New Civilizations ( IC, Open )

[The Surge Empire]

Edward McGray
LandFall: Estimated 4 and a half years ago
“International politics is never about democracy and human rights. It's about the interests of states. Remember that, no matter what you are told in history lessons.”
― Egon Bahr

Chapter 4 - a Chorus of Copper and Tin
Appledore, it is my nation, and it will survive, it must as that is my duty. I am an Elder of Appledore, not by age but by respect of the people. i must protect them, and for that we need bronze, its a miracle we have lasted this long without it. but finnaly, we have defense set up around town and my smiths lead by John have finished the Tin weapons.

as i stand before our makeshift army, whom we have been recruiting over the past year. these men have held off raiders at least twice, i raise myy right palm.

"Men, it is time, You are the forces of Appledore, you are our heroes, Today you get some New Blades made by the men in the forge. the weapons you are about to posses in your palms are far more powerful then the ones currently in your hand. Harness them as you are men of Appledore." Edward said

"If we do not do this, we shall perish, we will be conquered by someone who thinks we are lesser than them, we will not be conquered, we will not perish, we will thrive, we will thrive, we will conquer. We Are Men of Appledore"

A Northern Village has some Copper which will be needed to form bronze, we have an source of tin, through the town of TinTin. it had firmly established itself and was a nearly unknown by other towns. and this was very important as it was unfortified and since it was the lifeblood of Appledore. but This Northern Village would allow us to embrace the Bronze Age, and allow me to settle down, hopefully at least. but until then, this will have to be done, a trade deal was nearly struck but it was destined for failure. this had force Edward's Hand towards war, one which had taken him time to build up, but he had built something up as well, he 'uncreatively' called it the Society.

The Next Week
After a Week of Travel, it was time, The Northern Village needs to fall, it leaders rejected the Men of Appledore. Edward waltzed in the Elder's Chamber and offered Servitude only to, when the guards went to capture him, have his detached section of the army kill them. it was at this moment when thy attacked, men dying left and right, one of the men dying killed by Edward had a friend attack him. with a dagger in his sholder, he went ballistic. the man who stabbed him quickly had the same dagger is his eye socket. another had one in his spine paralyzing him. only to have his ribs kicked by the detached and his skull kicked in. the final one had attacked Edward from the behind, and because of this, his neck was snapped.

With this, he Raised his Right palm, he yelled to his Army, I am the Lord Of Appledore, his men yelled in approval. His Cult of personality was being cemented into Appledore. but when he had returned, however this title he have given himself was going to get him in trouble with the Elder's Council.

"Edward McGray, you have declared yourself 'Lord' Of Appledore, what does that even mean, you are no elder, and because of this you shall be punished" said the High Elder.

"By who, you, the people will back me. you have no power anymore, at one point, I had a following but there truly served you, that is true no longer, this is my Town"

Coming Next: Chapter 5 - Invictus

[G-Tech Corporation]

The Rhythm of Civilization
Viktor Nemtsov - Part 3, Chapter 1: The Litany in Progress

March 17th, 10 AG

Underfoot the ground trembled, and I glanced about for a brief half-second, mentally securing myself and my footing if the shaking became more pronounced. It would not do to bash my brains open on cold stone here at the moment of what was to be a triumph, an ignominious end to what had been over a decade of innovation and enlightenment. The sound would have been deafening, save for the lengths of fiber wadded in my ears - but gradually the vibrations ebbed away, and a smile gently coursed across my face. Half of relief, half of elation, emotions shared by the grimy faces and pallid expressions of the men about me atop the plateau.

"It works! Congratulations, Viktor." That heavy slap on the back and pumped handshake came from the foreman, a broad shouldered northman whose name I couldn't honestly recall at the moment. It was a heady thing, and, all things considered, a miracle the contraption hadn't exploded. I merely continued smiling like a stupid infant, tenuously stepping to the edge of the pit to inspect the results of the work. Men crowded after me, making me thankful for the sturdy wooden railing that edged the dank pit-mine, but in this instance their enthusiasm could be excused.

The immense shovel-maw bit into the rubble like a wild thing, an immense beast out of prehistory that time had forgotten. Thickly banded tension cables, proofed against weather and wear, strained as the operator put the machine into gear. Stone and rock came up in the lift in quantities that would have taken the labor of hundreds to haul up out of the fracture chamber, the crane as large as many men grumbling under the load. But the fabrication held, smoke belching from the boiler in immense columns. A few men in little more than loinclothes worked like demons shoveling the anthracite into the firebox of my brainchild, and I did not envy them their sweat - but through the labor of few, many hands could be freed for other work.

And that was the crux of the invention. Through liberating the stored energy of coal, men's hours could be devoted instead to pursuits more worth of the scion's of the new order that was creeping across the face of Germania and Central Europe. It had taken years, an idea slowly developing ever since I had first seen those placer deposits of coal on the northern slopes of the Erzgebirge - and here was the realization. This would be the doorway to many victories for progress and the Imperium, steel and ingenuity allowing the more rapid extraction of materials to feed the growing demands of empire and imposing order on those who would resist the coming of their salvation.

It was a prototype, to be sure. That was something the men cheering about me did not understand. Each part cast with greatest care, the culmination of extensive testing on fittings, solder joints, pressurization. Nearly a dozen of the engineers that served House Nemtsov had perished in pursuit of the machine's secrets when gaskets failed or ruptures devastated early test models. Perhaps this model would fail still, when operated for lengthy periods; indeed, I almost expected it to. Even with good quality steel and reproducible casts and draws, without the ability to inspect plates and parts on a microscopic level, flaws in the work were to be expected.

But already in a half dozen minutes, the primitive steam shovel had done the work that would have taken her operators days of back-breaking labor. And that was a success in my books, even if it broke down tomorrow. These men had been given a window into the age of industry and progress towards which I was driving them and their cohorts, and the light of that bright future would illuminate their lives until their dying breaths. Hope - it was a heady thing, an intoxicating beverage, and I was only too glad to share the draught with any who would drink with me and dream that shared dream.

[UniversalCommons]

Year 10 Month 2

Bibliomania

Victor Spear had always been obsessed with books. He remembered sitting on the subway on the way to work reading for an hour each way to work every day in New York city. Then when he got off the subway going to work each day at a library. The first thing each day he would do was write in his journal about what he would do each day.

With no friends, no family, lost in strange new world, Victor Spear became even more obsessed even though there were almost no books around. He collected all the books and scrolls he could get his hands on which was not very many. He had read every book in the library which we had acquired in the last ten years, some multiple times. He had gone to the temple of Sabazius and the temple of the Great Goddess and read every single new religious text because that was what was available to read at the time.

There were over a hundred scrolls, tablets, and codexes. If it was written he wanted it. He knew on a visceral level it did not make sense. Many of the items were the records of merchants transactions, or government records from Ur or Sumeria, boring and administrative, but he still read them. His habit of speed reading and memory training did not help him with this. It made it even stranger, because he read the texts so quickly.

He had begun to seek new ways to add to the collection of records and items in the House of Wisdom. They had written notes for every meeting of the House of Wisdom as well as recorded all legal cases. Victor Spear had read these too. They had formed a complete corpus of law. He even had the law annotated to have it explained more clearly. There were ten principal laws that were identified out of the common court cases and carved in stone which he called the "stone codes."

He sought to get more texts to add to the House of Wisdom trading with both Egypt and Ur. He tried not to get useless things, but struggled with the need to own records. He gave speeches at the Temple of Sabazius, the Temple of the Great Goddess, and the House of Wisdom encouraging people to write and tell their story. He formed a writers group in Oak encouraging people to tell their stories. He even traveled to Abdera, Thassos, and the fortress of Alec the Badger to encourage them to form libraries of their own asking them to copy texts and send them to him. In addition, he encouraged the Temple of Sabazius and the Temple of the Great Goddess which were teaching reading, writing, and arithmetic to bring him any texts.

When people began to write down poetry and odes, he encouraged this, having public readings of their works. Some of it was awful, but he still encouraged it.

He paid for people with skills to write them down including books on building, jewelry, carpentry, gardening, farming, medicine, warfare, and any other skills which they might have. He also encouraged people to write about the natural world and had books on stone, trees, minerals, water, fish, weather, animals, earthquakes and many natural phenomenon. If a boat came in, he would follow the method of Alexandria and insist that a copy be made of any written record that came to Oak. This annoyed some of the people from Sumeria or Egypt that came to trade. He would keep the original and give back the copy.

He encouraged learned men to come to Oak so he could write down what they knew. There were fourteen new "scholars" who had made it to Oak in the last ten years. They ranged from a quack who practiced astrology and spoke in tongues to doctors, merchants, builders, jewelers, a perfumer, and others. They would congregate in the house of a merchant from Sumeria named Enki and discuss things. They would drink herbal "teas" and eat rolls and discuss ideas.

He also encouraged commerce because commerce brought new ideas. As goods flowed, so did ideas flow.
There were a few texts which he could not identify the location of from the north. There were more anomalies.

He had an initial goal to have more written material than he could read being produced. This happened in the seventh year. The amount of written merchants transactions was more than he could keep track of.

[Mushroomio]

John Drier

Suez, Egypt

Teaching Savages

“Our spies have informed us that we have 4 days until the Skullwearers, one of our fiercest rivals, plan to raid our village. Please complete whatever you have planned before then. I will give you a team of the best builders in our village, Anari, Tetre, and Utibue.”

John was dumbfounded. 4 days? That’s not enough time for the wall around the village, which would easily take around a month if built correctly. But, there was still things John could do. His team spent the next two days gathering stones, dirt, and kindling. John set up a makeshift kiln using the dirt, and using a particularly hard rock, scraped the rocks trying to find limestone. Once he was satisfied with the amount of limestone he had, which was 20kg, he set to work with the kiln. With the temperature rising slowly in the kiln, all he could do was sit and wait. But at last, the kiln was hot enough to put in the limestone. At least, he hoped it was limestone. John silently thanked his lucky stars for his degree in Civil Engineering, and his time doing homemade projects like this in the woods. But there was no time for reminiscing. There was still work to be done.

Next, he went to the tribe’s bonfire that was in the middle. It was unlit, of course, as it was the middle of the day. He collected his team again, and briefed them on their new project.

“The Skullwearers will be here in two days” John reminded the men. “The wall will not be finished before then, but I have another solution. What are your battle tactics?”

The men looked around, confused. Then John had a sudden realization. Nobody in the tribe actually knew how to lead a military fighting force. This was bad. But he had a solution. Like always, he had a plan.

John dismissed his men and walked into the chief’s tent, who was busy praying to his gods. When he was done, John tapped him on the shoulder and the chief got up.

“What are you doing here?”

“I need some help. Your men do not know how to fight the most effective way” John explained.

“My men are led by me, are you saying that I do not know how to lead them?” The chief said accusingly.

“I am very sorry if it seems as if I think that you are not capable. Sometimes I am blunt. But you need to listen to me. Please, let me teach your men the art of war.”

The chief looked to the ground in thought. He sat down and collected himself. After a few minutes of deliberation, the chief responded to John.

“You may teach them what you know, John. But I must watch, and I will cut the training short if I think you are wasting everybody’s time. The Skullwearers will be here in 2 days, do not forget that.”

“Thank you.”

When John got the tribal warriors ready, he saw that their weapons were little more than makeshift clubs. The chief’s guard, the ones who had found him, had spears, but they were of low quality and made of pure wood, and not stone-tipped as John had originally thought in his hazed mind.

“Pretend I am an enemy. Show me how you would kill me.”

One of the warriors ran up to John and swung his club at him. John easily moved out of the way.

“I can see we have a lot to do.”

[Joohan]

Bend for the Gods?

10 years, 5 months post arrival...



Israel

---

Both my mind and body felt wonderfully at ease, swaddled in the warmth of a clear summer's day. Brilliant sunlight reflected from the treetops, and a gentle easterly breeze made the leaves shimmer like the surface of a lake. The earthy smell of freshly cut grass mingled together with the fragrance of wild flowers, giving the air a lively natural aroma. The leather soles of my shoes had long since formed to the arch of my feet, so each footfall upon the dirt path felt like no medium separated myself from the ground. My pace was leisurely, allowing myself time to soak in the beauty of the scene, and to immerse myself in the pleasant warmness of the day. The path I walked was perhaps 13ft across, well worn from the clamor of feet; wheels; and hooves, and carried through the town all the way up to the wheelhouses along the river. I traveled alone on the path - no traffic from Stranix or the other villages would be coming through this day, the day of rest. Now was a time for leisure after a long week's work; for myself, that meant my solitary and contemplative walks.

Off to my side was an open field of grass between two houses where a number of children ( varying in ages from 5 to 11 ) contented themselves to various games and play. Many of the girls had circled themselves around a cluster of wild flowers and were crafting all manner of jewelry from crowns, to rings, and necklaces - proudly showing off their flowery apparel to their bubbling friends. The boys had seemed to separate themselves into a number of groups, all taking part in their own desired affairs - tag, wrestling, rugby, and all other manner of violent sport. At one point, one filth covered lad, leather-bound ball wrapped tightly between his arms, stumbled and fell directly into the flower making circle of the girls. Their distraught cries and screams only made the boys laugh, as well as it had all the other boys who had been chasing him. He jumped up with the ball in his arms and continued to run wild around the field - a whole flock of mud covered boys chasing close behind. The chaotic childhood innocence looked to me like a kind of barbarian recess. Children playing the same games the people of my own world partook in, albeit with less khakis and playground equipment and more hides and rocks.

They were innocent - knowing not the vices and pride which plagued the generations before them; not yet anyway. Between these children there was no true sense of division or mistrust. They all knew each other as simply brothers, sisters, or friends. A clan in there own right. As I past by the children in their field, I felt a kind of shame build up in my stomach. What a shame it was that their parents could not see them in the same way as I do? Though all that I or they saw among each other was children, too often their parents saw only Ablan - and half breeds. Of all the dozens of children which now inhabited Israel, I hazard to say that at least 2/3rds of them were the offspring between Ablan men and conquered women. For each of the six patriarchs which had settled in my blooming city along the river, each one had brought with them no less than two conquered women as wives ( along with their first and most honored Ablan wife of course ). Nuclear families of a dozen or more were the norm in Israel. Though the Tyerin and Obuer had long sense been destroyed in the practical sense, the infernal grudge with which the Ablan had held toward them was carried on into their offspring. Though they were the ones to father this new generation, too many saw their children as the half spawn of their ancient rivals. Unspeakable abuse had been done to these children; I shuddered to think of the depravity which had been forced upon them by their own kin, their fathers no less. Once I had finally caught on to the vile mistreatment of the children, I cracked down harshly on the practice. Violence was something reserved for the savage - not for our kinsmen. My public condemnation, mixed with a select stripping of Army privileges and lashings, had ensured that the worst of the mistreatment was ended - at least within my presence of course. Stranix, I was sure, still suffered much of this negligence - as most of my free time was spent in Israel. My heart went out to those souls, and I would do all that I could to mitigate their suffering: from punishing my own men's abuses, to banning that horrid term, half-breed.

Of course, Israel and Stranix seemed worlds apart from each other. Along my path, my pace still of a leisurely stroll, I walked passed the white brick house of the Irrans ( the Israel branch of the Arran clan ). By the standards of the old world, it might have been considered a primitive stone dwelling: white oven baked bricks stacked up 8ft high, and 45ft across ( the home being broken up into several compartments to contend with the considerably large clan ). The clean golden hay which acted as thatching for the roof was pocketed with chimney spouts near what would be the center of each compartment room. The window doors were open, allowing for one to peer inside the brightly lit home and see busy women rushing about in their chores. Though it was restday, it was true that a mother's work was never done. The front door of the home opened, and a feminine figure swiftly exited from the home. I turned my head away from the house, paying the quickly approaching figure no attention - contented in knowing that she would reach me within a few moments. Seconds later, a shoulder pushed itself into my back, causing me to half stumble. With a smile, I turned my head slowly to look over at the transgressor. The woman who smiled back up at me looked mature, despite being only 19 years old, her vibrantly red hair allowed to fall freely along her slender shoulders as she undid the bun at the back of her head. She wore a dark blue tunic and green sash around her hips and over her shoulder, but walked upon the dirt path with her bare feet. Once her hair had finally freed itself from it's bun, she triumphantly shook her head - allowing her hair to wave outward like a golden red mane. " Im, terribly sorry - I swear ah didn't see you's there! "

I nodded, feigning coyness, " Oh it's no problem. I am terribly easy to look over. " My being a full foot taller than her being highlighted as the joke. She merely smirked before looking back toward the Irran house. As she turned her head back around, she grabbed onto my arm and began forcefully pushing me along the path.

" You've a terribly lazy pace, we should lengthen that stride! " While she pushed us along, I looked back to see a somewhat older woman walk out from the entrance of the home, hands placed upon her hips and come as to look about - as if searching for someone.

" Certainly we wouldn't be running from anything, now would we? " she quickly chuckled at the accusation, and responded rapidly,

" Need a friend an excuse to enjoy the company of another friend? Is not the purpose of restday for our own leisure and reflectio- " Before the last word could leave her lips she had ducked in front of me to avoid the stare of the woman who had come out of the Irran house. I continued onward, giving no indication that I was hiding a whole person in front of me, moving up until I turned leftward along the path and past another home. Free from the site of Irran home, the woman, Conwanna of clan Irran, jumped back to my side and did not pester me more about my pace of walking - choosing instead to keep my pleasant stroll.

" Besides - you're such a drab and sad looking sight. Clad in your black robes and walking alone like a specter among the living. As a favor of one friend to another - I might as well be a flower to the gloom that walks in your wake. " She placed a tanned hand onto her chest, gesturing toward herself as the flower, looking supremely content in the boast.

" You know nightshade is a flower too? " I replied dryly. She chuckled as she looked up toward me with a smirk,

" And intoxicating in right amounts! " To anyone not familiar with the manners of Conwanna of clan Irran, they might have assumed this to be a flirt - but no, this was just how she spoke to people.

I had changed since my years of bloodlust against the Ablan's enemies. True, I still held myself as an introverted and dour man, I had grown more comfortable in this world I now called home - even coming to call a few of it's inhabitants friends. Conwanna, was one of the more unlikely of those friends. She was ten years my younger, still an unmarried girl, though promised to a boy ( one of my soldiers no less ) from the Durran clan, and the sister to my closest lieutenant. Teaghan - another one of my friends. We'd been introduced to one another following the Army's return from an anti-bandit campaign in the south. She was among the Arran women brought over by Teaghan to help cook and facilitate a home coming party. Her brother had been the one to introduce us, though I had hardly paid her any attention initially. Conwanna though was, as I would discover, a tenacious woman, and was set upon getting my attention. Throughout the party, and the days following, she managed to " bump " into me on several occasions - were she would trick me into striking up a conversation. At first I thought she was flirting, but I soon found that she was simply intrigued by me. The giant warlord from a land no one had ever heard of, and who could craft tools only known about in the dreams of men. Her stunning wit and zestful personality won me over, and soon we were conversating at every free moment I had ( and sometimes even while I worked ).

As we walked side by side down a side road which led off toward the edge of town, she sniffed at the air and breathed a sigh of relief, " I tell you, though you say that you've made a town - it simply does not reek like one! I often find myself longing for the foul aromas of dung, piss, and sweat of Stranix. "

She was correct in her observation - Israel was a significantly more cleanly and palatable place than what Stranix had been. Unlike in Stranix, were waste was dropped in heaps relatively close to living quarters, animals lived side by side with their owners, and people lived in terribly cramped conditions; all waste here was deposited underground from the site of two communal restrooms, animals ( with the exception of dogs ) were kept in barns near the edge of town under the supervision of the Breathnach clan, and each of the six residential homes were well spaced out from one another, affording a great amount of living space between clans. But for the scent of burning wood and the smell of evening meal, the town's aroma was indistinguishable from the woodlands on it's west, to the river it hugged on the east.

" Oh, so that's why you ran away from your chores? You want your home to smell more like home then, Cony? "

She feigned shock, " I'm genuinely cut! That you'd assume I'd forgo solemn duties to kinsmen for the sake of sloth! It was more then that, I saw a poor and wretched creature was shuffling passed our home, and I knew that I needed to, graciously I might add, provide the stimulation and care that only a fiery intellect such as I could. "

She punched my arm playfully, " Besides, you need me and my advise. Im the real power holding the tribes back from slaughtering each other - piss on you and your Army. So, what demons haunt the wasteland that is your mind today? "

For sometime now, I had let Conwanna privy into my contemplations, and about the society I was set upon creating. Of course I had other advisors in that regard, but she was unique among them. For example, no one but spiteful she would ever dare to interrupt me during one of my walks - nor would I let them. I sighed, resigning the blissful warm feeling of earlier to take on the vaguely anxious mindset of a contemplative statesmen. Our path began leading onto one of the smaller divergences which lead off into the woods, often used by the smaller villages to the north when bringing in their wheat or coming to trade for the crafted goods of the wheel houses. As the brush and forest of the ancient wood began to slowly surround us, I began revealing to her my thoughts and worries.

" The Danarran will be at each other's throats the moment Georgge passes - and I don't like how it is suited to go. " The Danarran were a large tribe to the west of the Ablan lands, and who I had drafted ( at subtle swordpoint ) to assist us during the Tin crisis five years ago. It was in their lands that I had discovered the iron fields which would go on to fuel our leap forward into the iron age and create the budding industries in Stranix and Israel. Ours was a symbiotic relationship - in exchange for iron ore and the manpower to obtain it, the Ablan would provide grain, tools, and the protection of its Army. Of course, material wealth was seen as a mere fical thing to the people of this land when compared to honor. That the elderly chief Georgge had been forced under threat of extermination to lend his help was quickly surmised by most of the patriarchs and matriarchs under his rule - as well as his numerous sons. For many among the prodigious ruling class of Danarran society, the wealth and prosperity should all be damned as it had meant such a slight to their honor. Chief among them is Georgge's eldest son, Weylin. A man already in his forties, an accomplished warrior and hunter, and the eldest son no less, he commanded considerable support among his clansmen - and was openly opposed to cooperation with the Ablan. There were though, a minority among the ruling class who looked passed their own pride to see the benefits of the deal: men like Haston. Haston was Georgge's third eldest son. He'd been a fairly skilled warrior in his younger years, though had no where near the renown his older brother had. Since trade had started with the Ablan, he'd settled himself down to become a wealthy farmer and rancher. In addition to being openly supportive of continued cooperation, he hated his brother over a myriad of personal grudges, something shared in kind by Weylin. Chief Georgge was so old even he had forgotten his exact age. After ruling his tribe for generations, the clever old man was finally preparing to meet his end. He had been bed ridden for weeks - unable to walk, and hardly lucid. He would pass very soon, of that everyone was certain. Who would succeede him though was the question which brought out the daggers.


" Hmm, yes. I remember Teaghan talking about that. Seems like that Haston fellow isn't nearly so strapping as his older brother now is he? Your problem is how to ensure that Haston becomes the chief - stays the chief - and not the more headstrong Weylin? " She was certainly one of the more well informed individuals in Ablan society - her frequent talks with me, and her brother Teaghan, ensured that she had a vast knowledge of local affairs. I nodded solemnly, bringing my thumb and forefinger to my chin in thought. She continued,

" And you've contemplated just killing the bastard - but that's left you unsatisfied. " I threw up my arms, and in confirmation replyed,

" Of course I've contemplated just killing him! But then why would the people support Haston? If the only reason why he rules is because my Army protects him, then he will fall inevitably - and the cycle repeats itself over again. " The bitterness of the thought brought back memories of the blood feud between the Tyerin and the Ablan - a grudge carried on over generations; senseless and stifling bloodshed. I feared repeating such events with the Danarran. Conwanna placed a finger to her lower lip as she noted something which I had explained to her some time ago.

" A matter of soft power then? Not simply lopping off heads, but finding ways of using them! " I sighed as I rubbed my eyes with my hand, acknowleding that she was correct in the assesment... and impressed at her analogy ( truly she was too clever for her own good ). Damned soft power! Hard power was easy, could be measured objectivly and out in the open - it's consequences clear and causes evident. Soft power was, by nature, elusive and cryptic. The old world had been marred by a fetishization of soft power: captialism, ideology, mass media, etc.There was a kind of purity and simplicity in hard power. Your intentions are clear to the world, and your course of action is straight forward. The only backstabbing to be done would be on the field of battle. But not now, and not here. Even if I were to slay Weylin and his supporters, Haston would need more than fear of me to make the people loyal to him.

We were now well into the forest, the pale white outline of the homes in Israel only being barely visible from behind the brush. This path was much smaller than the main road which connected Israel to Stranix - not nearly so worn or so wide. Though the more primitive tribes to the north which used this path did not themselves implement a restday, they knew well enough that on every 7th day that no business would be accepted in town. Our privacy was certain. Without warning or prompt, Conwanna stepped off from the path into a patch of wild flowers. " Cony what are - "

I stopped myself, realizing the futility of questioning the girl. She waded through the waist high grass of the patch off toward an unknown location - barring no mind to the sticks and rocks which stuck to her bare feet. I reluctantly followed suit behind - certain that she had some point to make over the adventure. She stopped near the center of the field, and hovered her hands gently over a single green and stalky plant which stuck out sorely from the grass and flowers. I stopped next to her, curious as to the point she was trying to make. She would identify the plant with a dreamy look in her eye," Pigweed. "

I nodded, " Yes, a pest which our farmers do much to root out from the fields. What of it? "

Without breaking her dreamy gaze away from the plant, she continued, " And sought out by our shepherds for feed. "

I blinked in confusion, still not able to follow her train of thought. " Explain then. "

" Issac, " she used my first name, " correct me if I am wrong - but as you explained it to me, soft power is as much a weapon as it is a tool is it not? " I nodded, still weary of how pigweed at all related to Danarran succession.

" Pigweed destroys the crops for the farmer, and feeds the sheep of the shepherd. What if we had pigweed of our own? " At the insinuation she brought her eyes up to meet mine. She'd seized my curiosity, I made no point in trying to conceal it. That she'd made such a show over the matter instead of simply explaining her thoughts was all in her own way.

I too began to hover around the bulbous weed, humoring the eccentricity as I examined her query, " And what weed could steal the hearts of honorable men, where bread and iron could not? "

We were now facing one another, face to face, only the leaves of the pigweed standing between us. Wrestling just behind her emerald eyes was a spirit of dark amusement, a humor which reveled in sordid affairs and clever games. " Piety. "

She picked one of the leaves from it's stem and began to peel it down to it's yellow veins. " From southern traders, men have told tales of a prodigious druid - a master of mysticism, an acolyte to Dagodeiwos, a decendent of ancient heros. Midir, the young charlatan, has traveled across every sacred grove and cairn across the southlands - demonstrating before the faithful his powers as a shaman... and was recently exiled from his homelands "

My jaw losened, and I cocked my head in finally realizing her train of thought. I too had heard of the famed Midir. His reputation as a man of the gods and a powerful mage were well spoken of by those traders who had come up from the south. That his zealotry had also gotten him in trouble with several clans in and around his home was also well known. He was currently traveling around the wilderness with his flock, no lands to call his own, and no sacred grove to attend to.

With the leaf having been fully peeled down to it's veins, she let the naked thing fall from her hands - it's descent a slow glide to the dirt. " What if we were to provide him a new home in the westlands? I am sure that he would be most grateful."

Now it was my turn to catch her off guard, as I turned myself back toward the road and let out a long sigh. " Perhaps. But would could convince such a man to our side? Could I control such a zealous man after he has accomplished his task? "

I felt Conwanna's hands wrap reassuringly around my arms as we began to walk back toward the path. " You're a man of indominable strength, and sharpest wit. Never mind what ambitions one charlatan might have - for where might all of mans greed be ended with a ruthless demonstration of hard power! " I heard the malign glee in her voice, and I could not help but break the faintest smirk.

We made our way back up the road and back toward Israel. The rest of our journey was spent speaking of far more mundane subjects - though not with a single word had we lost our intensity. For us, it was not the topic which speech, rather the company. She was infatuated with my personality, and I with hers. For from this primitive girl, tens years my younger, and a stranger from all the history my own world - I had taken my first lesson in the art of soft power. For where men would not bend for bread and iron, surely he would bend for the gods?

[Hanafuridake]

Grace Kinoshita (9 years 4 months)

Aba, Okayama Prefecture
Hanamura Encampment

“Don't cut my hair too short.” I instructed the servant, who used a pair of primitive scissors to give me a hair cut before the battle to avoid the enemies having anything to grab a hold of during the fighting. It was something that I was never going to get used to, but was something which was necessary in the coming battle. I didn't even know if I would see battle, some of my commanders were worried that I could be killed or injured, which would be a serious morale blow to the Hanamura army.

Five years of waiting. It was hard to sit still while the servant girl clipped away at my hair. The soldiers of Hanazoku and associated tribes had set up camps in preparation to catch the Antuki before they could convene with their allies. The forest was not the best place to wage a battle, my tactics normally relied on a phalanx to overwhelm the enemy with a solid front. But it couldn't be helped. The scouts could not find a better area to launch the strike, and if we didn't destroy the Antuki's bands before the arrival of their brothers the Nupuri then we would have to wage a war 2:1.

It would be alright though. It wouldn't come to that. I noticed that the edge of my thumb was in my mouth, my teeth nervously chewing on dead skin. It was an annoying habit when I was under stress. No there was no need to be stressed. Napoleon had fought against worst odds, I reminded myself. He had to fight the entire continent of Europe. I just had to fight some ignorant bear worshipers.

I laughed, although it was not as confident as I thought it was. A bunch of bear worshipers who've never studied military tactics. It was ridiculous for me to be so worried. They could only hope to pose an actual threat to me because they stole the technology I had extended to Hanamura. They were just one more tribe for me to crush under the heel of my world-idea. The barber became confused by my laughing, but didn't utter a word until she finished.

Not having a mirror, I felt around my hair and nodded at the servant. It was what I wanted. A pageboy hairstyle. Well, not what I wanted, but not the worst nightmare to have on my head if I was going to face death.

“Thank you, Kanna.” she nodded her head. As she walked out of the tent, I could hear reinforcements arriving and walked outside to see them. They were... underwhelming. “Where are the rest of the Wakayama bugyō's forces.” I demanded, the captain of the company prostrated to me. “Get up. Get up! Where are the rest of your troops? Where is your commander?”

“There has been a serious plague in Wakayama my liege.” the captain replied, unsure how to react at my unexpected anger. He must have heard about me having the Inuzoku chieftains drowned and been nervous about making me upset. He was about to find out that that could be just the tip of the iceberg of my rage. “Togo-dono had to retain much of our forces to deal with relieving the populace and making sure the disease doesn't spread. He has been conducting prayers to the Buddha in the chapel, and promises that as soon as the plague ends, he will join the war.”

I screamed at him, uttering every single foul word in Japanese, Jōmon, and English that I knew. The captain practically sunk in fear that he was about to be cursed to fall dead, and the rest of the troops had become frightened as well. “Mikoto!” my commander Sumiya shouted, and I turned around to see him, my temper abated somewhat. “You can't blame Togo or his men for the disaster.”

Seeing my options, I realized that he was right, I couldn't. If I had the captain of the company executed, the rest of his men would possibly rebel, and that would spell a whole number of problems. Killing them all would result in casualties of our own and would destroy the few new assets we had. It was best to pursue the diplomatic approach at the moment. Then, later... oh later, Togo would have more than enough time to think about who it was that gave him his lands and titles when he was being executed for disobeying me.

“Of course...” I looked at the captain and apologized for my misplaced anger, although I suspect that part of him could tell that it was false because of the steel look in my eyes. “Now is not the time to fight among ourselves, we have to defeat the westward barbarians.”

---

The Battle of Okayama

Fighting started between Hanazoku and Antuki almost as soon as the sun rose, after several night skirmishes between the scouts to try and uncover weak points in the other side. Spearmen and primitive swordsmen formed the assault while the archers provided fire support. “Drive the barbarians into the sea!” one of the Hana-jin soldiers shouted, throwing his spear at an Antuki soldier. The fighting was difficult because of the thick bamboo armor which soldiers wore, making it hard to move through the forest.

Various battle cries could be heard, while the dying screamed in pain. As I walked past some of our wounded troops laying on the ground, I could hear them murmuring under their breath, “Namu Amida Butsu...” spears and arrows flew from all directions, but they paid them no mind and simply continued to chant the nembutsu vow over and over again, having accepted their imminent demise and focused solely on the next life.

I couldn't focus on the next life, not yet, not now. I wanted to join the battle. I bit my lip in anticipation, imagining when I had slayed Resak. It had ended the stand-off between me and the Nonno rebels, perhaps me joining the fight would do so again. As I seized hold of my bow, Sumiya stopped me. “We can't afford to have you put your life at risk, Mikoto.” he said, and my grip faltered when I realized that he had a point.

My teeth gritted as I heard news that the right flank had started suffering casualties. “Reinforce them with the reserves.” I ordered the captain.

“How many of the reserves?”

“I don't know just send them!”

The Antuki seem to have been more than the scouts thought there were. From what the center reported, the chieftain of the Antuki lead the front. I couldn't bear it no matter what Sumiya or the others said. I grabbed Retar's bow and ran as fast as I could toward the fighting. “Kill them, kill them all!” I shouted, firing an arrow at one of the enemy archers and catching him in the chest. The presence of their leader seem to have filled the Hana-jin armies with new hope and they fought even harder.

Still it wasn't enough. I started to become exhausted, and the flanks were giving more and more. We were going to have to retreat. Before I could issue the order, a scout ran over to me. “My liege the Nupuri have arrived!” I stopped dead in my tracks, as the newly reinforced Antuki swung into the right flank, overwhelming the already exhausted soldiers.

Everything I hoped to achieve was lost. “My liege our troops are fleeing the battlefield!” Tsunayoshi shouted, trying his best to rally his men not to break rank, but they refused to listen to him. “What a shameful display!” Nupuri and Antuki warriors appeared on almost all sides, cutting down fleeing soldiers who threw down their weapons in an attempt to get away from the onslaught.

I stared out of sheer horror as my once great army disintegrated from the sheer number of enemy troops. I couldn't think, everything was closing in, why did nothing make sense anymore. “The Buddha's have forsaken us. Everything's an illusion.” I screamed, throwing my bow down and running through the forest. The Antuki who saw me fired their arrows, perhaps not realizing who I was. The one good thing that the trees were for was blocking their arrows. But it seemed like no matter which way I turned, they were going to be there.

Finally, when it seemed I was away from them, I slid down behind a tree and sat there, taking everything that had happened in.

Hours had passed, how many, I didn't know. It could have been two or three. Tears felt like they were supposed to fall down my face, but I couldn't seem to muster them. Like my men...

As I sat behind the tree, a Nupuri warrior walked to me. He had a knife in his hands. I tried to rise, but it was no use, my mind was in a daze and my back almost felt permanently glued to the tree. So, this was how it was going to end. “I am Kinoshita no Grace,” I told the warrior. “Take my head if you dare. It's a head worth taking.” as he raised his weapon and prepared to strike, I just stared.

Suddenly, a spear went through his throat and he fell down to the ground. A boy stood behind him, twenty at most. “My liege,” Makoto said, and I realized he reminded me of someone. For the life of me, I couldn't remember whom. “Are you alright?” when I nodded my head silently, he breathed in relief. “Can you walk?” when I just silently stared at him, he offered his arm, which I seized a hold of and stood weakly. “We have to reach Toyooka. The forest is filled with our enemies.”

[Plzen]

When I returned from my day's labours - although Roskilde was prosperous enough to afford a dedicated scribe now, I'd still rather pull my weight - Ragnarr Járnsteinn Rose poked at his sister and garbled something that might charitably be considered to have some resemblance to human speech. Jórunn looked deeply irritated. She didn't say anything, though. She knew how displeased I could be when little Ragnarr got hurt, and especially when it was because his older sister dropped him. More importantly...

"Jórunn, Ragnarr," the love of my life announced his return, "Clara."

...the wrath of their father was inclined to descend upon her.

I have a second child now, and I learned my lesson from the first. This time, Raginaharjas was not going anywhere. Misery shared was, as I've cheerfully told him many times when he had to clean up after little not-potty-trained Ragnarr, put up with his constant and demanding whining, and spoon-feed him grain porridge with the infinite patience of a man desperately trying to remind himself that he really did love his son, misery halved.

A secret that I will gladly take to my grave is the fact that Ragnarr was not exactly a planned-for child. Pregnancy and childbirth were painful, traumatic events, yes, but those were no concern. My concern was that childbirth at this level of civilisation was dangerous. The contraceptives in Roskilde being what they were - that was to say, prayers and hopeful wishes - I had to be fairly creative with trying to avoid another pregnancy. Luckily for me, I paid attention in senior school health and knew a thing or two about the rhythm method of family planning.

Yes, Ragnarr was currently irritating his sister, and yes, I kind of realise what that says about the effectiveness of this method of family planning. The point is, I tried.

I will not say that it was unfortunate that it failed, however. Ragnarr was just a sweet and cuddly little child, barely a year old, now. If I thought Jórunn was affectionate when she was his age... her brother pretty much never wants to be alone. And to him "alone" means not hugging someone, climbing someone's leg, or otherwise being a nuisance.

I dare anyone to look at him and tell me he's a mistake. I dare anyone to look at that loving face and try.

Besides, things worked out well. I'm alive and healthy. Jórunn is alive and healthy. Ragnarr is alive and healthy. Things could be so much worse. As far as prosperity existed at this level of civilisation, our family had it. Compared to all the horrors that could have been and wasn't, what was the little trouble of putting up with little Ragnarr's antics? Looking at my cute little children growing up was a reward in itself.

On top of all that, for completely mysterious and unknowable reasons, it was not nearly hard to raise Ragnarr during his infancy than it was to raise Jórunn.

I pointedly ignored Raginaharjas' flat and distant stare as I fussed over little Ragnarr crying in frustration at his repeated failures to climb out of his father's arms onto his face. I'm sure that look had nothing at all to do with the aforementioned reasons. Surely.

Misery shared was misery halved, alright.

---

I've long since come to the conclusion that insofar as my mind was of value to the village, it was as a toolset, not a library. As the years passed, the more I came to realise how little I actually understood of the information-era world that I inhabited. I did not know what bog iron looked like, nor was I aware of common medical procedures or the symptoms of diseases, and I certainly did not know how to build a trireme.

What I did have was so-called "common sense." The various bits of unrelated knowledge that I've absorbed via virtue of being a functional human being of the information era, and various bits of even more unrelated knowledge that my curiosity led me to. I knew what iron was supposed to do and what it was good for, how an infectious disease swept through a population, and roughly what a wooden ship was made of and what it looked like.

What I also brought with me from my education was an array of problem-solving skills. Experimentation. Statistics. Rationalism.

It therefore did not really matter in the very long term that I didn't know how to forge steel, how to make antibiotics, or how to make a caravel. Given enough time and resources, and I would be able to figure it out. In fact, given enough time and resources, the people around me would be able to figure it out. After all, did my information-era civilisation not itself emerge out of primitive societies like the one I'm living in? I just happened to know what the right solution looked like, and could waste a little bit less effort in trying to find it.

This all came to mind as I gazed upon the first fruit - the first real and useful fruit and not the lump of iron metal I still couldn't melt down - of my new trial-and-error methods. It was a boat. A real, wooden boat with a spine and everything.

It was the result of an incredible investment of time. An investment that I could make thanks to the kindness of the village elders, who was agreeable to the idea of keeping me and my children well-fed even if I spent half my time playing my "interesting tricks" in my workshop-laboratory. I suspect that they're kind of hoping that I'll come through with another boon like the new plows I designed for them which, funnily enough, also happens to be why they have to the extra food to feed me.

What was it that futurists said, technological innovation accelerates further technological innovation? Here was an example of that.

It was good that I was afforded so much time to myself, because the challenges were very many indeed. First of all, what I wouldn't give for a nice, hardened steel saw. Wood is an absolute nightmare to work with using stone tools. I already noticed this trying to make those plows, but at least those were relatively small affairs. Trying to cut through square meters of whatever this wood is using a stone knife?

Raginaharjas tells me that there's some kind of metalworking society further south up a river. When I have a few of these boats I'm so sending him down to get me some.

Another major challenge was bending wood. The problem was ultimately simple. Trees generally tended to grow in straight cylinders. I needed my logs curved to form the shape of a boat. I didn't initially think of this as a problem. I knew that the industrial-era technique was called "steam bending" and that suggested a rather obvious solution.

Practice, it turns out, is a little harder than theory. After countless days of various setups and model kilns I gave up and just boiled the pieces of wood. To my surprise that was... somewhat effective. Good enough.

I eventually built a new, specially-shaped kiln for that. At this point my work hut - I couldn't really work at home anymore what with the clutter I was building up - was starting to look rather crowded.

Shipbuilding was, quite possibly, the most important technology that I could develop for my hosts. Maritime trade dominated the modern world because shipping by water was so much more labour-efficient than overland transport and, even if that wasn't true, Roskilde sat on an island. Ships meant trade and communication down the coast and up rivers.

An industrial society, because that is what I was building towards, requires specialisation, and specialisation requires a large population to fill many roles. There was nothing like what I would call a proper census, of course, but based on the maps that the explorers and traders of the village drew me in their travels and based on what Raginaharjas tells me about the other villages and the occasional hermit in the area, I would be very surprised if there were 20,000 people in all of what a medieval person would call Denmark. More likely there was somewhere around half that. Southwards, not that much better. Northwards, going into Sweden and Norway, the population density sounded even more depressing.

The industrial revolution drew huge populations from the countryside into new manufacturing jobs in new growing cities, and there simply was not the rural population to do that here. Sure, with better agricultural techniques no doubt the population will grow, but I wanted certain things to happen preferably before I died. Even with a population of dozens of millions and colonies around the world it was a century and a half from the steam engine to the assembly line. How much longer would it take starting from a village of two hundred on an island of maybe two thousand?

Thus, the necessity of tying together this region with the world. Commerce was the lifeblood of industry, and industry was the lifeblood of prosperity.

One creaky wooden boat at a time.

---

Roskilde, 5th year, 9th Autumn Thursday

For the first time in years, I've enabled my return to my college habit of putting dates on my notes, and all I needed to do was invent a whole new calendar system to do it. All in a day's work. No biggie.

The year will now consist of 52 weeks of 7 days each, plus either one or two winter festival days.

It's not exactly the Gregorian calendar, but then again this isn't exactly the world I grew up in. Of course, my initial instinct was to do something like that - twelve months of 28~31 days each. But that... well, I've been convinced otherwise. The most obvious concern was that the people here already knew what the month was. A month was measured from the full moon to the full moon. That was rather inconvenient to me because 365.24 day years do not partition themselves neatly into twelve lunar months. If I push forwards a Gregorian model, that would likely cause confusion, with the length of the month not being the length of the month. Alternately, I could have twelve lunar months and extra days at the end of the year. This was, however, also problematic, because that would mean that the calendar month would begin at a different time in the lunar cycle each year.

In the interests of not forcing down an odd definition of the month down the people of the north (and it still makes me feel weird to call them that), I was forced to remove from my calendar design the concept of the month. So, then, how to subdivide a year?

Well, first, seasons were the obvious and immediate solution, but that still left chunks of quarter years. "79th Summer" or "Autumn day 54" were deeply inconvenient dates to say. So I had to subdivide further. I then came to the realisation that just because I couldn't use the Gregorian month, that did not stop me from using sets of arbitrary numbers of days. The familiar week - familiar to me, that was, even if to nobody else - was to me the obvious choice. Thus, 13 weeks of spring, 13 weeks of summer, 13 weeks and a festival day of autumn, and 13 weeks of winter with leap years giving spring an extra festival day.

I wanted some auspicious origin for my new calendar, in order to make it more acceptable to the people I envisioned would be using it, so I backdated it a bit. The first day of the calendar, the 1st Spring Sunday of the 1st Year, would be the date when all the chiefs of Norðurland agreed to the Governing Records, which brought the island's people... somewhat together? Not in a blood feud with each other anymore?

I was actually fairly surprised, going back to all my notes and back-dating them, at how much time has already passed since I arrived here. By my dating I came here somewhere around year negative two - I still needed a better name for the years before year one - which meant that I've been here for something like eight and a half years. It would be my 29th birthday soon, if it hasn't already passed.

Raginaharjas didn't count his years, but based on his appearance when I first met him I'd wager he's a bit younger than I am. He was clearly more a young man than a boy, so he couldn't have been much younger than 15 or 16 when we first met - and doesn't that make me sound like a creepy old woman - but his figure did fill out a little bit more for a bit afterwards, so he couldn't have been much older than 20 or 21. That would make him at youngest 23 and at oldest 29 now. Given his prior reputation as a hunter I'd wager closer to 29 than 23. Jórunn and Ragnarr, who was not even on this world when I arrived, were already almost-six and four respectively.

Eight and a half years! A quarter of my life spent on a straw bed, without toilet paper, cut off from telecommunications, living outside of civilisation.

My youth was just about over, but I really, really could not bring myself to regret it.

Back in Canada, which no longer felt like home in my memories, I spent my days mostly alone. Stuck in my dormitory room, staring at paper or a computer screen, resigned to working a desk job for forty years after graduating and wondering if anyone would really care what I do with my life. Whereas here... all I had to do to see the difference I could make, have already made, in people's lives was to look out the door. There is an instinctive joy, I think, inherent in all humans, in seeing their fellow man prosper and be happy due in part to their efforts. Many the years may have been, but spent idle they have not.

Or I could, for that matter, look at the little cot in the corner where Jórunn, my precious little thing, was sleeping away her evening. A healthy and rowdy young child, she looked easily set to survive her childhood. Next to her napped Ragnarr... Ragnarr was more touch and go. He shares my man's boundless curiosity, but seems to share little of his boundless health and energy. Still...

A family. My family. My chest swelled at the thought and no, not in the same way that would excite Raginaharjas.

Of course, now that I have a calendar, I don't have an excuse to miss my children's birthdays anymore.

---

Roskilde, 7th year, 2nd Spring Tuesday

It has been a decade, less a month or so, since I arrived here in this strange land. In Roskilde, I had to keep reminding myself. I've done well for myself, I feel.

Raginaharjas is out hunting today. No matter how many trading and exploratory missions he captains, I think he'll remain a hunter at heart essentially for life. Despite the prosperity of the new Roskilde Ironworks - I finally figured out low temperature iron casting, thank the gods for my high school chemistry lessons - hunting remains the highest prestige occupation in Roskilde. I suppose culture is not that easy to change. To be fully fair, I'm not sure if I want it to change. The roguish young man with vastly more skill with a spear than with a woman may now be ten years older, but he's still the same Raginaharjas that I fell for. I'd be lying if I said he still looked like the day I met him, but there's still that... boyish charm and immature tinge under all his competence and kindhearted personality.

Our children are grown up enough, now, to... ahem... make themselves absent when needed.

Not today, however. Today we're down to a nice afternoon walk on the coast. I used to jog in the evenings, before the dislocation, but in the absence of electricity and street lighting we really do want to be home after twilight. And after a hard day of hauling lumber and hammering iron I'm in no mood to exercise, hence the slow walk.

Raginaharjas doesn't really understand, of course. He doesn't really get the beauty I find in the waves tapping away at the rocky shore with a slow roar as they come in and a dull hiss as they pull back out, the fading rays of orange and yellow as the sky is overtaken in ever-darkening indigo. I may have been here for ten years now, but I'm a city girl at heart. Someone acculturated to all the environmentalist romanticism in Canadian culture. The true free north, all that. As the harbour goes to sleep, small sailboats slowly rising and falling with the waves, I still find comfort and reassurance in the twilight.

I know that he's just indulging me. He doesn't see what I do. But to me, that's even more reassuring. Hair still wet from the bath I pretty much forced him into and fingers curling tightly into mine... it tells me that my company is enough cause for him to brave the evening chill at this still-cold time of year.

When I head back home, no doubt our children would have already finished their share of the food -- they could be impatient like that. Not that I can blame them, with me not exactly being in a hurry to go back and feed them. My first child and daughter, Jórunn... she grew up from an imperious and demanding toddler to an imperious and demanding child and now an imperious and demanding youth, dominating the playground and eager to weasel out of work. Just thinking about her... it makes my lips curl into a smile.

It won't stop me from trying to force literacy down her throat - no child of mine will be unable to write, darn it! - but at the moment, under the peaceful light of the dying sun I really can't be bothered to be annoyed at that.

And no doubt my son, little Ragnarr, will no doubt try and drag me off for story time. No, he really couldn't wait. No, but he was sleepy now. Like I'd fall for that after him doing it for months. Going to bed wide-awake just means more stories before he falls asleep. Bloody clever little lad. Now if only he put that keen mind to use for some purpose other than harassing me.

Ah... my pride and joy.

Tomorrow, however, I'd be leaving them behind. It'll be the first time that I left Roskilde myself in the decade that I've lived here, but even though I've long given up on going back "home," I still intend to visit the rumoured advanced settlements to the south. A good market for amber, furs, and ivory, or so Ragnaharjas tells me, and the source of the set of high-quality iron tools that even now I kept in my workshop. A node in the network of commerce that was slowly stretching across the North and Baltic Seas, partly due to Ragnarharjas' own early successes.

Considering that, I think I can afford to spoil my two children a little tonight.

Games and storytime, huh? That can be arranged.

Not bad for - to be completely technical here - a college dropout, eh?

[Mushroomio]

John Drier

Suez, Egypt

The Battle

The day has come. Today the Skullwearers, a fearsome tribe from the North, are raiding the Hetat tribe. John’s tribe. The village center is strewn with rocks and concrete, both of which is due to Drier. John, wearing armor made of homemade concrete, prepares his men for their task.

“Men. Today is the day. We can see the enemy encampment to the north, and their campfires stopped burning this morning. We have extensively trained for today, the past two days have been used to unlearn your inefficient battle tactics and replace them with mine. We will not surrender, we will not fall. Today, we will be crossing the metaphorical Rubicon. There is no looking back now. Alea iacta est, the die is cast. Grab your arms. Say your prayers. But do not say goodbye to your loved ones. You will not need to. For we are invincible! We are gods among men! We are one, and we are many. We will succeed, for we are everything. To battle positions men! Charge!”

After the rousing speech by a Civil Engineer, the men marched to their predetermined positions. A fighting force of 45 men, this army was not the largest, but they might be the fiercest. Loyalty to this outsider, who has been with them for only two years, was skyrocketing, and some even considered him to be the greater chieftain. John picked up his concrete spear, and sandbag shield. The shields were thin, around an inch thick, made of animal skins, and filled with sand or dirt. Not the best, but cheap. The spears are concrete tipped, better than mere pointy sticks. Johns’ concrete armor prohibited some movement, but with the plates tied to his body, he was very protected from the front. It was heavy, though.

The men were organized in groups, with the lowest group being of 5 men, led by a level one commander. John was still thinking of names, but they were pretty low on his priority list. The level ones were then organized in groups of 4, and led by a level two commander. John was a level three commander, commanding two level twos. His rudimentary military groups were more efficient than the unorganized mess that was the old structure. Then, while John was thinking about all of this, it happened.

When the sun started to set, a watchman set outside of the village yelled, “They are here!” The assault had begun. John looked upon the enemy, and saw that they were not as numerous as once thought, but were still something of danger. Around 30 men made up the raiding party, and they were charging down a hill to the village. Friendly warriors threw their spears, impaling some, while others kept charging. Some spears disassembled in the air, shoddy manufacturing to blame. But the spears were numerous, with John making around 50 of them. John . Then, he saw it. An enemy snuck past the line, and was headed into the village.

“The sneaky bastards are in the village!” he cried out, but only a few heard, and fewer still listened. The wild skirmish in the battlefield was taking up most of their attention. John went in alone, determined to stop this madman. He sprinted with spear in hand, searching for the lone Skullwearer.

“Help me!”

The chieftain! He was in danger! John ran much faster than he was previously running, even shedding some armor as he ran, but it was too late. The chieftain had been stabbed by the enemy’s spear, and was bleeding profusely on the floor. John and the Skullwearer stared each other down. The enemy then madly swung at John, almost jumping with every step towards him that he took. John lowered his head, determines his helmet would help him, and it did. The assailant’s wooden spear shattered upon impact, but not without dizzying John. John then kicked the enemy down to the ground, and stabbed him in the neck. He had just killed a man. The gravity of the situation dawned on him as he saw the Skullwearer on the ground, twitching and writhing in pain. John then put his face in his hands and sat down next to the dead chieftain that he had failed to protect.

When John went back to the battlefield, he saw that the Skullwearers had retreated, and were routing. A bittersweet victory. Only a few enemies survived, out of the 30 or so men that came, less than 10 left. John saw the bodies of the enemies, and of his allies. All of the men were called back into the village, and a headcount was enacted. Only two men died in the assault, dumbfounding John as he thought he would lose a lot more than that versus the enemy that was so feared. But now, John had to deal with the fact that the leader of the Hetat was now dead. John had been good friends with the chieftain, and had known his entire family. But now he was dead, by the hands of the very tribe that John was certain he would enact revenge on.

But he could not enact revenge without first becoming the new chieftain.

A few hours after

The chief had a son, who would most likely be appointed chieftain by the elders of the Hetat. John knew he had to sway elder opinion to his favor, else he be left behind in the dirt, dying of old age before he could rule the tribe.

John already had support from the military, which was prepared to fight for him until death. Loyalty to this outsider, whose skin was pale as the sand, tall as the mountains, wise as the gods, was very high in the army. If John was to fail in the political struggle that was to come, he at least took comfort in knowing that he could still lead his men.

Public opinion, however, was not as friendly. John’s new ideas, his new materials, were not respected by some of the populace. Some had even gone so far as to say he is a demon, a monster who tries to pull people down with him to the underworld. Public opinion needed to be swayed in his favor before he was to even attempt to sway the elders, as the populace would not work for a leader that they think is unworthy.

Finally, the elders. The village elders were a mysterious folk, always in their large tent near the middle of the village, never coming outside. Food and water was delivered to the council of 3, Skies, Stars, and Sun. The elders would most likely be the most difficult ones of them all to sway to John’s side, so he decided they would be last.

John stood at the village bonfire, and called for his level two commanders, Utibue and Heart. Heart was a man that was not afraid of combat, and relished in battle. He got his name from his barbaric habit of cutting open his enemy's chest and taking out their still-beating heart and throwing it at his foe’s allies. Nevertheless, he was a decent tactician, so John appointed him as a level two. Utibue was not very remarkable in battle, but he was influential in the village, and John was already friends with him from his days of being John’s gatherer in the group that the former chieftain had created four days ago. He met with them in his tent, and consulted with them on his predicament.

“I called you here for advice. I desire to become the tribe’s chieftain, and I feel as if I am the best candidate for the duties.”

“Do not worry, John. I believe that you are, indeed, the best suited for the role.” Utibue loyally proclaimed. “But I cannot say the same for the chieftain’s son, Karat. He is a wasteful man, and has no knowledge of the intricacies that comes with the chief’s job.”

Heart stayed silent on the matter, as this was out of his area of expertise.

“Thank you, Utibue. Please, try to convince the village of your ideas. I promise, if you succeed, you will be handsomely rewarded.”

“Anything for the future chieftain.”

“Heart, what say you on the matter? Please, be honest.”

“I have no quarrel with the late chieftain’s son, but I can see that you are perhaps the best commander that we have seen in years. I shall spread word to the men of your plans, and if you do fail in your quest, I will see to it that the men seize power for you.”

“Many thanks, Heart. Go see to it at once, please.”

“Of course.”

Now that his military advisors were on his side, and perhaps maybe even the people, John only had to worry about the elders. He left his own tent and entered the elders’, who looked up from the ground to stare at John.

“I had a vision that you would be here.” Sun exclaimed. “And that you would ask for our support for you to become chieftain.”

John was set back. “Y-yes. Of course. That is why I have come here. What are your views on the matter?”

Stars spoke up, “I, for one, believe that you will not bring peace to the tribe. You are a warmonger, a brutal leader.”

Again, John was taken aback. A warmonger? He believed he would do no such thing. A brutal leader? He was fair and just in his dealings!

“You do not have my support.” Stars said, her head then looking to the floor once more.

“You do not have my support.” Suns said, his head dropping as Stars’ was.

“You have my support.” Skies said, unexpectedly. “I see that times are changing, and we need to keep up with the times. Maybe a warmonger will not be so bad. Maybe, just maybe, through war…”

“There is peace.” John said. “Pax per bellum.”

“If that is what it means, yes.”

John walked out of the tent, slightly defeated, as most of the elders did not support him. But he knew from his time in the tribe that the elders need to all agree on one person, and Skies would not support Karat if he supported John.

John was in his tent, resting for the night when Karat entered the tent.

“Get out.” John said coldly.

“I mean you no harm.” Karat coolly stated. “I just wish to… talk.”

Thoughts were running through John’s head, and he tensed up slightly. Why the pause? “Then let us talk. What do you wish to speak about?”

“I wish to discuss your… attempt on seizing power within our tribe.”

Of course. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t act stupid, John. I realize what’s going on. I have half a mind to kill you.” Karat said, his voice raising. Then, he cooled down to the tone he had when he came in. “But I won’t. I will not succumb to your influence, you demon.”

There it is again. Why does everyone think that he is a warmonger murderer? A demon? “I will not tolerate that slander. Leave at once, else you leave with a new accessory in your neck.”

“I will be watching you. My father would never have allowed you to become chieftain, and I will follow in his footsteps. Watch your back, fool.”

And with that, Karat left the tent. John got up and, when he was certain Karat left, went to visit his closest advisors and friends once more.

“Utibue,” he said as he got to his tent. “I need to speak with you.”

“Of course, John.” Utibue responded from inside. “Come in.”

John went inside and saw Utibue sharpening his concrete spear with a rock. “It is Karat. He came to my tent and threatened me.”

“As I thought. Karat is very hot headed, and cannot be trusted. But he is also powerful, so heed his warnings. The son of the old chieftain, Karat is politically connected with the elders and will most likely be proclaimed as the new chieftain. He knows this, explaining his arrogance.”

“He will not be the new chief. Elder Skies has shown me his support.”

Utibue was taken aback. “What? Skies is the most conservative elder, how did you sway him?”

“I didn’t. He just said that maybe peace may come through me as the chieftain.”

“What of the others?”

“No. They stay loyal to Karat.”

“Of course.”

“He must be dealt with. We need to take action!” John said.

“What do you have in mind?”

“He needs to…” John then trailed off, thinking about what he needs to say next. He wasn’t a murderer after all.

“I understand, say no more.”

“Huh?”

But before John could ask what Utibue meant by that, his friend was already gone. John followed Utibue, and asked him what he was doing.

“I’ll gather the men. We shall make things right.”

John was startled, but not opposed to the idea. If everyone was to call him a warmonger, after all, maybe, just maybe, he could prove them right. What was he thinking, he is a good person!

But he did kill a man.

John’s conflicting thoughts ran through his head while following Utibue. By the time John snapped back to reality, there were a band of 10 men in front of him, including Utibue.

“Are you ready, my liege?” Utibue asked.

John was still thinking, but then he said something he never expected he would say.

“Yes.”

The men, torches lit, spears in hand, went to Karat’s tent. Inside it was Karat having sex with a woman of the village, and she quickly covered up and ran.

“Karat. John is the new chieftain. You must leave at once, or die.” Utibue said.

“I knew it would come to this. I will not be dishonored be starving in the desert.”

“So be it.”

Karat was stabbed, impaled, and killed quickly. He did not even get a chance to cry out in pain as the spears went through his head. With Karat, the only other candidate for chief, dead, John would be the chief. But if the elders knew Karat was killed, John would surely be denounced as a murderer. They had to hide the body.

After the bonfire had a new form of kindling in it, John was feeling sick to his stomach.

He had just killed another man. He had not pulled the metaphorical trigger, but he was an accessory to murder. Being chief of the tribe was little comfort to him, as his hands were forever stained with the blood of Karat.

4 days after...

He was walking to Utibue’s tent once more to consult him yet again, when a coppery smell hit John’s nostrils. Fearing the worst, he quickly head to Utibue’s tent, and there he found the body of his best friend. His throat was slit open, his blood spilling out onto the sand below.

Who could have done this?

John felt something snap inside of him. He no longer cared for trivial things such as morals. No longer cared for the guilt he felt after the killings. Utibue was dead.

Utibue was dead.

And his murderer is still in the village.

John rounded up all of the people in the village, and went one by one asking them of Karat. Some said that he should’ve been chieftain, others said he was a snake. Others still, wisely, said that Karat was nothing compared to John. All who said he should’ve become chieftain, 20 people, men and women, were herded far out of the village. They were burnt at the stake after starving for days, and John made sure there were no survivors.

Next, John rounded up his men, a fighting force of 46, and led them out towards the Skullwearer village. After a week of marching, they were there. The Skullwearer village was surrounded by a wall of dirt, and skulls on spikes were strewn about here and there. John cared little for the aesthetic.

He, alongside 4 guards, walked into the village. John demanded to speak to the village leader, Crossbones, at once. After Crossbones appeared, with 6 guards to John’s 4, John discussed his plans with him.

“You will join us, else you die.”

“After what you did to us at your village?”

“You will join us. Else. You. Die.”

“No! I will not surrender!”

“Have it your way. I’ll see you soon, buddy.”

John walked out of the village, back to his army.

“Heart.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Surround the village. Burn all crops you see, and do not let any water or food into the village. Let’s see how long they last.”

[Bortslovakia]

Patrick Kolman: Dublin; Ireland- 2990 BCE Year Ten, January 20th
Snow Day

It's amazing how in spite of being possibly the largest settlement in Western Europe, the snow always made things feel quiet in the early morning. Of course that quiet would only last so long as people stayed indoors, but after another year of plentiful food, the smoke coming from every chimney told me that the majority were enjoying a comfortable breakfast by the fire before worrying about the matters of today. Sipping from my cup, I idly savored the taste of hot cider topped with a sort of strawberry preserve (The berries looked a bit like strawberry, tasted similar, and didn't kill the first person to try them). A plate of mixed roasted nuts, and a small wedge of cheese sat on a simple wooden plate next to the window sill. Ten years ago I'd have called my current morning meal basic. The kind of thing that, though different, would have been the type of rustic breakfast more appropriate for camping than everyday life. Here it was practically a luxury, even after ten years. Fitting for another birthday in this primitive... place? I haven't decided if it's utopian or dystopian yet. Depends entirely on the person I suppose.

Silently I pulled a chair up to the window. I suppose my little cottage was more on the utopian side these days. From a glorified hut on a hill with a cot, table, and bench, my little place of respite from the annoyances of governance had evolved to boast only the most modern of accommodations. A fireplace, stovetop, cupboard, padded rocking chair, small couch, fully stocked kitchen, wash basin, and even a separate bedroom. Truly the height of luxury... though complaining aside, it was the nicest single occupant house in town. Plus making a lot of the furniture (well, the guest chairs at any rate) had been a good excuse to keep up on my lashing. I was especially thankful for the separate stove and fireplace this time of year. Just looking up at the sky, I could tell there would be heavy snowfall at some point today. The sky, even in the minimal predawn light, was just too dark and grey to mean otherwise. That, and a stable flurry had been going on for close to an hour now. I knew that such weather killed with little difficulty these days, but I had grown up loving storms. Especially blizzards. Whether that be from atmosphere, or just the extra effort put into feeling cozy. Regardless, it wasn't too bad yet. At least not for the familiar black haired woman making her way up my front walk, bundled though she may be. Aileas, daughter of Finnean, elder sister of Guirmean, former High Queen of the Hibernian League, now my adviser and one of several student. Also perhaps the most intelligent person I had ever met. Opening the door, I quickly ushered her in, "A bit early to start yelling at each other about stockpiles, and or metaphysics. What brings you to my humble abode on this soon to be terrible day?"

"A good morning to you too" Aileas dryly responded, "but today our conversations will likely be exclusively of governmental nature. Sibéal informs me that if this weather persists, we may need to push back the expedition to Mann until late April. From there we should be able to establish a foothold for trade with the locals and make year round trips, but until such a time it would be too risky to leave in anything but ideal weather. Beyond that our food supplies are stable. Rot hasn't taken Drogheda's barley crop this year now that the storehouse has been expanded to accommodate the larger fields, and their cattle herd should be self sustaining come two summers from now. The lord of Faron has appointed a new delegate since the last ones unfortunate death, but on the bright side said delegate appears to be pro monarchist. It is possible that Faron will be up for grabs in a years time."

Absently I grabbed my food, and motioned towards a chair by the fire, dragging my own away from the window, "Faron might be enough, but I'd rather not rest my chances on one border village's vote. That's a problem for after winter though. We still haven't received that shipment of tin from Wicklow, and the stockpiles are running low"

"We actually received it only an hour ago. Half of it that is. It appears that the usual locations the miners visit may be, as you have put it in the past, drying up. The foreman has already started sending out prospectors, but it is possible that we may need to advance the timetable for annexing Killarney in order to keep up with the demand for bronze."

"I see... the faster we transition from bronze to iron or steel the better. We're fine on copper, but iron appears just as common. Tin is becoming an unnecessary bottleneck. What about the new neighborhood?"

"Ciaran is having his sons, and a few helpers finish the last two houses. The other three families have already moved out of their temporary camps outside of town."

"Good. I'll speak to the council about finding lodging for the other two families in the village proper before it gets too bad out weather wise. Bonfire or no, those camps aren't designed to house people during a blizzard."

Leaning back in my chair, I waited a moment for any more information before motioning to my cup of cider, "Business concluded, perhaps we can spend a moment on Voltaire? I have more cider and preserve if you'd like"

Aileas seemed to consider the proposal for a moment (though I was fully aware that she had been looking for an excuse to rant about how Candide seemed an awfully cynical work for about a week now) before nodding her head in affirmation. Standing, I walked over to my primitive kitchen and, pulling a weathered mug from the cupboard, set about preparing the drink. My own mug beside me provided a small amount of warm solace while I worked in the otherwise cold morning.... increasingly cold morning. Glancing over at my window, I sighed. Not only had the snow picked up, but the wind had as well. "...Nevermind. It seems the storm intends to hit sooner rather than later, and we both have work to do like everyone else. And here I thought I liked the snow"

[Mushroomio]

John Drier

Suez, Egypt

Day 6 of the siege on the Skullwearers

The siege of the Skullwearer village is reaching its breaking point. John’s soldiers were not prepared for such a long siege, and most were hungry. But so were the Skullwearers, even more so in fact. John knew both of this, and speaks to his second in command about this.

“Heart, we need to attack now. The men are starving, but so are the Skullwearers.”

“Sir, my apologies, but attacking on an empty stomach would be suicide.”

“So would defending.”

“We need food in our stomachs before we can attack.”

“Fine.” John sighed, exasperatingly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

John was pondering on how they could feed the army, when a disgusting thought came to his mind. One so wicked that it could either make or break the siege. But it was their only chance. The Skullwearers have no more food, but there were still Skullwearers in the village.

John gathered up the men, feeling sick to his stomach. He would go with 10 men, and the covert operation must not be found out by anyone at any cost. Heart was among the group, as was his best warriors. John briefed them on their task at hand. Everyone except Heart looked uneasy, not comfortable at all with their task. They were reminded of their loyalty to John, and slowly became more agreeable with the plan. They were to wait at night, and then enter the village under the cover of darkness. Kill the guards at the village gates, then sneak into the village square and enact his plan.

That night, John gathered up his group and snuck into the village, unbeknownst to the guards. They threw the spears into the unsuspecting guard’s bodies, and then kept sneaking to the village huts. The huts were made of mud and sand, nothing too advanced, but certainly more cozy than the tents back home. John admired the craftsmanship on the huts, and silently thought of how this would be his next base of operations once the Skullwearers were dealt with. John then saw his prize: a hut with inhabitants in it. The animal skin forming a makeshift door was pushed aside, and the inhabitants’ mouths were held shut and were carried off outside the village. 4 people were taken, a man, two women, and a child. John was not so sure about the 5 year old boy, so he ordered the boy to be saved. After the three remaining adults were tied up and gagged, John waited until the day to tell the village of his capturing of the three people. He went in, same group, and told Crossbones of his hostages.

“I have some of your people. One man and two women. A child was also taken, but he is safe. Let us end the siege now and you will be assimilated with us, or the hostages will die.”

Crossbones sat down, and put his head in his hands. He threw the necklace of human skulls off of his neck and crushed every skull there was on it. “My ancestors were in those skulls. Their skulls were worn around my neck. But today, I have disgraced them, and I have just set them free of this realm so that they will not see my defeat.”

“So, you surrender?”

“I suppose. Do what you must.”

John felt elated, but also guilty. He had just taken hostages. He was no better than the terrorists that he so despised when he was back home. He was just some warlord in Egypt.

“Sir, what do we do with the warriors of the Skullwearers?”


John turned to Heart, who was obediently awaiting his orders.

“Let them join our ranks. They have no quarrel anymore with us. And we will execute Crossbones. YOU’RE A TERRORIST! NOT ME! YOU!” he screamed at the top of his lungs to a very confused Crossbones, in English “YOU’RE THE WARLORD, NOT ME!”

Both Heart and Crossbones were confused that John was speaking this foreign language, and screaming it to a defeated chieftain, no less.

“John, calm down. You need a rest.”

“Get the hell off me. I don’t need a damned rest, I need revenge.”

“As you wish.”

The inhabitants of the village were picked at random to either be soldiers for the new army John was creating, or workers for the war machine.



John moved some villagers from their old village, years old and their home, to the village of the Skullwearers, their rivals. But the Hetat knew better than to tempt John. They saw how Crossbones was strung up in front of the village gate, slowly dying of dehydration on a tree.

The ‘workers’ were taught how to make concrete, where to find limestone, and how to mold the rough desert sand into molds. The sand was to be wet with water and shaped into the desired mold, and then filled with wet concrete. The resulting spearhead would be rough and brittle, but it was relatively cheap and easy to create. Armor, however, is a whole nother beast. John designed a box that would be used to make helmets, and it was shaped like a circle with a semi-sphere in the middle. The semi-sphere is made of sand, and big enough that the person’s head will fit in the helmet. The concrete is poured, and the helmet is made. The face hole is cut out with big rocks, and then issued to whomever it is for. Other concrete armor is much simpler, being mere plates tied to the person’s body by sinews or animal skin. John was thinking about designing a shield of concrete, but did not as he did not have enough limestone to make enough shields. He was running low on armor in the first place, as only him and Heart have the armor. He needed more limestone, and he knew just how to get a large supply.

The workers were gathered and split into groups of 10. With the population of workers being around 100, 10 groups of 10 were made and each commanded by a soldier in the army. All 10 soldiers were commanded by John, of course, who had the excess workers made into spearhead creators.

The workers were marched a few miles north and then, with their bare hands, dug into the ground. When they hit stone, they were ordered to grab large rocks and break apart the stone. The workers dug a few feet below the surface, taking around 6 hours, before they were allowed to rest.

The next day, they dug some more, this time going deeper. John ordered 50 to mine in a circle, only digging out the edges. The other 50 were to do the same, except to do it in the ground to make the hole deeper. Once the quarry was around 50 feet wide, the workers rested. Day after day the quarry grew larger, until it was around 15 feet deep. At the end of that day, the workers were told to carry the rocks back home and then they would rest again. They did, and they had a feast of cow and bull.

John did not care for the feast, but they had a large amount of stone to break apart and see if there is any useful elements in there. The largest stones were broken, and John was delighted to find that they were not mining stone, for they were mining chalk instead.

“Of course, that explains why we could mine it with rocks.”

“John.”

He turned around to see Tetre, another one of his old friends from the chieftain days, standing behind him.

“Ah, yes. Tetre, good to see you again, my friend.”

“Likewise. But I did not come here to reminisce. We need to set up trade routes with other civilizations, as they have materials that we could only dream of.”

“Pray tell?”

“Egypt, to the West, has a lot of limestone we could use for our concrete, for starters.”

“What do we have that we could trade? We have nothing but our concrete, and I will not share that with anybody. It is our secret.”

“We will find a way, my liege. Do not fret.”

“I hope you are correct. I will get to building the carts for your journey immediately.”

With Heart his military advisor, and Tetre his economic advisor, John was feeling very comfortable. But his lands were small, and his resources little. He needed more.

More land.

More workers.

More resources.

More power.

He needed it all.



John got to work building, and he built a grindstone. A few hours later, the grindstone station was complete with a concrete grindstone spinning with foot pedals. ‘Our spears will be sharper with this’ he thought. Indeed they were, and the soldiers were pleasantly surprised to have their weapons upgraded so soon after they had originally gotten them.

John then gathered his new fighting force, a force of around 100 men including the Skullwearer warriors he had… convinced to be a part of him. They were all equipped with 4 spears, the spears being carried on their back with animal skin straps to hold them in place. Helmets were quickly made for all warriors, and the plates were distributed to be placed on the wearer’s body as they chose fit. Most put the plates near their heart, chest, and abdomen, so their mobility is not decreased. The plates were generally a few inches long, and roughly square. Shields were now made of concrete, and half an inch thick. The molds were simple enough to make, and animal skin was wrapped around the circle so that it could be held. If the skin was cut, the shield would fall, but that was not John’s concern right now.

A new dawn

His army marched out of the village at dawn, and marched west, where a few tribes were said to be living at. John saw a target, a small, undefended village with around two dozen members. The army head over, plundered the village, and took all there as workers or soldiers. John realized that he could not be some tribesman pillaging villages forever. He needed a name for himself. He needed a name for his people. He needed a name for his empire.

And so, at the village that he just plundered and raided, John set forth a new dawn for himself. His army marched home, feasted, and John rested that night, with the happy cheers of his people, and the terrified whispers of the new workers, and the thought of his new life sitting comfortably in his mind.

His new empire.

The Empire of Desertia.



It was not a big empire, by any stretch of the word, but it was his. Spanning a few miles across, it was not even a blip on the radar for anyone not in its sphere of influence. But it was his empire, it was John’s empire. His army was prepared once more to go and raid villages, and so they marched. Off they went, and pillage they did. They incorporated more villages and random tribes, most of them being very small and around only 4 or 5 houses. But still, they had land that was now Desertian. Desertia stretched from the Skullwearer village all the way to where the Suez Canal would’ve been (John did not yet know of the Suez’s disappearance). When the army grew to around 125 men, John went northbound again, but the next village he saw was not like the others. It had a wall, like the former Skullwearers’ had, but it was made of wood. The village looked to be rather large, and John could see no farms outside of it, meaning there must be farms inside the walls. This was going to be difficult. He needed to prepare.

He ordered Tetre to ask the Egyptians for any dogs, as he would also need them. He sent some food pillaged from villages with Tetre, who went off to exchange them for dogs. War dogs would be very useful for the upcoming battle.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Part 3, Chapter 2: Smoking Blood

April 3rd, 10 AG

I crouched low as the column exited the treeline, trying to buy a few moments before the besiegers noticed my presence. Around me the men of the First crept forward almost bent double, following my lead. Bright eyes glinted and stern hands gripped weapons, harsh breath catching in throats as the suspense of the seconds before combat forced adrenaline into the veins of the warriors. My own hands were taut, sinews wound tight around the body of the bow and the black-fletched shaft ready to notch.

They hadn't noticed the watchman missing yet. Probably too focused on their little skirmish with the palisade, desultory volleys of arrows flung against the stout wooden ramparts which protected Avelheim.

"Brennigan's men still hold the gate." came the whisper at my side, an unfamiliar voice. Technically I knew the voice, actually, but Ultar's throat wound last campaigning season had changed the shape of his vocalizations. It was hard to get used to. I still started when he spoke out of the darkness.

"He is too stubborn for his own good. There was no need to wait for us. And that'll have let the Havars know something is unusual. I hope they don't suspect reinforcements."

The burly northman's shoulders moved in what was an eloquent shrug, saying nothing and just enough at the same time. My second was right. If they knew they were coming, they could hardly do much different than they were now. My quick count put about a hundred men between us and the light line of stakes that barred the entrance to the settlement - not that they could pull more from the walls without a sally overthrowing their attempts at a proper siege.

"Alright. Let's get this done."

Down my visor came with a barely audible click, and behind me the faint noises of the other men preparing could be heard. Crossbows pulled taut, gauntleted hands shifting on weapons, joints of armor creaking. The faceplate of my suit obscured a solid half of my vision, due to the curtailed height of the slit, but it was an acceptable compromise. It wasn't an addition I had wanted to make, until two men of the Fourth took arrows under the forehead-crown and were dead before the doctors got to them. That hurt. Skilled men were difficult to replace. And so, welded visors. Most of the Great Companies still fought without them, since not every man believed the sacrifice in peripheral vision worthwhile. But, that was their choice. Me, I liked my eyes, and not bleeding into my brain.

"Hurrah!"

It wasn't much of a warcry. More an announcement of intent? But it sounded less pompous and ridiculous than "For the Imperium!" as I knew some of the other commanders enjoyed shouting. Other men sometimes even shouted "For the Hegemon!", mainly those I hadn't trained directly, who held my position and person in a sort of mythical reverence. Strange what distance and strangeness could do to very logical persons, set to a background of superstition. The First knew better, luckily. It would have been damnably awkward if anyone here fought with that shout on their lips, and then saw me slip on a pile of pigshit to take a nose-dive into a grassy tussock, as I had done only a month before today.

But hurrah was enough. Men of the Great Company winded lowing horns, and half of the company rose as one. I stretched the bow neatly back to my ear, a half-breath for aiming, and then barked the command. The sound of bowstrings hummed even before the echos of the horns in the woodland at our backs had faded, and I grunted in satisfaction at seeing black and grey-fletched shafts sprout from the distant forms of the brigands - a dozen at least toppling or falling with distant howls.

That was something the woodsmen of this part of Romania? didn't count on when they ran into our patrols. Which had recently had to be stepped up, for a variety of reasons. A bowman with uncommonly quick reflexes who has practiced for most of his life could put a half dozen aimed shafts into a formation in a minute. A crossbowman firing a repeater could do nearly double that, though at distinctly lower velocities. Against raiders with linen shirts and furs for armor, maybe leather if they were lucky, that difference in velocity didn't matter. The lever action of the repeater imparted enough potential energy to get a solid six inches of penetration into lightly armored targets, and I hadn't met a man yet who could keep up a charge with a bolt buried that six inches into his chest or leg.

Bellowed warcries marked the response to the initial volley, and to their credit, the raiders took cover uncommonly fast. Perhaps there were a few veterans in their midst, who understood that standing and trying to answer volley fire from an Imperial formation was only a quicker way to embrace the grave than most. When Ultar barked the order for the second rank to add their weight to the butchery, only a paltry handful of the bolts found their mark.

It was enough though. Even as I lowered my bow, handing it to my armorbearer and drawing the bastard sword from my waist to close, the gates of Avelheim opened. With the attention of the interlopers on the relief formation, and not the city itself, Varian Brennigan managed to sally with no small degree of success. Of course, from across the outlying field I couldn't make out many details, but the melee was short and sharp, and in the time it took the First to trudge halfway to the city along the dirt farm track that was at hand the raiders were all fleeing southward, leaving their dead and wounded behind.

I waved the two company sawbones forward as we approached the battered but smiling defenders. Not for their wounded - Brennigan's Outlookers had their own man who seemed to have bandaged up anyone who needed it, at least - but for the few men who looked like they might be capable of living through their wounds who bore the marked scarlet pelts of the Romanian woodsmen. A virtue which had at first drawn strong protests from the men of Mara, Himtalas, and Myurg; why waste valuable expertise and time on ungrateful outlanders? But it was a policy which, to my mind, was slowly paying dividends. I knew already of a few doctors in training who had come tribes that would have otherwise been thoroughly apathetic about the Imperium's ideals, who knew men that had been patched up after a skirmish to come home to their wives and children.

They swore oaths, of course, before we let them go. I had executed a few men myself after they were caught in arms twice. That never felt good, having a trust repaid. But not every man upon the face of this ancient earth had a good heart. If anything, though, it was surprising how well the tribals stuck to such vows. This was a time of promises, and sacred homages and bonds, unlike my own time where such things were more commonly discarded than held to.

"You certainly took your time in coming, Commander." harrumphed Brennigan. I had never met him before, personally, but the reputation of the black-haired wildman in front of me was formidable. His face spoke the lie to his haughty words, thankfully, which seemed grateful for our swift response. Only three days since the rider had first come into Ma Ameda, and already the relief had come.

"I just wish we could have been quicker." I nodded, one of my light leather-gloved hands taking in the marks of fire in some of the wheatfields, and the charred corpses of farmhouses and dwellings near to the wall that my eyes had picked out on our walk in to the palisade.

Another eloquent shrug, this time from a man as southern as any in the Imperium. I smiled internally, careful not to let the mirth show. It would be awkward to explain to this proud warrior that my second called such motions Northern pride, and would view his use of the affectation as disconcerting. I looked forward to teasing Ultar about the similarities at mess, but here decorum had to rule.

"Soon enough. A few homes will be rebuilt by winter with ease, and the crop is plentiful enough. There is game to supplement what we lost, certainly."

Into the city we passed at those words, enough said for what had to be said. It was a curious thing, the increasing tensions here along the wash of the Danube. As we ate and supped, more enlightenment came to mind. There were food shortages here in the south, which the settlers, tribes, and local inductees were making up with widespread hunting. Too little grain coming down the river from the major cities, too few vegetables and salted meats to hold over through wintertime - thus the tensions over hunting which had flared up into desultory raiding and pillaging.

It was a cost that I had anticipated, though not the scale that was becoming clear. Too many hands taken away from subsistence agriculture, chasing too little food with coin and services, were driving shortages of goods and nutrition for the poorest. Skilled artisanship was increasing rapidly, with my very deliberate encouragement, but agricultural production was beginning to lag behind the numbers necessary to support growing urban centers. That was the big picture view, of course. On the small scale, people in the south found food expensive compared to their wages, and so were supplementing the supplies from farming and trading with widespread ranging. And that drove geopolitical clashes.

Anticipated, yes. But the solution would be a bit more knotty that I had hoped, it seemed. Ploughs were excellent. Beasts of burden, likewise. Crop rotation, fertilization, seed selection - excellent, excellent, excellent. But a half-generation was not enough time for those techniques to really proliferate, and the drain that was better standards of living and education, protection, luxuries in the growing cities, it had outpaced the better techniques.

That night I slept poorly, mind whirling like the stars overhead with thoughts of how to address this issue. I had seen it coming. Natalya had seen it coming. But the scale of its arrival was far greater than even I had thought would be the case.

Damnation.

[Hanafuridake]

Grace Kinoshita (9 years 5 months)

Toyooka, Hyōgo Prefecture

The palace of Toyooka was quieter than it normally was. There were not even whispers among the councilors, just dreaded silence. As Ruyanpe sat silently in a different room, Makoto entered. He turned around and closed the door, so not to be overheard. “Is she alright?” he asked, his tone was an attempt to sound monotonous, but breaking under the stress that all conspirators endure.

Ruyanpe didn't answer immediately, waiting a few moments to make sure there was no one outside eavesdropping. “She's stunned,” she finally replied. The two of them stood in silence for a few more minutes before Ruyanpe continued. “It's hard for me to make her eat, she doesn't want to do anything but lay in bed and sob. I don't think she was prepared for this defeat.”

“The more time that she remains like that, Susam gains influence.” Makoto whispered, looking behind him and checking outside to make sure no one was listening. “All of the men on the council are bought by him. Her Majesty is more helpless than an infant if he chooses to strike.” Ruyanpe's hand stiffened, as she thought to herself about the danger that Grace was in. “Are the others prepared?”

“Masayoshi is in charge of making sure that the daggers will reach everyone.” Ruyanpe stated, thinking to herself about how they were going to proceed with the plan. “We have to have faith.”

Makoto nodded his head. “That's good, I trust Masayoshi.” he remembered the two of them when they were children, before the arrival of the world traveler who changed their tribe and gave them the names they had today. “But we can't afford not to check every single detail. One slip, and it's over for us.” he turned around and exited the room, leaving Ruyanpe to think to herself.

[UniversalCommons]

Year 10 Month 4

Metallurgy and Horses
Victor Spear looked at the lump of slag from the copper mines. It had iron in it, but they could not melt it. They had succeeded in finding iron, but could not forge it. The kilns and furnaces they had could not melt it properly even though they had charcoal. When they did partially melt iron, it became brittle. In time, they would be able to work it. No other tribe in the area could forge iron. Only the Egyptians could melt and forge sky iron and they were not about to divulge the secret of how they melted it into daggers. Meteoric iron was worth more than gold and had symbolic power for whoever held it. He picked up the piece of meteoric iron they had purchased at Varna. They had traded gold bars, spices, jewelry, and medicine to get it.

The traders had found alloys of copper. He had rings on his fingers made of copper and gold alloy. Copper and silver alloy made lovely cups. The alloys would make lovely jewelry. They had also found brass making in the Aegean. Brass also had a lovely ring to it in musical instruments like cymbals. It did not rust and would help protect the ships owned by Oak. It was not iron though.

The ships had made it further into the black sea. They had not found horses. However, they heard that if they traveled inland they might be able to get horses. The tribesmen were fierce from what he heard on the shores of the black sea. They would as likely trade with you as kill you. It was not a total loss they had brought back tallow, coal, linseed oil, and some new spices and seeds.

Right now, they were breeding oxen to pull carts and ploughs. Making them big and strong.

Mathematics

Victor Spear had called together the Council of Wise to announce his project for a math book that would survey current mathematics. Victor Spear was writing in his notebook. He dipped his reed pen in black ink writing carefully of his experience. Scorylo had been helpful. He was interested in mathematics and one of his assistant builders seemed to be very good at geometry and surveying. They had recently translated the Egyptian text on mathematics, a Sumerian guide to mathematics, and gathered some of the priests and priestesses writings on astronomy from the Great Goddess. His goal was to make a basic overview of mathematics to create a more logical and scientific outlook of the world. With the writings he had collected on the natural world, he hoped to create a more scientific mindset.

The project would start by compiling arithmetic, then different formulas like square roots, calendar calculations, measurements, and calculations for volume and other calculations into one place. There was no algebra, so they would have to call it calculations. Then they would gather what was known on geometry looking at surveying and building to describe how geometry was used. It was clear that a lot of math had been handed down orally and was not written down. In addition, they would ask the merchants to describe how math was used for weights and measures, accounting, and counting goods.

Victor Spear thought they had done a good job tracking their goods, but wanted a review, an audit of what Oak owned as well as a count of the people, animals, and goods in Oak.

Military

Victor Spear looked out at the lined up men from Gymnasium and Academy of Oak. Zia and Diaghis were walking up and down a line of men inspecting them to make sure their armor were neat and clean. Diaghis took a spear from one of the men and said, "Clean this, it is not up to standards. You will run on the sand for two extra miles today." Zia looked at another soldier, stepped back and nodded then went to the next warrior.

Diaghis stepped away from the men standing in front of them, "Pay attention today. You are our finest men. Oak has the finest warriors in the world. We are strong, disciplined, and can fight anyone. Be proud, you are warriors now. Each of you will be given the shield of oak. I have chosen Nikos to be your commander. You are a ten, brothers in arms." Zia gives each warrior a shield with an oak tree and wolf and a leather cloak with an Oak Tree on it. Zia says simply, "Welcome sworn brothers." Nikos is given a helmet shaped like a wolf and bronze muscle cuirass. They bend their knees and swear to protect Oak for the rest of their days.

Victor Spear could see the standards of the Nestos League painted on the walls of the Gymnasium and Academy of Oak, the Badger of Alec's fortress, the Dolphin of Abdera, the hill of Plovdiv, and the Oak and Wolf of Oak.

He went to look at the practice yard. Warriors were practicing with the spear, bladed spear, bow, sickle, sling, sword, and mace. He watched as a man tried out the new staff sling. A small group of men was practicing throwing baseball size stone balls and small clay jars with the staff sling.

Agriculture

There had been a surplus with agriculture. This had attracted more farmers to come to Oak. Also, several small farming settlements had expressed a desire to join Oak as well as the towns of Sandanski and Petrah on the river Struma. Sandanski was known for producing excellent wine and having hot springs which people bathed in. They were on the opposite side of the Tribal Alliance. They desired greater prosperity and access to trade with the Nestos League.

Penelope and Victor Spear had started experimenting with agroforestry. They had invited tribesmen from the Tribal Alliance to help them identify new crops from the forest. This was a form of diplomacy. They spread mushroom seeds, berry seeds, planted tubers, and medicinal plants in the forests around Oak, noting their locations. They would be gathered during the next season from the forests.

Den had come back riding a huge ox with a variety of seeds and plants including St. John's Wort, Marjoram, eggplant, and millet to add to the gardens of Oak. He planted some of the plants in the groves as companion plants to the trees in Oak. Den discussed the idea of preventing erosion with Victor Spear. They spread seed for grass and bushes and planted shade trees on the river banks to prevent erosion.

A few traders from Egypt had made it far north and brought linen and cotton as well as cotton seeds for trade. They traded for copper and the new copper gold alloy.

[Plzen]

It was the first time that I was leaving Roskilde in ten years, and as such the elders of the north wanted to get the most out of me on this voyage. Thus, it was with some degree of impatience that I stepped forwards towards the first destination of our journey in what would later be called Raumaríki with metal trinkets in hand. The Roskilde council was very interested in expanding the power of the Records out ever further into the lands of our commercial partners, lusting after the wealth, meager as they might have been, that was coming into the village thanks to the town's ever-expanding grasp on maritime commerce.

The tribal leaders of the area were proving... resistant, however. They demanded to see the fabled "knowledge lady" before they put their agreement on any foreign law. Since I was steadfast in refusing to craft more than the most basic of iron-casted weapons, that being a pandora's box I had no desire to open any earlier than I needed to, the chiefs of the north could not just intimidate their neighbours into compliance the way they no doubt wished to.

It would be decades more if not centuries, I suspect, before an organised and permanent peace becomes the default and accepted state of international relations up in this area. I was trying my best making sure everyone understood the spirit of the Governing Records, but I could only hope that the rumoured metalworking societies to the south were more peaceful in their diplomacy. Peace generally went hand in hand with a greater degree of technological sophistication, economic prosperity, and therefore interdependence, but that was not necessarily always true. It is an often-quoted although not unambiguously true fact that the most scientifically sophisticated nation at the dawn of the Second World War was the Germans.

The stout little metal cylinders, stamped with a stylised symbol of a raven, jingled in my pockets. Although I hesitate to call them coinage, since they were still very few in number and a long way from holding the status of currency, they were a good prestige symbol to grease palms with. They made for excellent bribes to grease palms in, and more than one signatory to the Records could be credited to my ability to satisfy the powerful and wealthy's desire to show off all their power and wealth. Shiny metals were apparently quite impressive to these folk.

"...and may I present my partner and woman," Ragnarharjas finished his introductions, gently presenting me before the elders of this particular village, "Clara Rose."

Smile for the camera, I told myself. Smile, and ignore the lecherous stare the third man from the right was clearly giving me... pretend you saw nothing and just hand the gifts over.

One thing I definitely have more of than I did ten years ago, without a doubt, is patience.

---

The town's harbour - and it clearly was a harbour, not just a pier or two - rivaled Roskilde's own, although the ships that were docked to it were not. The ship we were on were unremarkable, the general lack of lock infrastructure on the Elbe meant that a larger ship was impossible to sail upriver, but the latest craft I've designed back in Roskilde dwarfed any on these dockyards in both size and sophistication.

The closer I sailed to Mara, the more it began to dawn on me that my initial suspicious that Raginaharjas may have been exaggerating the capabilities of these people were completely unfounded. The first thing I noticed - the first thing, that is, other than the vaguely notable harbour and the none-too-impressive merchant fleet - were the paved roads. Nothing like that in Roskilde, or anywhere else in Scandinavia. Clearly this was a wealthy settlement, and had been wealthy for some years. Although I considered this idea as our boat continued to approach, ultimately it was dismissed. Replicating any such feat in Roskilde would take an amount of effort the town's small population simply didn't justify.

The next were the fired-brick houses, blocks laid and cemented in even rows, not dissimilar to some of the older buildings back in Canada. Clearly the craftsmanship of Mara went beyond just metallurgy. That... probably would not be terribly difficult... I hope? I made a mental note to investigate the possibility for myself back home. That, and what was becoming increasingly evident was some kind of aqueduct and sewer system. The ship docked, and I asked for the way to the central marketplace. The language these people spoke were not entirely dissimilar to the one spoken by the people back in Scandinavia, but the accent was somewhat different. For some strange reason, despite the fact that I've never heard this dialect in my life, I found no difficulty in understanding it.

Really. I had to marvel at all the big mysteries of my life, even if I didn't think about them very much anymore.

Unlike in Raumaríki, I was not here for grand diplomatic gestures. Considering the obvious quality and quantity of metal tools on display, I doubted that these people would have been particularly impressed by any trinkets I could present anyways. Instead, as Ragnarharjas made inquiries with all the regular merchants involved in our amber and furs trade, I simply strolled about town with a few familiar faces from home, poking my head into this and that. I wasn't really looking to solve any of my great mysteries, for it was clear that this village wasn't nearly advanced enough to teleport me or make me understand unfamiliar languages, but rather for insights and inspiration on future development.

After all, was it not me myself who wrote that I was good at finding solutions only because I already knew what they looked like? Well, here was a variety of solutions on offer, and I made sure my eyes took it all in. Perhaps I could interest a young man or two from Roskilde to apprentice as a craftsman here for a few years, and pick up a few vital skills and knowledge while they were at it.

Such was my enthusiasm and interest that I failed to notice that my entourage and my gawking was gathering quite a bit of attention from some of the local residents.

[Mushroomio]

John Drier
Suez, Egypt
Salt

“Shit!”

“Damnit damnit damn it all to hell!”

John was yelling to himself in his hut, and punched a hole in the wall.

He had just received news that his army was considering disbanding as they did not have enough supplies. They were trekking across the desert all day, every day, with 30 pound equipment, not including their food. The army was exhausted, and needed food and water now.

The food supply was running dangerously low, and the feasts that the army had when coming home from capturing villages certainly didn’t help. Fresh water was not easy to come by in the desert, nor was arable land or herds of animals. Oh how he wished for America, he could just walk down the street to a McDonald’s and be done with it. But now was not the time to think about the past.

The past is not important today. Today is the present’s day.

Eventually, when he calmed down, John decided to walk north to find a water source. He did so with two of his best men. Heart was to stay behind in the village and keep order. He walked northbound for days until he finally found something. A large white basin, presumably salt. When John went down, he saw no water. No animals. Nothing.

After he was done with his fit of rage, John had another great idea. He could use this to trade with! He remembered that salt was probably worth something, maybe. He didn’t really know, nor cared enough to think about it too much. Although he found no water, he did find income.

Once John returned home, he informed Tetre of the news. He was confused, but listened to John anyway. John had workers build outposts around the southern basin, and had them mine the salt. Other workers had another task, one far more important. They were to build a road to Egypt. One of concrete. This was going to be very, very expensive. John hoped the salt he had just taken control of was actually worth something, else he was in for a rough time.

[Hanafuridake]

Grace Kinoshita (9 years, 5 months)

Toyooka, Hyōgo Prefecture

“I, Rikyo, am the only true devotee of the Buddha in the land and have endured countless assaults because I spoke the truth about the supremacy of the Buddha of Wakayama-in to the barbarian gods of other lands. It is hard for fools to praise the wise, but I, Rikyo, have been beaten and abused even worse than a fool. The ruler came to this land and spread the fragmented sutras to the people, but she doesn't come to my rescue even when her ministers persecute me for speaking the truth. I will go to another land and spread the true word of the Buddha there.”

The bald monk ranted in the street for anyone who would hear, proclaiming that the people would be punished with falling into the great incessant hell like the heathen Resak if they didn't burn down the temples of the non-believers and worship the one true interpretation. Ruyanpe rolled her eyes as she passed the uncouth fanatic, unaware of how much harm he really could do.

Next to her, Makoto was thinking about the upcoming meeting between the Kimi and her ministers about defensive measures now that the western barbarians had inflicted casualties in the battle of Okayama and now had the advantage. He reached into his haori and held the dagger firmly against his chest, preparing in his mind to do what he was going to have to.

As the two of them walked through the street, they were interrupted by a familiar face sticking out of a norimono. “Princess Ruyanpe, Makoto, how nice fortunate to meet you this coincidentally.” Susam said cheerfully, whether faux or sincere was impossible to tell. The old thin wood-gatherer had become a portly figure who's mass became painful for the Inujin servants to carry on the litter.

Makoto stiffened, unsure on how to respond. Fortunately Ruyanpe was quicker on her feet. “Chancellor, it's so good to see you.” she said with a cheerful demeanor, as though she really was greeting an old friend who she had not seen in a long time. “How are your daughters? You must give them my love.”

“I hope not the same kind of love you give the Queen.” Susam laughed at his own crude joke, not seeing the look of malice that Makoto flashed him. “But I suppose we all have our eccentricities. Who would begrudge our sovereign her little pleasures.” he seemed intent on holding them there for several hours, asking them about their day and other pleasant irrelevancies that annoyed the two.

“We must really be going.” Ruyanpe said, taking Makoto by the arm.

“Of course of course. Be on your way. Have a wonderful day.” Susam shouted orders to his servants, who lifted the litter higher than before and started walking again.

When he was in the distance, Makoto turned to Ruyanpe. “Do you think he knows?”

“If he did, we wouldn't be alive.” she replied, although unsure about how much he suspected.

[Ralnis]

Ur,
10 years and five months after the Fall

It has been one decade. Ten whole years in this world I have been thrown into this world. I have been swindled, used, enslaved, become a murder and now I have became an economic adviser to a priest of Ur and nomadic tribes that trade around Mesopotamia. I have been able to get myself in certain circles and help the priesthood establish deals with some nomadic tribes in order to increase the economic growth of Ur and it's sphere of influence. I also manage to get some of my investments bearing fruit or about to as Ur is the only city in Sumeria with trained horses and donkeys. Those same mules and horses now draw carts and help bring bigger goods and help with logistics.

There's also been the building of a shipyard that is off the coast of the Persian Gulf. This came from me and same priest talking to some of the shipbuilders of Lower Egypt and Troy. This came from the long-distance trading done for years through those areas. During those talks and travels I came to know more about the name Victor and his league. He was more advance in matters of shipbuilding and those of Troy were happy to work something out for the knowledge.

This knowledge was greatly used as the current naval experts were talking about new concepts like a navy and expanding beyond just Ur. This was some of the first I had heard of Ur becoming more than a city-state. Thing is that the city-state was still ruled by a priesthood and a theocracy doesn't really seem that awesome. Where I come from, theocracies were immensely corrupt and the power of divine beings misused. No, this city-state needs a singular ruler to show them how the country should be ran.

Of course I do want that type of claim, be a rich merchant king. Thing is that I have been making my own income with having connections and being an adviser. My own influence, while good enough to sway some people, isn't enough to get the support to start a kingdom. While parts of the priesthood and a couple tribes consider me a valuable asset and the general people of Ur do see my donations enough some happiness, I'm still not at the point to call myself a king.

If I did try something like that, it would be a civil war. Thing is, civil wars were expensive and such a large city as Ur would cause a detriment to the city-state's growing power in the region. It was a last idea but it was something that had been growing traction over the last two years with the growing inter-regional wars and politics been effecting trade outside of Sumeria. There was even some news of a trade expedition from that Victor guy that got destroyed by bandits close to Nippour.

This hits trade hard for Ur and it only get worse as the city-states bicker at each other. I want Ur to be the driving force in the region, the top dog that can unite the region and make a true kingdom of Sumeria. That dream is a long road in my current position so I may have to bring out a civil war to actually take control of the city. It will be a bloody battle no doubt and if I get better prepared then it will give me any advantage I could get.

There's four angles that I need to investigate before I take up the plan. Those would be; the city's warrior caste, the priesthood, the local nomadic tribes, and Eridu.

The warrior caste doesn't really see eye-to-eye with me. The general conscripts who are more citizen-soldier do favor me in varying degrees for me donating much of my money to them and use young skilled warriors as my guard when I'm going on international trade missions. While I pay them better than the priest I go with it still doesn't me they would fight for me entirely. Besides, the officers of the city's army are in the nobles who lived close to the temple. They bred skilled warriors so to try and get their support would bolster a army with much needed skill.

The priesthood is something I am most familiar with. The leadership that I've been rubbing shoulders with for the past five years. I have some influence in the leadership circles but they were steadfast to not let some foreigner get in any further. This was doubling the fact that, while some believe my powers is a gift from their gods, I was refusing for them to try and ask the gods about me in my favor or to convert me into one of them.

The priest who does vouch for me, Shanu, was an adventurous one and saw my powers as a blessing to help him on his expeditions. There was some truth to his words but he also knew that I had connections that could raise him even further in the priesthood. I can respect a man who wants to go higher in his life but he's not the only one looking to reach the top. Because of him however I do have an opening that doesn't require bloodshed. I could just say that I would like to walk the path of a priest and take over from the inside without the need of bloodshed but I think that civil war may just happen if I don't play my cards right.

Now the most straightforward one is working with the nomadic tribes. The nomadic tribes in the Great Southern Desert are those that I know in ways that they are both ways peaceful and warlike, though more warlike. They have been slowly migrating to Sumeria as they have been looking for greener pastures. If I were to join up with a few nomadic tribes to become a horde, then I would need to make some marriages and get better at combat.

That I have not a lot of faith to do. While straightforward, may be the fastest way to the grave. I rather just be the trade adviser that the tribes can come to.

Now Eridu is tied to the priesthood. Should I manage to overthrow the rulership, then they will come to their aid. Eridu is both allied and influenced by Ur. They have been in the city-state's sphere of influence ever since the rise of the two cities. So they will be the biggest hurdle if I did force a civil war.

For now it seemed like the best angle was to become a priest and try to get hitch from the high priestess. I can try to get in her to make me rule the city and I'll make the kingdom. This will no doubt have blood being drawn if I don't do this right so I need to make friends with both the warrior caste and the priesthood in order to start the kingdom, might want to make friends with Eridu in order to make sure the transition is as less bloody as possible.

Welp, better learn the prayers and drink the "potions" that Shanu does from time to time.

[Reatra]

To call these people primitive was a lie. They had detailed understandings of the place they lived, fished like madmen (knowing how to drive schools between canoes in order to direct them into nets), knew every edible plant and animal and how to prepare them, and had a population density that was far above what any “primitive” people ought to in such a region. He would not have survived thus far had the people here been more thinly spread and isolated. It was due to the fact that we could expect to find another settlement of semi-sedentary peoples every couple days of journey that ensured he could safely and securely travel further and further south along the coast.

It was currently the night of the Winter Solstice, and in this particular village he was staying in (one he had arrived in just an hour or so before sunrise) they had had a particularly bountiful few months of fishing, and the excess of dried and stored and salted fishing had allowed them to throw a little bit of a party to celebrate the end of Winter’s intensification. The settlement had only about fifty or sixty people, but that was significant enough for a place like this, as during the Spring and Summer the population would spread out to better exploit the nascent wild plants and increasing amount of wild game. Fifty-to-sixty is enough to have a celebration, of course, and Soto, having not been able to half-trade-half-beg for food the previous night as he had slept in the wild, was more than happy to take part in the splurge, and was allowed to once he detailed his journey thus far and the stories he could tell.

He’d always been a great actor and talker, after all.

He’d had seven months to practice his answer to the questions “who are you?” and “where are you from?” of course, and had time to spice it up a little bit. Seeing what worked, what didn’t, what got the audience’s sympathy, their adoration, their empathy, what made them believe him and what made this skeptics. Before he found himself naked in a grassy tundra one fine May morning, he would never have even dreamed of utilizing sarcasm or vague humor in any non-English language, even Spanish, which he’d been learning in school for years upon years (although, to be frank, never studying quite as hard as other classes). Yet with his newfound ability to be not only magically speak the languages of the people in front of him, but to totally know the ins and outs, the complexities and rules, of any language that has or will ever exist… he’d gained a fair bit of confidence.

And it was great to be on stage again! It’d been too long, far too long, since he had properly put on a show. What was it, The Outsiders? As Two-Bit? What great comic relief that character was. But anyway, being in front of an audience, a real audience that he was performing for, was something else.

And by the end of the night he’d secured himself a place to sleep, food to eat, and a couple friends who, when asked, said they were willing to help gather enough tule reeds to make a canoe of sorts. He also recommended to the people of the village that the people gather the tuber of the wapato and other easy to grow plants and plant pieces of them, or their seeds, so that they grow back next year and provide a good source of food that’s nearby. Having heard the somewhat watered-down stories of his own time/homeland, the people were not entirely convinced but he hoped that the idea of tubers and grasses with edible seeds a bit closer to home would help them get started on some sort of horticultural lifestyle. According to the elders the climate had dried somewhat since their youth, and the people were living more off the sea than anything. Soto kindly suggested perhaps they should make ponds and try to raise fish from birth to increase their food supply. He doubted much would actually come of it, but it was something he had been doing at most of the villages he encountered, hoping that something somewhere would stick.

The next day, though, feeling fully rested for the first time in a long time, Soto decided that he would take advantage of this energy and attempt to start building his canoe. A reed canoe fit to carry one (albeit heavy) man and some supplies was nothing too excruciatingly difficult, the main issue was carrying all the tule and finding the cordage, and convincing the village to let him borrow two paddles, which he tied together to make a makeshift kayak paddle. He’d never paddled with a single blade before, and he figured it’d be better to stick to what he was comfortable with. Additionally, he gathered a few extra reeds, split them in half, and arrayed them in an overlapping mat with some woven between for stability.

The winds blew mostly southeast this time of year, perfect for him to catch their power with his canoe, and so this mat of reeds would serve as a sail. A couple sticks and some cordage attached it to the front of the canoe, with an easy-enough way of taking it down should the winds reverse, and, by the end of the day, he had a finished canoe. Of course the villagers quite liked the idea of a reed mat to catch the wind, they had only ever utilized the similar technology of holding bushes above their heads to catch the wind, but a dedicated sail was definitely a bit more complicated, if a bit more effective.

Soto spent the night with the villagers again, once again putting on a show, and assuring them that he wouldn’t forget their help and, should he ever find anything useful down south, he would try and bring it back north for these people to utilize. He hoped to spread his ideas around, helping whatever societies he could, and these people seemed to be understanding and at least a little thankful.

The next day he waved goodbye to his new friends and acquaintances in this village, by his estimate for how long night lasted on the Winter Solstice, and how many fjords and rivers he had had to cross on his way here, he was somewhere north of Vancouver Island, and, luckily for him, the winds had reversed over the past day or so, yesterday they were quickly moving north, last night they had slowed to a standstill, and today they were pushing southeast at incredible speed. In the forty to fifty kilometer per hour winds he was able to paddle out a few hundred meters, lift up a sail, and get carried south far faster than he could walk (although his sail was far to inefficient to utilize all the wind’s energy, he spent most of the day sitting, adjusting the sail, and zooming by at about five times faster than he would have been able to hike. He made sure to stay in sight of land, and every once in a while had to even paddle out further, later, after sunset, the winds slowed to a point where the sail was no longer useful, and seemed to be reversing once again, and so he let down his sail and paddled towards the shore, towards the dim light of a fire that he assumed would be a coastal village or, at least, a camp of some sort where people would be friendly enough to help him.

He was mostly correct, the people he found were willing to let him sleep nearby for safety, and he shared with them his experiences coming from the frozen north thus far. These people, being fishermen, appreciated the sail on his canoe and the things he had to say.

So Soto unrolled a set of skins to sleep in, laid his head on a piece of driftwood, and fell asleep by a fire, with little above him but a canopy of trees and the open air.

For several weeks more Soto would kayak down the coast, doing what trading he could, selling some of his more essential items in scarce times, but mostly doing the same half-trading half-begging he had been, and sharing knowledge for food most of the time. Not everyone appreciated his ideas, and thus there were times when he did not sleep and instead took short naps on his canoe, after dragging it up upon the shore. But for the most part, he was relatively safe, no longer having to trek through miles of wilderness in order to find the next group of people who’d accept him. When winds changed, he would politely ask if he may stay another night. If he could not, he would set off again.

By the time he reached what he figured must be Puget Sound considering the size and depth of the bay, he had managed to get some semblance of essential tools through shrewd trades and charisma. This region had a far higher population density and thus the people could not rely on fishing to the extent they had further north. There was far more gathering of plants, and over the course of two months Soto managed to make a little bit of a name for himself and several chiefs were happy to learn of his experiences and ideas (especially the idea of horticulture). Many other chiefs were not, seeing him as helping their enemies. He tried to convey how he helped whoever asked, he was a newcomer and had no knowledge of the politics of the region, but still, some people rejected him and forced him to wander to another village.

Yet the rather high population density meant that there was always someone else who would appreciate his goods and help. Eventually he learned enough about fishing that he could support himself a little bit better, and didn’t need to fully rely on trading for food.

This gave him a newfound confidence, and after one last round around the Sound, he set off out of the bay and back down the coast.

He reached the mouth of a major river, and, believing he had reached Puget Sound before, he figured this must be the river that Portland, Oregon laid on in his time. What was its name? The Columbia, no? Or maybe that one was further north. It didn’t matter, anyway, as the natives of course called it something else. This river had several important trade hubs on it, the most major of which was roughly on the site of what would (or wouldn’t, now that he was here, he hoped) become Portland.

He decided to change his strategy. He was getting close to his destination, and it would probably be best to, instead of sailing, follow the rivers, and considering the natives were populous and knew much about the best ways to follow rivers south along trade routes, he would carry his reed canoe on his shoulders between streams.

The Columbia had several tributaries more than large enough to canoe up, especially in this season of gradually melting snowpack, and this he was able to paddle (having abandoned his makeshift sail as simply extra weight) upstream and downstream of a complex web of navigable rivers. Eventually getting to a major lake where many people gathered for annual salmon runs. Again, taking advantage of his magical ability to speak every language, he was able to get an understanding of what lay south of him.

Considering the altitude, estimated latitude, and geography and climate of the region, he figured he was still rather far north… but he knew, should he find the right river to carry him south, he’d be conveniently transported directly to his destination with almost no effort at all.

So he spent another month getting to know the people and ensuring he knew where he was going. The main river that emptied the lake he was on led west, not what he wanted, but there was another major river to the east, a proverbial hop skip and a jump away, that led more directly south.

That must be it.

So he followed the advice, spent another few weeks following streams and taking advantage of which were navigable, even recruiting one or two people to help carry his reed canoe an extra few miles (but he was getting good at it himself), until, finally, he knew this river must be it. Another major river that fell down the mountainsides, and was greatly expanded due to the melting snow of the mountain peaks.

So, he let himself float down. The only real effort exerted was that of going around what rapids occurred, but as he floated further south the river smoothed out. He was excited, he couldn’t wait, he would finally see home, see a familiar landscape.

One day, ten or so months after he arrived, days after the river had joined another, larger one that had even more local people around… it happened…

It finally happened!

The landscape opened up around a riverbend, and before him was a massive expanse of flat land as far as the horizon, with several visible settlements throughout.

It was confirmed in his mind, he was home.

Or, almost home. He was in his homeland, but his home was still a few hundred kilometers away, but for him, his hope for the future was at an all time high.



He would soon be home.

[Cainesland]

2990 BC, Year 11, Month 2
Sevastopol, Crimea

Bostwick looked out from his balcony towards the ocean. Things seemed to be going fairly well. Last month his son Alexander was born and their was a congratulatory celebration with a potluck feast and games. He had introduced games like D&D, chess, checkers, and connect 4. Some of these games were being played during the festivities. It was fun. Since he had introduced the new boats and formed the carpentry Association and storytellers Association inter region traffic had increased a little and the paths were being improved as goods folllowed the people. Bostwick looked forward to contacting others in the peninsula.

A creak could be heard from the balcony door. Peering back from his rocking chair, Bostwick spotted his 6 year old son Theodore. “Dad, are you soming downstairs soon? You said that you would seach me how to play shess.” I got up from the rocking chair after a couple rocks to build up momentum and said “That sounds good, Tiger. We can do that now.” Theodore smiled, revealing the gap in his mouth where he had lost a tooth just a few weeks before. Bostwick took one last look at the view of the village and ocean and then made his way downstairs. The smell was as though one had a steaks on the grill.

Bostwick and Theodore went downstairs into a living room illuminated by light from open shutters. A table with two chairs was set up in the middle with a wooden hand board on it. The game game board was a piece of flat wood with an 8x8 pattern on it with light and dark spaces placed horizontally and vertically to each other to create a grid. A pile of pieces were scattered over the board.

Bostwick pointed to the white pawns, short little stubby pieces and began to put them on the front lines. “These people with the round tops go on the front line, they are called pawns.” Looking up, Theodore was smiling and nodding, but it wasn’t clear that he was getting it. “These units can go one or two spaces forward on your first turn, and one after that, but they cannot go any other direction”. Moving on Theodore went to the Rook. These towers are called Rooks, they can go any number of spaces forward or sideways.” Theodore picked up a rook and examined it before putting it down. “These bald men are called bishops, they can go any number of spaces diagonally on their turn”. “What does diagnal mean?” Theodore asked. “Diagonal means from corner space to corner space” moving his hand along the board to highlight what he was saying. “S-hank you”. After explaining what the pieces did they tried to play a game. Most of it was re-explaining the rules but it was fun anyway.

“How was it?” Bostwick asked Theodore. “Isth was good”. “That’s good, did you have fun?” Theodore shook his head up and down. “That’s good”. The two of them then went to have dinner in the form of beef and fish.

[The Isle of The Webb]

Spring 2990, 7 years since arrival.


I walked over to my desk and sat down in my chair, a real actual chair with an upholstered seat and everything. It had taken a while to make, but all those years as properties governor payed off. Sitting on the desk was the project I’d finished last night, another book for journaling this one was the largest one yet. I’d taught the process of papermaking to a few people but it wasn’t really important yet, after all almost no one knew how to read. I picked up my quill and dipped it into the charcoal ink. That oddly had interested more people than the paper making had. You never know what ideas will catch someone's attention I suppose.

Journal entry 528
Okay new book. Let's start with a brief recap if whoever is reading this somehow has all my other journals skip this entry
I woke up naked in woods wandered. Found by Sara

• Become wise man of “The Village”
• Still refuse my attempts to find a name
• Construct the first of the Wyrm kilns
• Tell so many stories
• Bad winter run out of nearly everything/
• Bad spring, no water
• Find an area filled with artesian well
• Off handed comment about the water coming from God causes me to take up the role of pastor.
• Founding of the church at God’s Well
• Begin teaching basic english writing and reading after sermons for those capable and willing
• Basic survey of area reveals warm “hot” springs
• Crowds of people from nearby villages come for the water some stay for the preaching and teaching
• Permanent Guard sent by Chief Falagan to watch the wells
• Re-add some letters to my teaching such as Thorn and
• Mass Baptism
• The Three Brothers Alliance is formed.

I leaned back in my chair and looked at the scar that slashed my left hand. That day was still clear as yesterday in my mind. It was a dreary rainy day quite a parallel to that sunday morn less than a week before where the sun shone down on the newly baptised worshipers. I was sitting in my hut working on what would later become the Spear Bible, made up of what I could remember and organised by topic instead of chronologically. I heard a knock and a burly man, I think his name is Larns, told me the chief wanted to talk to me. So I made my way through the storm to his house, the only building in the village I really considered to be one, and entered. Inside the normally bustling building everything was silent. The main room normally well lit was dark and oppressive. Sitting around the embers of the central fire were two men as I approached I recognized the one to be Chief Falagan. I was ushered to sit on the opposite side of the fire and did so.
"This is the man you've been talking up so much? I have nephews"
"Yes but your nephews can't summon water from the ground can they or explain ways to lead attacks so complicated that they has to fill the entire mead hall floor with lines?"
"No but…"
"Exactly this man here is just the man we need besides he already has a following." I didn't know what they were talking about and I wasn't sure I wanted to know. As the two argued I raised my voice to be heard.
" Um Falagan why did you want to see me?"
"Ah yes Two Spears allow me to introduce my guest this is Conchúr
He's the Chief of the village on the opposite side of the crying hill, what you found. He and I have been good friends for years." The other man looks me over before nodding
"A pleasure" Falagan continued as a smile so devious the devil would gulp in worry spread across his face.

"For quite a while we've been looking to launch some raids against some of the neighboring tribes and you know collect the riches and spoils. However the winter when has always left us on the back foot leading to the raids either failing or never even starting. But my dear friend Two Spears that's where you come in with the water you found we can begin our raids without fear of dehydration and poor springs." I nodded in agreement it all sounded reasonable sort of anyway. Except one thing
"What does that have to do with me?" Conchúr looked over to me and smiled
" You see while discussing our plans we realized that we would be incredibly vulnerable to an attack at the site of ground weeping-"
"Hold up you two just call it a well it's much easier to say."
"Site of the well. So we came to the conclusion that a permanent settlement should be built there to ensure its continued protection." Falagan nodded.
"And that is where you come in Two Spears we've need of someone who we can trust to lead that settlement. A chie to join our pact. after much deliberation we think you should." I looked at him like he was nuts.
"With all do respect Falagan I don't know the first thing about being a chieftain and besides where are the people going to come from to inhabit this new village." Falagan laughed.
"That group you lead there weekly. Many of them would gladly move in there I'm sure and we'll send some help of course. So what do you say?" I looked at the two of them they were dead serious and I sat there nodding
"I'll do it."
"I was hoping you would say that Two Spears." Falagan smiled as he stood. Myself and Conchúr joined him and he continued. "Now to seal our agreement. Place out your arm over the fire. Palm up Two Spears. We will perform the ancient blood pact. With this pact we shall no longer be merely comrades in arms but brothers our blood flowing through each other's veins linking us to one another to the day we die." A dagger which I never even saw Conchúr draw flicked out across all three of our palms. I flinched from the pain but Conchúr grabbed my hand before I could pull away. He looked into my eyes.
"Brother." I nodded
"Brother" We did the same with Falagan.
"Good it is done now before we go we must discuss one more thing we need a symbol something to represent our linked togetherness" Falagan scratched his beard
"Something to show that our three forces now act in fact one." My eyes lit up and Falagan saw what was about to happen and sat back down in front of the fire pulling Conchúr down with him.
"A triforce one might say? Brothers let me tell you a story." Pulling a pouch from my belt, I threw some copper powder into the fire and the thing began to glow green
"Many many years ago when she world was young three goddesses descended from the heavens and crafted a realm to rule To the south there was a great forest to the the east and north a great wall of mountains and to the west an unending desert but in the middle was their greatest pride a great plain where men but huge cities and lived in peace. But darkness soon crept in and attempted to capture the goddesses and use their power to remake the world in it's image. And so the goddesses fled but they left behind a gift to protect humanity three golden triangles linked together like so."
I drew out the symbol in the coals before me facing them.
" The top was called the triforce of power the right the triforce of courage and the left the triforce of wisdom. As the wiseman I obviously would have that one. I'll let you two figure out which of you get the other two." Conchúr looked at the fading symbol in the ashes
" Falagan gets courage how many people take one three bears and live to tell the tale." We continued to talk all through the storm and and then the night. Eventually Conchúr left to return to his home.

Construction of the Godswell Amphitheatre begins

• Many of the congregation agrees to move to Godswell
• Construction of various buildings start at Godswell
• New construction allows introduction of fireplaces and chimneys
• Construction of defences as in all three towns begin
• Teach the process of dugout canoes note:make sure to use cedar it doesn’t rot
• First failed attempt at glass blowing, bad burns
• Milk of poppy administered, promptly regulate any use of it

That was something that surprised me, the little red flowers were here too. Full of their opiates, enslaving warriors to their will it was weird that even in this primitive society drugs threatened to take over.

• Construction of three more Wyrm kilns to keep up with sudden need of more bricks for new constructions
• First dugouts completed
• Teach them proper paddling technique
• Second major glass blowing failure
• Irrigation attempts prove to be successful we agree to build them in the rest of the fields
• Construction of the Godswell Amphitheatre compleates
• Begin teaching plays and music theory.
• Chief Falagan and Chief Conchúr begin their raids as winter sets in
• Food supplies run low Chief Conchúr sends more.
• Counter Raids against the Three Brothers occur
• Attempt to use my emergency field medicine training to help tend to wounded
• Remember that I get ill at the sight of injuries and throw up repeatedly as I attempt to help. Told head back as I am not helping anything by dehydrating myself
• Raids against the three brothers largely unsuccessful capture warriors
• As promised in exchange for ample water supply I am given a
• I realise I now own slaves, spend next month debating moral dilemma of having slaves
• Spring arrives
• Chief Falagan launches unexpected spring raid using the flooded river to move raider filled canoes farther abroad
• In what would become an ongoing occurrence small groups maybe one or two families begin passing through the area some ask to join the village. I tell them they are welcome to so long as they earn their keep.
• They claim they are traveling from the west for various reasons
• Notice a pointed cultural difference between these travelers and the local populace
• Hold Easter celebration merged with normal spring celebration
• Spring sowing ends and work begins on construction of roads between the three settlements
• Begin installing brick paths in places of high traffic
• Summer passes rather uneventfully
• The local people begin referring to the travelers as the sunset people
• Arguments between the two groups lead to fighting
• Third Glass Making failure
• Turn broken ceramic blow pipes into wind chimes causing accidental wind chime craze
• I open a public forum in the amphitheatre to hopefully reduce fighting
• First several forums devolve into brawls
• Raids and training bring in a few bronze tools asking about for their source a merchant mentions rumors a large empire far far away.
• Open public dueling to resolve arguments this lessens the number of brawls in the amphitheatre
• Winter raids continue
• Spring once again poor lots of business made trading water with people other than the other two brothers
• Agreed to allow sunset people to build an temple on a nearby hill( as of writing its still not done they just keep hauling giant stone slabs to it.
• Marry Sara
• Teach map making to the raid scouts and help with raids and to hopeful figure out where I am
• Succeed in glassblowing finally (knew hanging out at greenfield village constantly would pay off one day)
• Sara gives birth to twins
• Name them Lilly and Lillac to the slight confusion of the elders
• A group of young men ask to copy my bible I let them and they decide to travel as missionaries and spread god's word
• Give them my blessing
• Godswell continues to expand
• Found Cartography office to keep an organized collection of the maps with a unified naming agreement
• Find out the Cartographers keep naming places after the places I've taught them in songs and themselves of course. So lots of Irish Scottish and Australian with a bit of poetic American
• As summer arrives I manage to convince Chief Falagan and Chief Conchúr to send elders to Godswell
• A several month long debate ensues in the amphitheatre, even the resident sunset elders are convinced to participate, as we attempt to strengthen the bond of the three Brothers alliance by creating a unified and codified set of laws across our three cities
• My two Brothers arrive in ?august? To place their seals on the bottom of the agreed upon laws and punishments, notably missing the allowance of vendettas instead a turn the other cheek law. The elders at Godswell wouldn’t allow the laws otherwise
• Add street lamps made of pottery and glass for better night travel around town.
• Going over the maps proves to be no help, continue to wonder if this is realy earth and not some weird twilight zone

I stretched and put down the quill it was enough for now. It wasn’t everything and it certainly didn't cover the last several years but thankfully things had slowed down so they should be shorter. Someone in the distance was playing the Heather and the hills on one of the improvised banjos I had made for the harvest festival a few years ago as I listened a flute and a boran drum joined in. As the song ended and a new tune was struck, I stood up and began to wander through the house, the number of rooms was getting out of hand, year round rooms were being added for various reasons. There was an entry room, a main kitchen, a sleeping room, several store rooms, a cellar(at least that's what I called it the kitchen staff called it the food hole), slave quarters, slave kitchen, my laboratory, a chapel, guest rooms, scholar rooms, elders rooms, work had begun on a lab for other people to use, the list went on. I had joked a while back that some of the masons spend so much time here they might as well move in permanently… they took me up on the offer. Every builder in town had their own personal flair they wanted to add to the Chief's house and frankly I wasn’t going to turn down the extra space, even some of the sun set people had begun propositioning me to allow them to build onto my house I told them to ask the other builders how to “draw” plans and then get back to me. They surprisingly agreed.

After awhile I found myself in my laboratory, a room I actually had a hand in designing with a multitude of chimneys attached to various furnaces, kilns and hot boxes, and a bread oven because there's nothing like eating fresh bread after handling unknown mineral samples all day.

My pride and joy however was the miniature glass furnace I had built. Unlike to the large ones that latched onto the side of the wyrm kilns, making them look even more dragonlike this one was small enough that i could operate it with only one other person it even had a miniature billows.
Sitting next to it on a table usually reserved for glass tools was a pale yellow stone matte brittle it reeked of rotting eggs and tasted just as bad. A merchant traded it to me the day before he claimed he didn’t know where it came from unfortunately but he had done business with me before and knew I collected rocks. I picked it up and tossed it from one hand to the other. I hadn’t told him but I new what it was immediately. Brimstone, Hellstone, Sulpher. I snapped a piece off and brought it over to my pestle. I pulled down a book from above and untied the string around it. It was time I flipped through the pages there were pictures and diagrams but the words they weren’t in english or german or french or any other language someone who might accidentally stumble into this land after I was gone would be able to read. No it was in a made up language I made in and had been using since middle school, Frost tongue. The book was full of things I didn’t want anyone to know plans on how to build siege weapons and chemical formulas for dangerous things bombs and the like, my dad was a chemist he thought it was fun to teach us boys about the dangers of these things and their exact construction process and there was I cracked my knuckles and set to work. I would succeed even if just to prove I can, the most dangerous chemical of them all The Dragon’s Breath. Black Powder

[UniversalCommons]

Victor Spear, Year 10 Month 5

Victor Spear was sitting at his desk drinking a cup of tea which had come from Russia on the Black Sea. It was not quite as strong as he remembered it being and had a more bitter flavor, but it reminded him a little bit of home.

It was very early in the morning. Sometimes he tried to analyze what he was doing. It was a habit from before he came to Oak. He would have written a monthly report if he was an administrator, but there were no more of those. He was glad to never have to do meaningless statistics again.

He liked to write as a third person to create an appearance of being outside himself when he did this.

Continuous Improvement.

Victor Spear believed in continuous improvement what in the old world might also be called kaizen. He continuously tried to improve what he was doing each day striving for an unreachable perfection.

For example with the ox, he had recently worked on having two oxen plow a field instead of one. This made for deeper furrows. With ox carts, he had carts built with six wheels pulled by six oxen which could pull heavy leads of stone, timber, or metal long distances. He replaced the human pushing the lever on the grindstone with the ox pushing the lever on the grindstone. This helped free up more human labor to work on other things.

Victor Spear stopped and dipped his reed pen into the ink jar and continued writing.

He had new ideas which he was working on. His latest idea was to make clay and compost seed balls to spread herbs and botanicals on marginal lands. He also was working on a new storage bin for grain which combined a large woven internal basket layered on the outside with clay and covered with a tight stone lid. They would line the storage bin with herbs that would repel insects.

He took a sip of tea.

Although he did not appear organized, he always insisted on cleanliness and had little tolerance for anything being broken. On Wednesday, he had insisted that the holes in the plaza be fixed and any trash be picked up by the servants of the state.

He kept a journal of all the things which he did each day. He would look at it each morning. He insisted that the people who worked with him keep journals as well. He divided his journal into the "Council of the Wise" and his personal life.

He watched for new things constantly. He had a recent idea to domesticate rabbits for fur and meat. He also examined new trade goods like dates from Nippur or tea and cabbage from Russia. Many of his ideas were improvements of existing items, the sickle became the scythe, the sling became the staff sling, carrots became bigger through selection, and oranges were selected to be sweeter.

He had an inner struggle where he realized he was not always compassionate in his desire for improvement. He drove some other people into rages because of his dislike of tradition and doing things the same way all the time. This had certainly been true for both Liam and Rholes. It was a character flaw.

One of his protective said, "Sir, Penelope is here to see you."

Victor Spear, "Yes, let her in."

Penelope, "Good morning Victor. I see you are deceiving yourself again. Can I see your writings this morning."

Victor Spear, "Not today. I have a lot to think about."

Penelope, "You know you are more organized than you think you are. Most people do not do what you do to arrange their time."

Victor Spear, "Please excuse me, I forgot to say good morning. "

Penelope, "Yes, I have the women's health document from Egypt. It is very strange, but useful. Den is translating it for me."

Victor Spear, "Did he stay with you last night?"

Penelope, "I had my handmaidens with me. I see you are well."

Victor Spear, "Yes, I am feeling very well this morning. Five months without any warfare or raids. It is a relief. Still, I do not trust this."

Penelope, "Come outside to the fresh morning air, Dido from the Tribal Alliance is waiting. We go to look at the groves."

[Achidyemay]

Day 43
Still The Woods, But Not Quite So Much Anymore

The heavy forest had continuously given way to prairie in increasing quantities as the band of merchants traveled ever south and east. They had been following the river for a while now, and had just arrived at a city that was larger than Sulo remembered. Raffael guessed that there was more than a thousand people, and a sort of fortification had been erected around wooden, saddle-roofed structures. It had been built on a hill overlooking the immediate floodplain and there was evidence of some farming, although the plants didn't immediately come to mind. If the forested section of the journey so far had been British Columbia, like Raf had anticipated, then this section was probably them entering into the great plains. The breadbasket of America was more settled this, and they must've totally missed the Rockies. Not impossible, just very unlikely. South Saskatchewan or North Dakota maybe, though this didn't look like the badlands. Theoretically though, traveling further east should get him to Wisconsin. Theoretically.

The further they traveled, the further Raf cast his net looking for answers. It seemed like he had been sent back in time, but that was impossible. He was far from his home with hardly anything to his name except-
"LAIKA!" Raf shouted to the husky Bear Dog. Hardly more than a puppy, the black and white terror was supremely energetic if still a bit bumbling. They had hardly been weaned from their mother when Sulo's band had visited a group of traders making their way south aswell. Raffael had insisted on getting a dog, and had traded some bone combs for it. The name seamed to fit the dog well.
The dog stopped its singular assault on the gates of the village, turning back to look at Raffael. He would need to call her name again before she would come bounding toward him, knocking into his leg with zeal. Raf knelt to give her a pet. Sulo grunted something and the party began to chatter.
"-don't really see anyone."
"They already know we're here, best not to do too much."
A man approached, he was carrying some jugs and was headed toward the pile of refuse down the hill. Raf was relieved to see that it was downriver the civilization, but he wondered if those living down there were getting sick. He wondered if the people up the river did the same as these people.
Sulo stopped the man.
"Excuse me, we're traders looking to trade, do you have a space for us?"
The man looked confused, but a wave of cautious contemplation crossed over his complexion. "Yes. Trade. Yes. Center. Go." His words were stilted, but he gave a smile and gestured inward. Sulo gave a look that expressed his evident worry, but he waved the party onward, and they tugged their sleds up the hill.
"Thank you." Raffael said to the man as he passed by, to which the man became surprised.
"By the Lord's Spirit." Came the fluent response.

They crossed between the opening in the head-high walls. Here and there, elevated platforms gave a vantage over the walls, but for the most part they were unmanned. The way to the central square wasn't particularly difficult, it was in front of a fortified central building that incorporated stone into the wood. Suddenly Raffael became aware that this pottery was unlike that of which he was used to seeing. Apparently, pottery identification was becoming a thing he was good at. There were other small trader bands in the square already, trading idly with eachother and the city folk. They worked quickly to set up their mats and a constable of sorts met them to discuss and exact a tax. Raffael's ears pricked to the city's conversation. Words like sheep and goats and cows got tossed around. As did the word horses. With a horse, Wisconsin couldn't be much more than a hard weeks ride East. He hadn't ridden a horse in a few years, but it's like riding a bike, isn't it?

Sulo and the constable had a great deal of difficulty communicating it seemed. Raffael didn't really understand why, they seemed to be communicating clearly enough to eachother. With the business out of the way, Sulo convened the group.
"I had always known these people were a bit far out of our usual trading network, but this city has never given us this much trouble before. I swear, it's like they're speaking another language of all of a sudden."
"You were both speaking fine enough English to me." Raffael replied. Sulo just sort of gave him a look.
"Anyways, try not to make much of a scene, trade what you can, we'll be leaving sooner than I planned. Just... Make the most of it."

Things were slow, and Raffael left Laika and his wares with Pilvi. He went around to the stalls, talking with the people there, trying to find a person selling horses. Eventually he was directed to a building quite a ways out from the main trading part of the city. A large man, still a bit shorter than Raffael, but not by much, was outside of the building. He was sharpening a thick branch with an axe.
"Hello, my friend. It's a pleasant day today."
"Sure." He didn't look up from his work.
"I hear you're the one to see about horses, that is if I have the right-"
"Yup." He looked up. "Caught one fresh the other day. Come on." He set down the axe and stepped into the building, only to shout something to an inhabitant and then immediately step back out. Raffael followed him out of the city to a more squat wooden structure. The smell of blood was immediately apparent, as was the structures use as a smokehouse. The meat inside was yet raw, however, and the horse was still being butchered by some younger men. Raffael had somehow expected this.
"I'm looking for a horse to ride."
"This one is for eating, I'm afraid." It was one of the kids who spoke.
"Do you have any that I can ride?" This earned a chuckle from most assembled.
"Damn I'd love to see you jump on top of that beast." Muttered one of the youngest. His brother laughed.
"You looking to break a neck, more power to you, you looking to by some meat, take your pick." It was the man who spoke now.
"Maybe I am looking to break a neck, where does the meat come from?"
"A cousin of ours herds them in the valley."
Considering the situation, Raffael excused himself as politely as possible, offering to come back with goods to trade. He did want to try the horse meat.

The valley was on the far side of the hill from the river and stretched on well into the horizon. It lulled gently here and there, with a tree or two poking up in the more lowland areas. A herd of cattle was idly plotting eastward. The wooden buildings were large, but still smaller than the houses of modern America. Two young children cam out of one of the buildings and ran towards Raf.
"Hey hey hey, stay away from the heard!" Shouted the eldest, her fair hair was pulled back tight.
"Yeah!" Agreed her little brother, a brown haired boy about 7 years old.
"Was planning on it, I'm looking for horses, have you seen any?"
"Pshya, we've seen horses." The brother said. Raffael let a moment of silence open up between them. He raised an eyebrow at the sister.
"What do you want with the horses? Do you want to buy some meat?" She suddenly became quite excited, "It's not as good as beef, and not as much on a horse, but our cousin just down the way sells the meat. They smoke it, it's very good." The marketing pitch from the 9 year old was adorable, and Raffael laughed.
"I'll tell you what, little one, but I've already spoken to your family over there. I'm looking to find a live horse, can you help me with that at all?"
A tall blonde woman emerged from the building and called out to the children. They ran to her. She was much less trusting of Raffael than the kids had been.
"Can we help you?" She said through slanted eyes and a narrow mouth.
"Yeah, I'm looking for horses."
"Up the ridge aways you can find fresh horse meat for sale."
"I'm looking for a living animal."
"Right, well that's unfortunate for you, my husband just left with the herd. We range them far."
"Which way did he take them?" Raf was wondering if he could keep pace with a ranging herd of wild horses. Probably.
"I'm not telling you."
"Is that the only herd that comes round these parts."
"Uhuh." She put a hand on a hip.
"I'm looking to work with horses, what is the chance that I can work with your husband's herd." His mind flashed back to shoveling horse apples on the farm, he hoped free range farm handing involved a bit less shoveling.
"I don't know, you can ask him when he gets back."
"When's that?"
"Sometime later in the week. They just left yesterday."
"Hmm, well I'm honest that I want to help, are there any chores you have in the mean time?"
She let a weak smile cross her face, "as a matter of fact-".

Day 48
Outside Vorvyo

Sulo had been disappointed that Raffael was leaving, but Pilvi was a bit heartbroken. It had been a heartfelt goodbye, to be fair. But, Raffael was insistent that he needed to keep heading east, but that he'd make an attempt to meet up with them again in due time.
Krawa, as he introduced himself, was tall and well built and surprisingly fast. The first story he ever told Raf was of the time that he had chased down a horse on foot. Raf didn't believe him, but not by much. Krawa was also more magnanimous than his wife, although it helped that Raffael had established a report with the family already. There was a spot open for a new herder, and if Raf could keep a close command of his pup, then he was welcome out with them. The herd was large, and contained 25 individuals, the most Raffael had ever seen in one place.
The crew was Krawa, his nephew Ja'ka, his son Werdzja, and now Raffael and Laika. Krawa explained that despite the rarity and luxurious nature of the horse, there was not nearly as much output as the cow, goat, or sheep farmers, so the family was poor, yet well respected. Still, they liked their work, protecting and caring for the horses, guiding them through the hills. But never riding them, as Raffael was disappointed to learn. The idea had been tried before, and there were stories of bored southerners hoping on horses as part of a competition, but there wasn't any value to be gained from a horse. The horse goes where it wants to go and the people follow.

It took Raf a moment to explain to Krawa the benefits of horseback riding, the vantage point, the speed, the ease it brings to hunting and commanding a herd. To be honest, Raf would say, it was surprising they managed to do it without horses at all. It was a night under the stars on their second day out together that Raffael first pitched the idea for how they were going to begin to train the horses. How they would construct two pens, keep a family in one and use the other for training, how reins worked, what a saddle was. Werdzja was enamored, Ja'ka was dismissive, Krawa thought it just might work and was willing to give it a shot, telling Raffael that he would get some friends of him to help build the fence.

[Mushroomio]

John Drier

Suez, Egypt

Copper

Since he first became the chief of the Hetat, then the emperor of Desertia, John was not content with just sitting back and watching his empire progress. He needed to be in the action, he needed to be there. When his first trade delegation went to Egypt and they traded food for gold, when a trade route had been established, when the salt was exchanged for much valuable commodities such as gold and limestone, John still felt uncontent. But now, Egypt has given him something more powerful than the gold, than the limestone. One merchant in the market, Tetre reported, traded a bag of salt for a copper dagger. Finally, John had metal!

But one dagger simply cannot do. Perhaps there is more copper in the Sinai? Expeditions were formed, the workers gathered, and off they went. There were 3 expeditions, each led by a soldier, 5 workers, two pack goats, and a worker who knew the land. They were, of course, rewarded for their efforts in helping their country. The first one did not find anything of value, but came back with a few goats they found. The second found an oasis, but nothing there besides water and an old fireplace, likely abandoned years ago.

But the third expedition found, after digging for a day, a small source of the new metal. Copper. Once the group returned home, John ordered a worker camp to be constructed at the site at once. Copper was soon dug out of the ground by hand, and sent back home. The rocks that they dug up had a small amount of the metal in it, but there were a lot of them. Within the week, John had a few pounds of the precious metal, but could not refine it. Egypt, however, did. A trade caravan carrying the copper and some salt and gold went on their way, but were attacked by raiders. When the word was spread back to John, he was furious. How dare they attack an official delegation of Desertia! The greatest empire in the world!

He sent an army, 30 workers, and a few goats to find the raiders’ base. At last, one of the workers who knew the area spotted the camp, and it was raided. All raiders were either captured or killed, and the goods recovered.

The raiders who were captured were not turned into workers. John was not feeling merciful that day. A life of servitude is not for these degenerates. He had something better.

The Skullwearer village was strewn around with blood, for some raiders’ legs were cut off at the knee and forced to crawl around the village. They were the lucky ones. Others were set alight on a pyre, and others still had a new form of torture applied to them. They were lashed to a cross, but not nailed. That was too merciful a death. They were to be force-fed water and food every couple of days, and would stay on the crosses thinking about their sins for the rest of their lives. Desertians were horrified at the sights, and even some soldiers protested the atrocities. But John paid them no attention. They were weak, and if they kept it up…

They would be next.



When the copper finally got to Egypt, the traders paid some Egyptian blacksmiths to smelt the copper, and paid them accordingly. When the copper got back to Desertia, John was delighted to see the copper, fully smelted in Tetre’s hands. Now that they had copper, it was time to look again at expanding. Since John knew roughly where he was, he knew that northwards was the Mediterranean, a sea which could provide him salvation. He did not have the capacity to cross it, however, so instead he gathered up some men and made an expedition onwards. They were to go north as far as they could go, and then follow the coastline until they found something.

A large amount of food was to be with them, 20 workers, 10 soldiers, materials for building, and seeds for farming. Water was also to be taken from the oasis found by the third expedition northwards, past the salt basin, and he would continue northwards to the sea. Maybe he would find another civilization. John faintly recalled his time in high school learning about ancient civilizations. If the pyramids weren’t constructed yet, maybe John had gone back in time somehow, and maybe there were other civilizations. Sumer was one that he recollected, but he didn’t know exactly where it was, only that it was somewhere in Iran. But that was not part of the journey. He already knew what the Mediterranean looked like. Roughly.

The expedition was to be started next month, John decided. He will gather resources, political power, influence, and support to expand his empire. Speaking of expanding…

John got together a raiding party of 30 and scouted out the village that had the wood walls. It was close to the ocean, and John saw that they had small boats. Canoes, mostly, but boats nevertheless. This was a technology foreign to Desertia. At least, the majority. He needed it. John needed seafaring technology. His empire required it. The raiding party split up into groups of 10, and hid until darkness fell upon them. Each group was to raid the coast while the fishermen were sleeping within the village walls. Take everything they could find. Unfortunately for John, most boats were taken back. But one boat, however, floated still in the middle of the water, near the coast. There still appeared to be a fisherman in the boat, sleeping. Perfect. John took his robes off, and stepped into the water. He was the only one who could swim, to his knowledge, so he had to be the one to do it. He breathed in, and went under.

John swam silently underwater until he got to the canoe. There, he slowly surfaced, salt water flowing down his face. His spear tied onto his back with a strip of skin, he loosened it and took the concrete spear out. He got onto the canoe, and pointed the spear to the fisherman’s neck. The unfortunate villager awoke with a startle, and John covered her mouth so that she could not scream. He tied her up with the skin strap, and slowly paddled the canoe with his hands back to the coast. Slowly, inch by inch, he floated to the sandy shores in which he came from. The darkness of night his only friend, and the faint moonglow his guide. Finally, after a lifetime, but also only a second, he hit the coast. He got out, pushed the canoe further ashore, and waited for his men. His men from his raiding team snuck over to him, and all together they hoisted the canoe to the designated rendezvous point he had set right before they begun the raid.

The other two teams came back, not completely empty handed. One brought news of a possible weak point in the wall, and the other brought with them a few fish, presumably been caught earlier in the day. The new addition to the workforce was carried separately from the canoe, and they got home at noon. The fisher(wo)man was interrogated personally by John, as he was the only one who could speak their savage language. She was resilient at first, but as all do, she broke by sundown. The villager spewed all of her knowledge to John. Apparently, she was a mother of two, a fisherman for around twelve years, and she knew how to build small canoes. But her most valuable knowledge was the guard’s schedule. Her husband, Huti, was a guard, and he regularly told her of his and his friends’ schedules so that he could meet with her after his guard shift ended. John was impressed of his lucky find, and her intel. But now was not the time to pat himself on the back.



The guards were shifted out at midnight, and at noon. 12 hour shifts surely were absolutely exhausting to the guards, and they must not have much in the form of free time. John decided to try and not brute force this problem, and went with his guards to speak to the village guards. He arrived at around midnight, and he walked right up to the hole that was apparently a gate, and spoke to the guards standing next to it.

“Who stands at the doorway to our village?”

“Gentlemen, I do not come meaning harm to you or your families. Please, call me John. I must speak to this ‘Huti’ at once. We have something to discuss.”

“How do you know of him?”

“With all due respect, sir, it’s really none of your business. Now, let me speak to him or else I might have to ask you a little less kindly.”

The guard not talking to John then whispered into the other’s ear, and then went inside the village. A minute passed by, and there he was. Huti.

John sat down on the cold desert sand, and Huti did the same. They began to discuss.

“So. If it isn’t Huti.”

“Why are you here?”

“That’s not the right question.” John said, staring coldly into Huti’s eyes. “You know why I am here, let’s drop the formalities.”

“Where is my wife?”

“Safe. You do not have to worry about her. What you do have to worry about, however, is the task I will give to you if you want her back.”

“What makes you think I will join you?”

“I never said you had to join me.” John said with a grin. “I just want us to… help each other. I need something, you need something.”

“Fine.”

“Good, good. I need you to let our trade delegation in tomorrow. It is filled with a lot of valuable items in it, but they will become worthless if sunlight touches them. Make sure that your guard friends don’t search it.”

“Is this a trick?”

“Do I seem the kind of man that tricks people?”

Neither men spoke for a few minutes. Huti was sitting in uncomfortable silence, pondering his next words very carefully. Then, he broke the silence.

“I will do as you say.”

“Excellent. Do not forget our agreement, else you tempt my wrath.”

John got up, and his guards followed suit and walked with him, leaving Huti to sit on the ground with his face in his hands.



John got home, and found that Tetre had once again returned. He had with him some dogs, and some more gold. John was somewhat displeased it took him a few trips to finally get dogs, but no matter. Now they had war dogs. John inspected the dogs, and there were 10. 8 females, and only 2 males. But that’s fine. The dogs will breed, and more dogs will follow. Now, John had one more project to work on before he felt ready to take on the fortified village.

When John was finished with his new project, he looked up at it and smiled. It was ready. His empire cannot truly be an empire without a banner to rally under. Painted with chalk and blood on animal skin, it was rough. But it was his.

His men finally had something to be proud of, besides their glorious leader of course. He ordered more of these to be made to be draped over the shields, strung up, or to be as standards for his empire.

[Joohan]

A Crisis of Faith

10 years and 6 months after arrival...

South lands wilderness

---

The young disciple pushed the wet meadow grass out of his and his companion's way as they approached closer to the camp. The morning sun had yet to rise over the treeline, so translucent mist still hung heavy in the air. Being the lead, he took it upon himself to inform his two companions of any unexpected divets or mud pockets he'd happened to step in. The older, and more amiable, companion would nod and thank him for his warnings - clutching and pulling at his yellow and brown robes to shield himself from the cool easterly breeze. The other companion, a stern and shadowy looking figure, seemed much more sure footed than his partner - having been silent nearly the entire journey, and not once dispensing with the red cloak that covered nearly every inch of his body from the knee up. The disciple would remark, internally, the man's odd appearance, and that of the men which he travelled with initially who had handed these two off into his present company. Despite being fully grown, the hair atop his head was cut so short that his scalp was only just barely covered by brown fuzz. His face was clean shaven too, not a hair grew from ear to ear. The disciple had heard stories of the fearsome soldier: shaved warriors from the north who spoke in birdsong, wielded iron weapons, and would destroy entire tribes. He didn't know what an iron weapon looked like - but he was quite sure that he'd yet to hear the man speak in birdsong, so he wouldn't humor the idea of a soldier being in his company.

They'd eventually pushed their way into an open clearing near the center of the meadow, where a small camp had been erected. The camp's occupiers, all men wearing the same shabby cream colored robes, were already awake and busying themselves with the morning chores. As soon the young disciple had appeared with his two companions in suite, the men stopped their chores to surround and welcome them ( the older companion taking to the greeting well, while the other maintained his quite sterness ). The two outsiders were quickly ushered to sit down around the firepit, were the camp's occupants insisted that they partake in their meager breakfast of porridge and hare. It would be only a short while later though, when from out of the meadow grasses, appeared the figure of a young man striding forth toward the camp - sporting the same shabby robes as the rest of the campers, and walking with a long cedar staff. To the outsider's confusion, all of the camp's occupants quickly prostrated themselves before the approaching figure, their heads bowed into the wet earth. Not wishing to appear disrespectful, the two rose to their feet, giving slight bows toward the man who was clearly this camp's leader - and the man whom they had travelled to meet. Stopping just short of the two men, Midir the Druid ( Midir the Charlatan, to his critics ) stamped the ground twice with his staff - a command which brought the prostrating campers back up to their feet, crowding around their teacher.

Upon initial inspection, Midir wasn't what either Teaghan nor Haston had expected. He was short, only just reaching below Teaghan's shoulder. He appeared also remarkably young; behind the bushy blond beard and long knotted locks, was a remarkably bright eyed and youthful face. Midir wrapped both his hands round his cedar staff and looked between the two of them.

" Welcome, Haston of clan Danarran. Praise be to the gods that you journey to my flock went without molestation. " His voice was airy, his tone was soft. Haston bowed slightly again toward the young druid.

" It was their will that we should meet. I am gracious that you would accept our company. "

As Midir nodded, he turned to look at Teaghan, who had not spoken since arrivinng in the camp. He looked him up and down, from the top of his shaved head, down his red cloak, and down to his mud covered boots. Their eyes met, and Midir continued,

" Your arrival was fortold to me. While at prayer, the Aos Sí whispered of a northerner's arrival - a warrior of iron and terror. Welcome, soldier. "

Midir's flock began moving nervously, with looks of shock and awe being exchanged between the disciples ( the young disciple who had escorted the two men had a nervous jolt rush up and down his spine at the realization that one of the men he had been leading was indeed a soldier ).

Teaghan cocked an eyebrow toward the druid, but it would be Haston to answer the revelation. " Truly are you blessed by the gods. Yes, my companion is a soldier of the Ablan, and their terrible Army. As a sign of our tribe's friendship, he has been called as my ally and companion upon this journey. "

Midir turned back toward Haston, and nodded with a weak smile. " Yes, twas a matter of dire faith - was it not? "

" A most urgent crisis! "

Midir motioned with one hand towards the seats around the fire pit, " Then let not your time be wasted further. Sit, and we shall discuss this crisis of faith! "

As they took their seats, Teaghan and Haston next to one another upon a log, Midir facing opposite them while his disciples either sat upon the ground around him or ran about the camp, continuing their chores. It was insisted that before discussions began, a prayer be sent up to the god of wisdom, Llŷr. Haston of course agreed ( agreeing for Teaghan in turn ) and they all bowed their heads. The southern liturgical prayer was slightly different from the western and northern dialects which Haston and Teaghan were used to respectively - but still similar enough in that they could still follow along. Finished, with asking the god of wisdom for fortune in their discussion and in solving this crisis of faith, Midir raised his head and placed his cedar staff across his lap as he looked over towards Haston. Over the tips of the flickering flames, Midir looked so much older than what he actually was.

" Let us begin, Haston of clan Danarran. My faithful student, Lyerlíor, had told of your need for divine assistance - though he was unable to explain as to how you'd realized this, or in what manner. We must start in knowing, what need have the westerlands for a humble servant of the gods, such as I? "

His tone and manner of speaking was very professional, Teaghan thought, the kind of way one might speak to a stranger one was not yet sure of.

" Good teacher, my tribe fills with growing dread each passing day. My father, our patriarch and chief since years uncounted, lies ill, and Morrigan beckons his soul towards her domain. For as he has lead my clan and our tribe since before even the days of nearest peer, his passing fills within every man a dread and gnawing fear for days to come. My kin are frightened. They're becoming rash, like sheep without their shepherd. I have travelled this far to ask a servant of Dagodeiwos to bring heavenly grace upon our souls. To remind my kinsmen that our fate lies in the mighty hands of the gods, and not upon the brittle bones of man. "

It was a masterfully worded plea on Haston's part; telling the truth - but not the entirety of the truth. Midir simply nodded before he offered his response,

" I see, so as such, you have come on part of your kinsmen to beseech my aid in restoring the faith of the Danarran? " Teaghan maintained his stoic exterior, but was silently impressed by the seemingly innocent question, and the subtle hints that it made. Midir had essentially asked weather his being here was an official mission placed upon him by his fellow clansmen, or if haston had acted alone and of his own volition. Perhaps, Teaghan remarked, Midir knew more about the so called, Crisis, than he had let on.

Haston sighed, " I'm afraid that this journey has come about only as part of my own volition. My kinsmen, in their fear and anger, turn on one another, brother against brother, blood against blood. Their spirits are addled by uncertainty and their minds seek more bestial comforts. It is only so few among us who are able to see that the gods shall harrow forward into tomorrow. I'd no inclination towards waiting for my brothers to repose their senses before acting - thus it was that I journeyed South and eastward to find a right teacher for my people. To find you, good teacher. "

Two men of Midir's flock approached the fire pit, bending down to their knees and raising up a pot of beer and three cups toward Midir. The druid looked toward Haston and Teagan. " We would be honored if you were to drink with us. "

Haston shook his head enthusiatically, savoring the thought of drinking something over than the water in his pouch. Teaghan too, though without saying as much, hadn't minded the thought of a hard drink. Midir nodded towards his disciples, who would fill each cup with beer before handing it off to each of the men. It was bitter and strong, and as it went down Haston nearly chortled. The drink was harsh stuff, but refreshing for two men who had been travelling for days across the countryside. Midir would do no more than sip at his drink before picking back up with the discussion.

" Your bravery and faith, Danarran son, are commendable before Heaven - and I've no doubt as to the purity of your adventure. But I am weary of what might your kinsmen say on the matter? Why must it be that a southerner must come and bring salvation to your tribe? What of your own kins druid? And of course, what shall they make of your initiative? If I were indeed to move my flock westerlands with you, how could we know that we would have a home among your people? "

" Good teacher, the Danarran have not had a druid among them since the passing of Loreah the fat three years ago. In his stead, shamans have catered to the spirits and aliments of men - but no true speaker for the gods has come to take his place. It has been heard though, far and wide, that your mysticism is without equal, and that your peers are none. Who better a man to cast the fear from men's hearts than you? "

Midir's stare from across the flickering flames was unmoving and unblinking, rivaling even Teaghan's deameanor in stoicism. " And how, Haston of clan Danarran, am I to be sure that my flock would be able to call the Westerlands home? "

To the heart of the matter, Midir the druid had cut passed Haston's flattery. The mystic was young, but no fool; he knew that this attempt at recruitment was not simply to resolve a matter of faith, but to settle a crisis of succession. If Haston could not guarantee that Midir's flock would be welcome among the Danarran, then that would mean that he had rivals; and if Haston had rivals, then that meant that there was something being fought over - who would succeed his father, Georgge Danarran, and become Chief of the tribe?

Before Haston could reply, Teaghan placed the back of his hand onto his arm. When Haston looked over, Teaghan simply gave a nod, indicating that he would answer the Druid's challenge. Midir's stoniness gave way to mild suprise, for he'd yet to hear the soldier speak. Even he was curious to hear what might a warrior of such blood thirsty reputation might have to say. Teaghan spoke, his voice lighter and smoother than what the druid had imagined.

" And if they were not welcomed into the Westerlands, tell me teacher, would your flock be any worse off? "

The question was disarming to Midir, not only in that it was far more advesarial than the tone which Haston had taken, but also in the sheer unexpectedness of it.

" Beg pardon? "

" In addition to tales of your deeds in service to the gods, so to have stories been whispered of the misgivings you've had with your own clan. As it stands, or so I've been informed, you've been exiled away from your kinsmen - away from your home, and forced to live as a creature among the woods. If you were to travel westward to the Danarran lands, and were you be denied the right to settle among them, would you be any worse off? To what home in the south had you left... this meadow? "

There was a moment of stunned silence shared between Haston and Midir towards Teaghan's comments. Haston at his companion's gall, and Midir toward the embarrassing truth of it. After a few moments, the young mystic was able to recompose himself to answer the soldier's challenge.

" My kinsmen in the south, were clouded in their judgment - and had favored more earthly trivialities over adherence toward the divine. Our exile is of no concern - for the god's shall provide for their faithful. "

Teaghan raised up and open palm in gesture toward Haston.

" And so they've delieverd him to you. The god's have provided for their faithful, and in the west your flock shall find it's home. Have you no faith, teacher, that what has been sent before you was not the will of Heaven? Will you deny your destiny, and refuse to bring peace to a troubled land? "

Now it was Haston's turn to be silently impressed. Were he could not catch flies with honey, Teaghan had done the job with vinegar. Midir seemed impressed as well, for not once since the negotiations stared had he seemed to really mull over what had been said to him by the foriegners. He would take yet another sip from his cup of beer, before looking back toward Teaghan, who maintained his silence in awaiting the teacher's answer. " Soldier... you surprise me. "

" I'm rather good at catching people off guard. "

Midir hmphed, and with a smile, he slowly stood himself up with his staff - a motion mimiced by Haston and Teaghan.

" I see then that there is wisedom in what you have said - son of the Ablan. Perhaps, it is in the west that I shall find peace. "

[Achidyemay]

Day 93
Outside Vorvyo
Krawa was true to his word. After dinner their first night back, he had assembled many friends from the city and they left for the north to fell the timber. Doing his best to standardize and lead the process, Raffael found strong and clever workers in the populous. He was surprised by their practical understanding and the fence came together in little time at all. In the end, they ended up making many more fences, containing the goat, sheep, and cow herds. All in all, the fields had been turned into a patchwork, and more extensions were still being planned. A modified axe could cut through the sod with enough muscle behind it, it had been found, as well as ways of interacting with the animals once they had been enclosed.

Raffael had taken the practical lead with most of the animals, particularly the horses. He spoke with Krawa's authority, yet, and he was careful to be patient and understanding with the people he was dealing with, but it was nice to be working with a purpose and goal again. The aimless trading had been a lifestyle, but as he got to learn more about the people of the village, the more he began to respect his hosts. And they were hosts, they constantly reminded him that he was an outsider, even though he spoke their language perfectly. Not that it mattered much as he continued to give good and sensible advice. He didn't bother with the finer points of teaching, and when he explained why something should be done a certain way, he spoke in metaphors and parables. The first foal had already been born within the pen, a bay colt with a skidish temperament. They were all skidish. Raf hoped they could be trained out of that and he attempted to work with the horses on an individual basis daily.

Now, however, he was in the Big House, home of Dractas Dahtarm, the leader of the community. His family was the eldest in the village and well respected, while most of the family elders held sway within the village, or at least their respective families, Dahtarm's ability to fairly lead his people had garnered him an unprecedented amount of authority. Raffael had interacted with him from time to time, mostly while Krawa was there; this was the first time he had been summoned before Dahtarm by himself, and the invitation to his home meant that there was a certain formality to the meeting. Raffael had taken a moment to wash his face and comb his hair.
"Raffael, it is good to see you!" The house was a two room affair, but the larger main room took up most of the building's footprint. The main room itself was dominated by a sunken hearth, tended by his wife, Jiwash. Dahtarm sat near to her, warming himself before the flames. He was an older man in his mid 60s with sharp features that Raffael couldn't place. His hair was receding, but he wore a wide, felt hat.
"It is good to see you, too, Dractas." Raffael replied, using his title and politely nodding his head.
"Have you eaten at all, my wife has cooked us some pork." Thick strips of bacon sizzled on a slab in the hearth. Jiwash prodded at it idly, keeping it from baking onto the rock.
"I would be honored to share a meal with your family."
The chatted idly about the weather and the health of various persons. There was a minor gossip as to whether Krawa and Anash would be having another child soon, and Raf did confirm that it looked like she was beginning to carry. As the bacon was served, a seriousness entered into Dahtarm's voice.
"Raffael, where do you come from?"
Raffael picked up on the change of tone, they were discussing business now. "I'm an American."
"And America is a land to the west?"
"I'm not certain, I think we're in it right now, or it's further south, I'm not sure."
"When you first arrived you came from the north, though."
Raffael confirmed this, then recounted his tale, how he had woken up on the snow covered beach and made his way to Sulo's band.
"That's quite a story. When this Sulo left, why didn't you go with him?"
"I had heard you have horses, I was hoping to ride them east, to Wisconsin."
"What's in Wisconsin?"
"That's where I'm from."
"I thought you said you were from, what was it? Amer-something?"
"Wisconsin is within America, like how Vorvyo is on the Dnieff."
"Mhm, and Krawa tells me you've ridden horses before..."
"Sure, when I was younger, my Aunt trains them professionally for racing, she kept a few at my Grandmother's ranch, where I grew up."
"And when you have a horse you can ride, you will leave? Do you plan on returning?"
"I'm curious to know your answers to these questions, I'd like to leave, I'd like to return, you lot would gain greatly from technology, I think." Dahtarm sucked air in through his mouth, he seemed concerned by this, not relieved.
"Raffael, I will be frank with you, I worry about this village. They look up to me and my family for a steady hand and valid leadership. My father came to this city with my own Uncles and Aunts, they brought the herds. We found a village that had grown too large, there had been a long winter- the people we found were starved or nearly dead. We worked with the natives as best we could, but they couldn't speak our language, they kept slaughtering our sheep out of turn. As other herders joined us they were... displaced."
Jiwash frowned at Dahtarm, but he shrugged off the look and continued.
"More migrants join us every year, although there are fewer now than in the past, and the forests to the northwest are not as hospitable as these grasslands. You tell me you are from a land to the south called America, I will tell you that no such land exists. You appear to have come alone, I worry that you are simply the first. You profess knowledge that is strange and foreign to us. I have heard you speak, and while you speak our language well, you also spoke the language of Sulo well, and you speak occasionally in a matter that is strange. So tell me, Raffael, how history seems to repeat itself. Tell me that you are not like we were, that your son will not some day sit in this house, at this hearth, and care for a people who are strange to us."
There was a great deal of silence for a moment.
"Dractas, I... understand... your fears, and I appreciate you being so open with me. When I say I'm the first, I speak as I know- there may be more like me, who woke up on a beach to come south. There may be others like me with my knowledge, who speak English, and they may be coming. I can't deny this. I can only tell you what I want, and all I want is to return to my home. To do so I could just leave, but I've come to appreciate your people, and I want to make your lives better. I think improved pastoralism is a good way of accomplishing this goal, but I do have other ideas if you would like them. Your people are not starving or near death, but with my help, I'd like you to flourish. I'm on your side, and I will share with you all that I know, if you would have it. If those people who had been here first had adopted your technology, they'd still be around. Don't repeat their mistakes."
"You are not doing much to dissuade my fears."
Raffael laughed, "I can lie to you, if it would make you feel better. I want to help you, but I'll need your trust."
"Hmm... From now on, I'd like you to report to me all of your plans before you enact them, and you will dine with my family at least 5 times in a celestial cycle. I want you to understand that you are a guest in this village, don't betray our hospitality. To that end, I'd like to talk to you about the fencing that you and Krawa have built in the valley. You are lucky that we have had no new migrants to the city, and we have not had to use that wood for housing, but we do need to start stockpiling wood for the winter. As well as food, I'm told you want to do this selective breeding thing. It seems inefficient to me, we need the food that we can get. Further you want to plant foods for the cattle. Raffael, this is a worrisome proposition, and your ideas undermine the security of this town if you would continue us down this path."
"Eating meat fed from gardens is inefficient, I agree, it's a primary cause of climate change. I only suggested it as a future plan, for years from now, currently, your cropping attempts are too feeble to be useful. I'm told in the winter that most of the town goes south with the herd, I think this is a good idea. For those that remain, the worst of the cattle will remain aswell."
"This doesn't seem like a good plan."
"It's similar enough to tradition, Krawa tells me that you refresh the herds from southern populations, I think if we put in an effort to procure larger and kinder animals, we'll have a more secure source of food in the future. Only keep the stallions we want alive, keep as many mares as we can as pregnant as is possible. I will be honest, since coming to this strange land I have been hungrier than any time in my life. My people have more food than they know what to do with. Obesity is a huge problem."
"I just don't like this, Raffael."
"It will be fine, here, I will discuss all that I would wish to do with you tonight, and likely tomorrow and the next day."