. Three lots of twelve feet by four feet (roughly), with the plots separated by sticks laid across. One row of pole beans, with trellises to grow on, about five feet in height. He’d constructed them from forked branches, painstakingly and tediously collected from the local forest. The next row was some variant of cabbage. It wasn’t the rich and enormous cabbages of the modern age. They were smaller, and had a much more bitter taste to them (although they weren’t mature, and he was hoping that they’d improve). The next row was carrots - according to Ivar, they were thin and white.

Making each raised bed the same crop made a monoculture, which was dangerous. He was relatively pleased with the work he’d done, though his back ached and his hands were stiff and calloused. He’d been able to convince Ivar to let him tend to his garden in the morning rather than accompany the Norseman to his livestock, and this had been a blessing. He spent most mornings watering his plants appropriately, and vigorously plucking out any weeds that dared sprout.

Additionally, in a separate plot, further away from the house and in the bright sun, he’d uprooted and planted several berry bushes. He’d found some primitive variant of blueberry - there were quite a few of them nestled away in the wooded areas away from the farm. They’d probably be ready around August, if he remembered correctly. In a similar manner, he’d found cranberries and a small, circular red berry plant near them. Both were located in the pines as well. He’d spent days excavating the roots, gathering the soil, and transporting it from the woods to Ivar’s farm in a flimsy wooden bucket. Some of the bushes had already died from the transplantation, but he was optimistic.

His one regret was that he hadn’t pushed harder on the sowing of the barley fields. Yes, it would have been much more work to plant them in straight and orderly lines, but it’d have left less space for weeds to root and increased the yield. And beyond that, if they planted them individually, less seed would go to waste. Of course, it’d be a horribly laborious task. If only there was some sort of machinery that could do it. But these Norsemen were quite a ways from any sort of mechanization. As far as he could tell, most of them couldn’t read or write, and there were few blacksmiths and their apprentices in the town. Most iron seemed to be imported from the mainland, with the local smiths working primarily in copper and bronze.

Regardless, this was no time to be obsessing about the roots and the mud. He was starting to understand why the Norse loved the seas as much as they did. It was a relatively simple experience, and yet exhilarating. The vast expanse of the ocean laid beneath their feet, stretching to the horizon. Stocks of fish swam below, shimmers of silver under an near-impenetrable shroud of sea. The wind blew roughly, spraying salt and mist across the harbour...it made him feel alive.

He was out on the sea with Trygve, the middle son, as well as the fishermen that jointly owned this boat. When Ivar inevitably passed away, the farm would go to the oldest, Vidar. The other brothers would either find a different livelihood, or serve as his farmhands and partners. Trygve had some sort of simple apprenticeship with the fishermen - he’d promised his labour for their knowledge. Someday, he aspired to be a fisherman.

“See,” he had explained to Mark on their long walk to Akershus, “farming is a waste of time. We scratch at the ground for meagre offerings of barley and turnips, when a treasure lies at our fingertips. I have no intention of being my brother’s assistant for the rest of my life.”

Mark was a little irked at agriculture labeled as “a waste of time”, but after several minutes of straining to draw up one of the drift nets they had cast earlier, he started to see their point. He didn’t recognize any fish species other than herring, but they’d made quite the catch. After a few hours of this, with their newly fresh cargo deposited at the bottom of the ship, they rowed back to shore. They spent the rest of the day drying and smoking approximately half of the haul. The other half was scaled, deboned, and placed into a copper kettle with some water over a roaring fire.

He noted to himself that they hadn’t figured out charcoal yet. Damn. With all the forests nearby and how vital fire was to surviving the winter, that’d be another great step forward. He had no idea how the process was made, but he knew it had to do with burning wood. Perhaps Clara would know.

Oh, Clara. Clara. That name kept him awake at night. She was truly a legendary figure among the villagers, the founder of the Commonwealth...but he didn’t care at all about that. Every day, questions gnawed at his soul. Was he truly alone in this world? Was there another like him? Were there answers out there? To think about it was to suffer - he repressed the questions to the back of his mind, losing himself in toil and work. His faith had been completely wrong - this was clearly no Heaven, but it wasn’t cruel enough to be Hell either. If it was some sort of Purgatory, it was unlike any he had known. And yet his situation defied any rational explanation. There was no point in searching when the answers were out of his reach. All he could do was wait, for whatever answers she held.

---

Mark Ivarsson
Dawn of the 51st Day
June 6th, AS 18

---

It was early in the morning, and Mark stared at the ceiling, lost in memories of the past and plans of the future. The sun was starting to rise outside, although it could have been easily four or five AM. Time had started to lose meaning to Mark - you awoke when the sun rose, and slept when the sun set. They didn’t have any way to track the time, or really any purpose for it. It gave every day a disjointed sense, like he was in a long and strange dream.

There was a rough knock on the door. Ivar stirred, his dogs eagerly running to the door and barking. His sons managed to sleep through it, the heavy sleepers that they were. Frida was already awake, cooking a thin soup of turnips and fish at the hearth.

“That’s strange.” she muttered. “Mark, make yourself useful and get the door.”

Mark grumbled slightly to himself, but he stood up. He wore his loose fitting trousers to sleep and nothing else, which was hardly proper to greet a guest with, but...courtesy be damned. Whoever was knocking at this hour had already ignored any sort of proper societal expectations. Visitors were for dinner. Mornings and afternoons were far too busy.

The knocking continued. Louder this time.

“Open up!” snapped a voice Mark didn’t recognize, but had heard before.

“I’m coming.” grumbled Mark in response, trudging over to the door. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he yawned. The front door was kept shut with a simple wooden bar, to keep out any would-be intruders in the night. Shambling over to it, he removed the door and opened it, ready to greet whoever was at the door. When his eyes looked upon the scarred man before him, his heart nearly stopped in surprise and excitement.

It was Skald. The policeman (or at least, that’s what Mark assumed the Committee’s main role was) stood in a simple dark blue tunic, his club strapped to his belt. In his hands, he held a carved wooden box, with a lid strapped on with some sort of cord.

“Mark Ivarsson,” he proclaimed, “a ship from Roskilde entered the harbor this morning. With them, they brought many things. But one, I believe, you’ll find particularly relevant.”

Pressing the box into Mark’s quivering hands, Skald smiled.

“It should be quite a revelation, if who you claimed to be two months ago was true. If you’ll come with me to the hall, we have birch paper on which you can write a reply. Come with me.”

---

As they walked back down the mountainside and hilltops to the city of Akershus, Mark carefully poured over each and every letter of the message. It was in English. English. Just the sight of his home language rather than these scribbled runes of the Norsemen was enough to bring him to tears. He wasn’t alone.

I address Mark Hoffman, newly appointed citizen of the Norweigen Republic. And, potentially, a man lost in time. My sources have reported to me that you speak of places that do not exist, and emerged from the North with no clothes on your back nor property to your name. But most importantly of all, you come from a strange land known as Michigan. Next to Canada...my home.

I, once, was in a similar situation. Almost exactly the same, in fact.

I woke up here far earlier than you did and have already been here for some twenty-two years, far greater a length than you. But your story of drifting unconscious and waking up in a strange and unfamiliar land, helpless but for the assistance of the gracious people who are now my neighbours, is a familiar one to me.

I was born in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, in what you would call 1999 Common Era. My transportation is too far in the past for me to remember what I was doing before I came here, but I do remember that it was abrupt and unexpected as yours seems to have been. Like you, I woke up with nothing on me, and was it not for the hospitality of Roskilde I would surely have died. If you truly are one such as myself, I’d like you to complete a simple test. For as much as I would like to believe that fate has graced my beloved nation with another such as myself, I must know without doubt.

In reply, I’d like you to answer a few questions.

What’s the capital of the United States?

Who was the first man in space?

What are the names of the Great Lakes?

I eagerly await your response.

Clara Axinite Juliansdóttir Rose af Toronto, aðalþingmaður Stórþingsins

[Joohan]

BLACK BANSHEES

16 s

Somewhere along the West Hibernian Coast

---

For better or for worse, the moon had chosen to hide herself that morning - cowering behind a sheen of obsidian clouds, covering the world over in a darkness nearly opaque. Eerie, impenetrable, holding a promise of malevolence, the dark dominated all that the scoundrel attempted to look upon. Though his heart did feign and shake with fear, retelling the ghoulish stories of youth about what went bump in the night, his lip refused to quiver, and his hands refused to shake; for he was a man now, and as for his profession, it was he who now went bump in the dark.

His hands held tightly to the shoulder of the boat, reassuring him of his own surroundings. He could not but vaguely tell of the ship's direction, and for how the captain and crew were able to navigate through such peerless darkness he had no way of fathoming, but he remained reasonably certain that they hugged closely to the wooded shore. Beyond the sounds of his fellow compatriots near by, either working aboard the deck or hugging the wall like him, he could hear the sound of the breeze pushing against firn tree's over head, and the sound of gentle waves lapping against the shore. Oh what he would have given for only a single flame to see the world about him, but no -as the hefty weight at his side soberly reminded him - there could be no light aboard their vessel - no indication of the danger that stalked these far western shores.

Theirs was a business best kept to the dark, away from what more pretentious minds might dub as, Civilization. Dealers of flesh and blood, these entrepreneuring militants found profit from the demand of labor starved upper classes; seizing material asset's from isolated locales and redistributing them to eager and wealthy customers, these, what the pretentious might call, slavers, found themselves in an increasingly hostile marketplace. Where years ago they'd found ample opportunity for, acquisition, across the north of Hibernia and the mainland below that - their ventures had since become the victim's of the most terrible campaigns, ever since the damnable treaty at Snowdonia. Were once the shore's of Brittany were dotted with, treasures, yet unclaimed, now every village it seemed had either an Imperial or WEC ship waiting along it's beaches for businessmen such as they. Though they'd proven careful in, mostly, weathering the storm, they'd been forced to move consistently further and further north for their acquisitions - the ungoverned highlands north of Icedonia, and the far western shores of Hibernia. Lands, largely, undefended, and likewise, underpopulated. It was a most sorrowful affair for all in their industry, and clients too! For all it was worth though, these were men dedicated to their craft, and stormy seas or no, they would ride upon the waves until either this tempest broke - or they did!

The breeze had come to a slow, no longer rushing so loudly through the flaps of his cap, it's winds no longer tickling at his face. The sound of leg's splashing down into the water some feet away confirmed to him that they'd come to the shore, and that the more night savy sailors were beginning to pull their vessels up onto the beach. He risked releasing himself from the wall, standing up fully, and straining his eyes to look out at the dismally pitch shoreline before him. They'd been told of a village not more than half a sern away from this point - and yet he still could not make out the slightest flame or glint of light through the trees and obsidian brush. They were walking into an unknowable wall. He felt down at the ax by his side, making sure that it's iron head still clung tightly along his belt loop. His weapon would be no good to anyone if it were to be lost in the woods.

His whispered to the darkness, " Hedi'ga "

" Moshla. " The darkness spoke back to him, a hand reaching out touched the scoundrel's arm. His partner, the one whom would stay close to him while they transversed over toward the village. It was important in unknown areas for men to travel together, so as to prevent being separated from the rest of the party. Finally beginning to feel the ship run it's hull along the sandy shoreline, the raiding party began throwing ropes over the side, proceeding to climb down the beach - one by one. His partner electing to descend first, the scoundrel looked about himself once more, deciding that his eye's had finally begun to adjust to the pitch morning darkness. He could see the outline of their sister ship just, now coming upon the beach as they had a few minutes ago.

By the time that the scoundrel had himself made the climb down over the side of the boat, the raiding party had begun setting themselves to the work of lighting torches - one after the other. They were so close now, and already upon the shore, that it made no difference should this tiny, isolated village see their approaching lights - they were already upon them. He joined in the line waiting for their torches. Hand to hand, man to man, they past back the torches as they were lit. As soon as they had finished, the second boat would have finally run itself ashore, and once they had lit their torches, they all would be upon the helpless village. Throwing open doors, and over turning furniture, dragging the mewling and weak from their slumber across the woods and beaches beyond - slaughtering those foolish enough to try and resist. Though perhaps not as terrible as say, an Icedonian extermination, their raids were still a horrifying sight.

Near the back of the line, the scoundrel waited and watched as his torch made it's journey all the way from the front, back, back, back towards him. He'd reached out to finally grab at his light - only to be thrown upon his back a moment, sent down by the thunderous sound of BWOOM-CRACK! Instinctively, it had seemed, the scoundrel had thrown his arms up over his head, and brought his legs up into his chest - cowering like a turtle curled up into it's shell. He felt the spray of falling water, and some kind of debris rain down onto his face and arms. When the rain had finally ceased, he risked moving an arm away from his head to look around himself. Like he, the rest of the men in the raiding party had also thrown themselves down onto the sand - most of whom still held their hands over their hands, but a brave few like him were too surveying the scene about them. Looking down at himself, he saw that what had been raining down on him was... splinters, as well as blood ( not his own he was fairly sure ), and.. light? For the first time, he'd noticed it. Great bonfires had suddenly materialized throughout the inky blank forest. Shadowy figures seeming to dance and stalk around their glowing red lights. The line of bonfires was perhaps two hundred units away, and combined with the ringing in his ear, He'd barely heard the shouts echoing from ahead.

Propping himself up to one knee, and placing his hand upon the ax that still hung at his belt, he looked over to his side, peering down at his partner, who still lay upon the ground cowering. At first, he was filled with impatient fury at his partner. He slapped at his shoulder, attempting to rouse him from his instinctual fear. As his hand made contact, however, he immediately felt a sticky wetness he knew not to be ocean water. Pulling his hand close to his face, he could distinctly make out the dark blood that now covered his hand. His ear's still ringing, he'd no idea that a call to retreat had been made, until he'd seen the first few cowardly men begin to jump up from their huddled positions and run past him, back toward the - Ancestor's Hell, what happened to the other boat?!

Were only moments ago, the other vessel had been preparing to run itself ashore, a massive hole, several unit's in size, had punched itself through the front of the ship - running itself so deep into the bowl's of the lower decks that it's true depth was hidden by shadows from within her confines. The men running toward her didn't seem to care though - content to be be anywhere but upon that black beach, and away from those hellish fires, and whatever had made that terrible noise. He watched the fleeing men as they came just short upon their vessel - only to see their bodies contort suddenly and violently, before falling into the shallow water. The ringing had finally begun to fade from his ears, and the scoundrel could hear the sound of what seemed like the calamitous crack of metal upon metal!

All around, dozens of maniacal cracks, echoing out from the forest and across the beaches - drowning out the sound of the waves, and even the pounding of his own heart in his ears. The men, who had been at the front of the line for torches, attempted to jump up from the sands, turning to flee back to the safety of their ship - only to be send careening back down to the earth; as though pushed by some invisible flying force? As the scoundrel watched in horror at the mayhem before him, he searched the black air for any sign of arrow, or bolt, or bullet, but saw none?! What foe did they face, who could tear holes out of ships, who could kill men by unforseen evils, who stalked and made camp in the most vile of shadowy dens? A man, one from his raiding party, whose face was beyond recognition from the night, ran directly in front of the scoundrel, before suddenly, it seemed as though his chest had exploded outward. The scoundrel felt the warm spray touch his face, and caress his lip, standing in stone horror even after the man had fallen to the ground dead.

He would not see how the carnage would end, for upon the second sound of BWOOM-CRACK, mercifully, unconsciousness would take him.

WIP

[Ah-eh-ioh-uh]

Shinjiru soon began to spend what he could on having his own house built. He wasn't so opposed to the family he was living with but he WAS a guest. He would eventually want a place of his own once he became accustomed to how things worked around here. It WAS nice to be fed like one of the family but he WAS using some random empty space in their home. He was inconveniencing them seeing as they had to scrounge and pack themselves for him to have a private space and his own sleeping matt. Plus they had to accommodate extra food.

Shinji thought the village might do well to focus on defense now. He doubted they could or would do much if the north decided to invade but decided to invest in them anyway. He would do so at least until he could spread his influence significantly in the area. Shinji went to the village leaders and told them to be wary of the north. Their queen was rumored to be ruthless and with temper. There were troubling tales of her malice and tyranny. Being right on the border of her empire one would need to be able to protect oneself.

He planned to do more but suggested that for now the villagers learn HOW to fight the enemy on their own turf and terms. Shinjiru noted that they would need all the fighters they could get to have the best chances and spoke with people to set up a training and volunteering system for any would be defenders or warriors.



Shinjiru emphasized that he meant that nearly anybody who wanted to fight should be given the chance to do so. When people were puzzled as to his meaning, he clarified that they should do away with traditional prejudice and allow volunteering regardless of gender or age. This got some pushback but managed to convince people with compromise and reason.

Shinji assured them that that wasn't to say they would be sending elders to fight on the front lines far from home or drafting children. It was a volunteer based system and they would be strategic about it all. The less able such as the women weren't meant to be sent on the same missions that grown men were if they weren't as able. Shinji proposed they spread the word and have all interested parties gather near the village's edge.

Arguments rang throughout the village as children fought with their parents and women argued with their husbands as well as other male figures. But soon enough people began to gather where they had been told. Shinji spoke with everybody about training new recruits and there was much grumbling and disbelieving looks at the volunteers who traditionally were not involved in this part of society. Plans were made people were organized by task. Shinji explained that if the unthinkable happened and the north invaded, they would need strategies on how to combat the far more advanced and numerous enemy.

It was explained that while he had no definite information on the enemy, he had a special way of guessing what the enemy's armies might look like. Shinji admitted that he was entirely untrained in the art of war, but knew a few tricks and tips that might just come in handy. They were to have training drills in the village and surrounding landscapes where they would hold mock-war games of a sort with teams acting like the village forces and the other playing the part of the enemy army. Shinji would relay his best guesses on certain enemy units and give his ideas on how they might be fought. They would play out scenarios and learn things like familiarizing one's self with the environment to use it to advantage.



Shinji called for the construction of play weapons wrapped in padding so that nobody actually got hurt in training. Shinji thought things over for a while with people watching him anxiously and noticed there was much work to be done and made a mental note to introduce at least the idea of things like ranged weapons to the warriors. Shinji went from one idea and found he didn't have the means to properly prepare them for it yet and tossed it to mull another over. Shinjiru thought it was possible that even if there was another person changing lots of things here in the past in Japan, maybe there were at least some things that may be similar. And so Shinji began to plan teaching them how to fight Japanese armies such as the iconic Samurai Knights. Juggling ideas, Shinji decided that teaching them how to fight against soldiers armed with Yari was a good place to start....