New Civilizations ( IC, Open )

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

Bruno Davids
Southern France

As I turned the corner, the cold evening air hanging over the Dutch town of Leiden was transformed. I blinked. What had been freezing and biting before had turned to a warm embrace, not only caressing my face, but covering my body like a blanket. The dark had vanished, and a bright light like the sun shone down on me, where I just moments before had to avail myself of the light of street lanterns. My feet, instead of being safely and unfeelingly stored in my shoes, now touched soft blades of grass, the earth warmly moulding to the shape of my feet. After blinking, I opened my eyes, and the corner had gone. Leiden had gone.

Instead, I was standing amidst a field of stones. Carnac stones, standing in neat rows as far as I could see them, rising up with the incline of a hill and disappearing beyond it. There were no paved roads, no buildings. None of the quaint brick buildings and canals that made Leiden what it was. Instead, there were grassy hills and forests, trees as old as time, and a myriad of sheep grazing among the stones. These sheep, however, were thin, covered in only a very thin layer of wool. The stones were not surrounded by fencing or walls, and in the small part of the valley within my line of sight, there were no signs of human civilisation.

“Huh” I uttered. A sudden breeze had alerted me to my nakedness, brushing past my upper legs and my abdomen. I looked around for something to cover me, but there was nothing at all. Nothing but the grass that brushed past my feet.

Suddenly, I became aware of a sound, rolling in from behind the hillside. It sounded melodic, like a singing, but unlike any music I had heard before. Although I could not hear the words, it sounded entrancing, and I started making my way up the hill. Where there was music, there were people, and perhaps they could help me with some coverings.

Was this what a blackout was? Had I gotten blackout drunk last night, and lost all memory of the event? It had not been my intention to get that drunk. It had not been my intention to drink anything at all that night, so I wondered what might have changed my mind. As I ascended the hill, I was amazed at how clean the air was. It was like breathing in the mountains, a crisp breathing that allowed one’s lungs to rest. As I climbed further and further, I came to hear the music clearer and clearer. Soon, I could make out the words.

Oh, forefathers, those who came before,
Take unto you your proud son
Who, like you heroes in the days of yore
Came home victorious, the battle won

It sounded very solemn. The voice was cracked, emotional. As I crested the hill, I saw why. Just on the opposite slope, circled by a pattern of ancient stones, stood a dolmen. It had been constructed from the large, Scandinavian stones that had been deposited here by the ice of the last ice age. They looked clean, well-polished, and the dirt around the dolmen was carved up and molested, indicating that it had been recently constructed. The stones were partially covered by fresh dirt, dug from other parts of the hillside, and the wooden shovels were still in sight.

At that moment, I saw a few bearers, male and female, carrying a wooden stretcher into the dolmen. On it lay a human figure, covered in some sort of cloth, than hung lightly over it. The singing came from the bearers, as well as from the people forming two rows along a path to the dolmen, some of whom carried torches. After the stretcher bearers returned from inside the dolmen, four muscular men rolled the final stone in front of the entrance, closing it forever.

I wondered who these people were. They looked like experimental archaeologists, and actually building a full dolmen was not beyond those people. Yet, who would let them do that in what looked like an ancient archaeological site? Who was allowed to dig so near to these ancient stones? The people themselves were none too large, I now noticed. Just as I saw that, I also noticed how they stopped singing, and one by one started looking in my direction. I covered my primary sex organs, blushing with shame, before walking down the hill in their direction. I hoped I was not interfering in their research, because it would be very unhelpful if they had to start the whole process all over again.

“Hello! Hi!” I said as I came into earshot.

“Yes, I’m sorry for my appearance, but…”

Then, my legs gave out under me, and before I even hit the ground, everything turned black.

When I woke up, I found myself inside a thatch hut. I could make out the weavings of the branches that made up the inner skeleton, covered in various sewn-together hides of an origin I could not recognise. I could not see how much time had passed, his watch was gone from his wrist, however he could see the evening sky turning a dark blue. I slowly rose from my position, and found myself covered in a woollen blanket, which I thankfully kept around myself. In the hut were various items, pottery with different contents, leather straps and bags, stone tools… no sign of any modern technology. These people were in deep.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark hut I could suddenly make out a figure sitting in the corner, doing some work with a mortar and pestle. As I rose to sit, her eyes widened, and she put aside her handiwork.

“Are you okay?” She asked. At least, that’s what I both heard and did not hear. She spoke neither Dutch nor English, that much I could make out, but I understood her perfectly nonetheless. It as a strange sensation, which made me wonder for the first time if I was perhaps dreaming. It was all so surreal. I checked my own vitals, touched my ribcage and my head, checking if everything seemed solid.

“Yeah, I think so” I answered, hesitantly. “I don’t know what happened there”

“Well, you fainted” the woman responded. She was in her early thirties I judged from her appearance. She was rather small too, only around 1,50 m. She reminded me of Simone in that fashion, only her eyes were brown.

“That’s a first…” I answered, trying to sound blasé. “Where am I? What is this place?”

She gave me a strange look, which was fair given the question. Being asked where one was would always be a rather odd question.

“We brought you to Torsen’s village, in the River Valley. Where are you from?”

Oh dear. Apparently, she misunderstood my question, or was so deep in character that she thought I was playing along. That, or I was indeed dreaming. I decided to answer truthfully, and gauge her reaction on that.

“I’m from Leiden…” I started, but her confused look told me that that was not enough information.

“In the Netherlands” I added.

“The Low Lands?” she answered. “Down by the coast, you mean?”

This was, of course, true. However, judging from her lack of understanding, there was obviously some miscommunication. It was at that point that I determined that I was indeed having a dream, which would explain why I remembered so little about the night before. And, in a dream, one can best play along to get some joy out of it.

“Well, yes, in a way” I answered, unnecessarily cryptically as I later determined.

“We will be traveling to the coast in a few weeks” she said, ignoring my own cryptic answer. “Maybe you could tag along, traveling alone can be dangerous, and we could use two strong arms”

While I was not particularly strong, when I left the hut to join the others, now clothed in a woollen tunic, I saw what she meant. She was no anomaly; the other townsfolk, male and female, were just as small, sometimes even smaller. Only the burliest of men came even close to matching my height, but none quite managed. I towered over them, something I had not seen since high school. And from their physique, I could also tell that I must have looked incredibly healthy to them. My skin was clean, my teeth straight, and my face cleanly shaven. Apart from that, I did not have any sort of tan, while these people were all heavily tanned from being in the outdoors.

A cursory glance of the surroundings taught me that these were hunters-gatherers of some description. Woven baskets were filled with berries, wild grains and roots. Deer and sheep carcasses were hung out to dry, with the elderly men and women taking care that the flies did not get to the meat. A deer carcass was being roasted over a fire, and the barbecue smell filled the crisp evening air.

“Would you stay to eat?” the woman asked. “I’m Telda, by the way”

“Bruno” I replied, curtly. “And I would enjoy that very much”

[Bortslovakia]

Sunset
A Bort and J Love Story Collab
September, 20 AME (2980 BCE)

Patrick Kolman, Dublin
Unlike five years ago the arrival of a vessel bearing the crimson red flag of Icedonia was not greeted with any sort of excitement. In some ways, this was perhaps preferable. Though it had turned out for the best, few had forgotten those first tense moments on the docks when the militia had been called to send off the potential invaders from across the sea. The subsequent fanfare would be missed though, as today those newly assigned (or reassigned) to the embassy found themselves only greeted by a handful of guards, and a formal invitation to the residence of the High King. Nothing to scoff at, of course, but perhaps disappointing for those who had heard tale of great celebrations, opulent gifts, and significant consumption of alcohol from their predecessors in the Sevrant’s army. To those in the know, however, the subdued reaction of Britain’s largest city was almost befitting of the grim news they had come to deliver. As if the buildings themselves understood what had occurred all those months ago along the coast of the Morning Sea. I, of course, had some knowledge of what had happened, but nothing concrete. The look on the face of Conwanna, the foremost representative of the Accantry within Hibernia, as she approached the walkway leading up to my abode did nothing to belay those concerns however. Though stoic, her idle twitches and mutterings indicated that in her head she was running over how she intended to relay whatever information she had, a nervous tick I myself had spent years trying, and failing, to do away with. Though her retinue betrayed less, even the soldiers guarding those diplomats within their charge, normally unreadable, seemed more reserved than usual, their confidence shaken if only slightly. Most curiously, however, was the small child that walked alongside Conwanna, holding the Accant’s hand and looking directly down so as to keep her footing on the cobbled walkway. She seemed the only bright spot in a sea of melancholy, but even still remained absolutely silent, reading the room better than one would expect from someone so young. Of course, she could have just been flat out told to be quiet, but when has that ever worked with a young child? Occam’s Razor told me this was probably Yhorne. Unexpected certainly, especially since I didn’t see Recuridan, but Conwanna had mentioned in the past that she disliked being away from her child for extended periods of time.

Moving away from the window, I quickly made my way downstairs to the door. Cathalan was in Knowth, and the rest of my ever shrinking inner circle were all overseas, leaving only me to hear what the Icedonians had to say. The sun had yet to rise, but I was still presentable luckily, having awoken an hour prior. As I opened the door, I motioned for the party to enter, smiling politely. “Welcome all. I apologize for the state of things, but you weren’t expected to arrive until tomorrow. Good weather I suppose.” I paused for a moment, taking in the grave expression on Conwanna’s face, before adding “ I’ll have some extra chairs, and breakfast brought for your retinue. We can discuss whatever seems to be bothering you in the study.”

---

For the fiery headed accant, whose precocious activity was legendary amongst her peers, silence was something to be dreaded. Over these last few weeks, the whole world seemed to be silent to Conwanna. No birdsongs to greet her in the morning, nor shuffle of Yhorne from her sleep, no toll from Israel’s bell, nor breeze passing by her face. All she could hear was what was not there. Who would never be there again. Her ears were perked and ready, for the ghostly sounds of a reunion never meant to be. She pretended to sip at the drink graced to her, sitting across the table from Patrick - the two not making eye contact. For her old friend’s sake, she pretended to enjoy the food, but honestly, the mere thought of eating or drinking these days made her feel sick. Some might have said it was because of the pregnancy, but she knew better.

The High King didn’t try to break the silence, knowing full well that she would speak when she was ready - that there was obviously something eating away at her. Even through the misery, Conwanna could reflect on how foolish she obviously looked. Patrick knew something was wrong, and she was tired of pretending for politeness sake. With a cathartic sigh, she put her mug back down on the table, and for the first time since having been offered breakfast, she actually looked up at Patrick. She tried her best to feign stoicism.

“ Thank you for… this, good king. If it is all the same though, I should wish to carry on with the business that brought me here in the first place. I have no doubt that you are aware of the invasion which had befallen the Virtuous Land? Savages from across the Morning Sea, warriors who called themselves imperial. They had come in hundreds, north of our border, swallowing those tribes that stood in their wake, erecting battlements and preparing for greater war… “

She seemed to trail off as her gaze was caught by the sight of Yhorne playing outside, in the garden. The barely shrouded sun lit up the world in a brilliant cloudy white light, her daughter shone in almost ghostly radiance. The red hair that fell and bounced around her shoulders clashed against her paleness - like fire to snow.

“ We gave it to them. Our armies marched out to meet them beyond the bounds of the Service lands. We’ve… never faced an enemy more terrible than they. Weapons we’d never seen before, steel armor clad upon every warrior amongst them, and horses even greater than our own. We were victorious, in the end… but not as we were accustomed to it. They’d agreed to leave, and we’d agreed not to exterminate those who’d sided with them. The combat had proven too fierce, and even we had almost been broken. We are still healing. “

She could feel a rising, fluttering feeling start round her heart, her throat too seemed to be sealing shut. Realizing that she would have to leave soon, she fished out a scroll from her robes, then standing up and walking over to where Patrick sat.

“ I cannot speak first hand on the horrors of combat… only for what it took from me. Issac was there though, and he wanted you to read this. “ Depositing the sealed scroll in front of the High King, she quickly left the room with little decaying composure she had left.

---

I suppose I had the right of it with my initial guess, but it was clear that I had misjudged the extent. The child accompanying her. Conwanna’s distraught state. The lack of Recuridan... Last I heard from my friend, he had been shipped off to the eastern coast to conduct naval drills. Clearly he had been involved in the fighting at some point.

Standing from my chair, I absently toyed with the yet unopened scroll. The skirmish that had opened the war, a naval battle, had gone in the Imperium’s favor. I knew the soldier turned diplomat that had spent the last five years roaming this nation had died in that battle, and I was never even given the chance to mourn properly. Another friend confined to the dustbin of history while I yet lived, not a day older than when I had arrived those twenty years prior. It was more shocking than anything, at least in this specific moment. Slowly I pried open the seal, and looked down at the writing before me.

To the High King of Hibernia, Patrick of the clan Coleman

This letter has been a long time coming, as I am sure you that you know, just as well as I, that neither one of us belongs to this world. Though I’ve had my suspicions of you for years now, i’ve kept myself away from making direct contact like this. I’ve heard much about you, of your time and adventures across Hibernia - that land we used to call Ireland. I’ve heard of how you defeated barbarian hordes in the hundreds, of how you erected the walls of Dublin, how you brought the disparate tribes of the East together under one union, and of your attempts at democratic rule amongst these primitives. From these feats, I've surmised about you many things - namely, that you still carry the spirit of the 21st century within you.

I also do not doubt that you have heard many things about me. I shall make no qualms of the matter, for I have indeed abandoned the ideals which we were both raised to. That is not to say though that I have become a monster, only that I have found it necessary to pursue more distasteful methods in order to ensure my people’s survival. I am not a brute, only compelled to incredible action for the love of those who gave shelter to me, I hope that you can understand.

It is from this same love and sense of duty that I have bid Conwanna to deliver this message to you. If she has done as she had been instructed, then you already know about the Imperium’s invasion. I saw them first hand, and know for a fact that there is another person, like us, leading them. This person, a Viktor, is a man of considerable skill and or knowledge - paired with what seems to be a dangerous ambition for domination. His elite forces clashed against my own armies, and only through attrition was a peace reached. They left our isle, but I have no doubts that they shall return to try and rectify our defiance of them. From our battles with them alone, I have surmised that the land from which they came from must be massive - with thousands of workers and shops needed to field such a well supplied and trained force. It was only through the tact discipline of my own forces that we had achieved victory; were this truly a war of attrition though, we would lose.

From what we have managed to piece together, Viktor’s ambitions do not merely stop at our shores either. He has already waged a war against the Commonwealth years before. If the name he has given to his people is any indication, then I truly believe this man’s intention is world domination; and I can’t stop him, not alone. If he does defeat my people, then it shall not be long before he set’s his sights upon Hibernia next.

The Imperium threatens us all, and for the sake of my peoples survival, it is necessary to put aside our pride. Patrick, upon the hills of Snowdonia, I should wish to meet you in person: both for political reasons, and on a personal level. There, we might better communicate, face to face, rather than through a correspondence of letters. By the time you receive this message, I shall already be on my way toward the mountain. Until we meet-

from the Sevrant of Icedonia, Issac of clan Irren

Curious. More than I had hoped for in some ways. An obvious trap in others. Much of what the Sevrant had to say I was already aware of. In fact, I was hoping to receive another correspondence from Viktor within the next two weeks. Yet… I could not fault his logic. In spite of my personal feelings, the Imperium was most certainly a threat. More so than the Commonwealth and Icedonia, who I would hesitantly call rivals. I set about listing the benefits in my head, weighing them against the obvious costs. At minimum coming to an understanding with the Icedonians would secure our eastern border, and perhaps even provide a shield against Commonwealth aggression. With a bit of luck, maybe we could even form an alliance of sorts. There was also the added possibility of meeting Issac face to face. His methods may be contemptible, but we had both accomplished so much over the past twenty years. Imagine what the knowledge of two future minds could do? Finally, there was the matter of Recuridan… I owed it to him to put a little trust in our English neighbor, and the trip would give me the chance to properly say goodbye. Weighed against the potential for betrayal, capture, and certain death, it really shouldn’t have been a hard decision. Yet it was, and I was feeling particularly lucky.

I quickly made my way to the door, for there was much work to be done. Gifts rounded up. Letters sent. Precautions taken…. More precautions taken! Downstairs I found the delegation, Conwanna seeming mostly composed at this point as she held Yhorne. I motioned for her to follow as I made my way outside, the Brown Cloaks guarding the door quickly falling in beside me. It wasn’t a long trip. The warehouses were directly beside the docks and shipyards, making for a short ten minute walk. Throughout our brief trip the Accant said nothing beyond the occasional hushing of Yhorne, which suited me fine. Showing was prefered to telling in this case, lest she think me mad without context. Finally we reached the warehouse I was looking for, the great doors accented by crossed wooden swords that served as decorative locks. There were many military stockpiles like it spread throughout the city, but only this one specifically held what I was looking for. To the right sat a pile of crossbows and their various components, springs and levers neatly packed in leather wrapping. To the left were rows and rows of securely stored spears, ready for use within a moment's notice. All would be useful of course, but what I was interested in sat in the very center of the room. Standing separately on a platform were several dozen neatly stored barrels, each bound tightly together as a precaution. A metal ramp ran down the platform to one side, allowing one to easily roll down singular barrels. I quickly motioned for Conwanna to help me get one down, letting Yhorne “help” as well once it got low enough on the ramp for her to reach. Only once it was securely standing up did I crack open the barrel and reveal the blackish grey substance inside.

“This” I began, smiling nervously “Is something we primarily use for industrial purposes. Blowing paths for track to be laid along cliff sides, burrowing through particularly large mountains, exposing new mining deposits, etcetera. Though I have weaponized it to some extent, I am not exactly experienced enough to work out the finer details in a timely fashion.”

Seeing her confusion, I quickly grabbed a pinch of the powder and placed it on the floor well away from the both of us(and the rest of the barrels). I then took out my flint and tinder (because even a king needs one these days), and once I had a small flame, held it to the powder.

CRACK

It wasn’t a large explosion, as evident by the only damage to my hand being a bit of black soot, but the echo effect within the warehouse made it sound louder than it really was. Yhorne jumped at the noise and let out a little gasp, but quickly recovered, giggling excitedly. Scuffing the black mark now on the floor, I resumed. “In the past you said your Sevrant claimed to be a soldier from a far off land. Well that claim, combined with his letter, has led me to believe that he might have knowledge on how to make a certain weapon that I could not replicate easily. If I’m right, and I am risking negating part of my own technological edge over the Imperium and Icedonia if I’m not, both our states will prosper.”

I paused, thinking back on the last attempt to cast a cannon. We had successfully tested the bombard twice before the metal began to fracture. Perhaps Issac would have more insight…
“Lucky you arrived so early. It’ll give me the rest of the day to prepare.”

---

One week later…

Issac Irren, Menai
Snowdonia, the largest mountain in the known world, as the Icedonian’s knew it, held a special significance for those men and women familiar. In the time before death, when the world was young and the gods were still being born, The Danarran held that it was upon this mountain that Sellaeos, the mother to all mankind, had been pulled from the pool of Brigit ( the goddess of fire and healing ). Sellaeos then walked down from the mountain, and would birth all tribes of the world. The pool from whence she had been pulled from was said to still be there, according to pilgrims and explorers, it’s waters said to possess the power to heal any ailment.

I would love to have seen it for myself, the supposed birthplace of mankind, but though the temperate lowlands had seen the thaw months prior - the peaks of Snowdonia were still frozen over, being constantly blasted by icy winds funneled across the hilley country.
We had made content to camp ourselves at the base of the mountain, our tents pitched alongside a stream being fed by the still melting snows.

By we, I meant: myself, a retinue of guards and accants, as well as the entire Icense - all residing within a small encampment numbering around a dozen tents. As I sat under the entrance of my dwelling, gazing out at the alluring and barren landscape, I mused on how the Icense were adapting to their current rugged lifestyles. True, though they were still attended to by servants and accants for their every need, and that all of them had known even less comfort before the foundation of the Service - to have pulled the Service’s elite directors from their spoiled lives in Israel, to these Lichenous mountains over one hundred and fifty standards away, and then being made to share tents with one another… I’d like to think it put some perspective back into the minds of these bureaucrats and merchants. Teaghan, of course, even with his limp and tiring joints, found the trip crossed the isle to be a wonderful adventure! The old soldier not minding the weather or his quarters, relished the opportunity to leave the bureaucratic disputes of the capital and take part in vital field missions once again.

For this was a vital mission indeed. It was about mid-morning, and though the sun was well and up now, the chill of dawn had yet to fully thaw over. I could feel the joints in my knuckles stiffen as I flipped through the canvass pages of the large book I held in my lap. Wondrous hand drawn pictures of architecture, distant cities, men at arms, and ingenious contraptions: a catalogue of what this age might consider science fiction, as to a layman perhaps. As I ran my fingers over the scrawled images though, I understood the true meaning behind their intent, and that they were more than just fanciful drawings.

The whole camp was up by now, with servants roaming about and tending to the menial tasks of day to day living, soldiers patrolling round the perimeter of our encampment, accants waiting patiently by the sides of their respective Icense sponsors - and those elite servants of the Virtuous People: The Accantry heads of Direction, Observation, and Labor, as well as the Meshantri head, all waiting with uncomfortable patience for the arrival of our guest: the High King of Hibernia.

A simmering anxiety weighed over the Icedonian camp; one which few men would voice in any strong words of defiance. It was a feeling of uncertainty that had been cultivating for the last few months as it seemed - and though surely the great majority of that blame could be placed upon the Imperial invasion ( having only concluded some two months ago ), I was partly to blame as well. As it were, I had not been a right and proper Sevrant of the people throughout these last few months! Six months before the invasion occured, I had entrusted the direction of the Service to the Icense, choosing to galavant myself across the countryside, in what I could only describe as an extremely productive nervous breakdown. Upon my return to rearing the reigns of power, I had spent no more than two weeks organizing the war effort from Israel before I was off again to the north; accompanying the West Army as a clandestine observer. I had desired to watch how my armies functioned without my direct supervision - my only part in the ensuing combat being that of a translator ( I having personally led numerous interrogations, as well as having written the placard goading the Imperials to try and retake Klothis ). Even after the ceasing of the war, I still would not return to my seat of power for some time. I had need of yet one more adventure before returning back to my people. My final return home had not been more than two weeks ago, much to counselors and subordinates relief. What I had brought with me from my recent adventure, however, was a very unsettling course of action.

Politics, as it is understood as a civil battle of ideas among the members of government, did not yet exist in Icedonia. There was debate on method of execution, a revising of strategy/tactics, and even skepticism towards plans; but, the Service was and always had been a thoroughly autocratic order, where the direction of government was never questioned. That was until I had revealed to the members of the Icense my plan. Though they were careful never to put themselves into a position of defiance, it was clear that nearly all of those elite servants had misgivings about what it was I had to say. For though the Icedonian identity was still in its infancy, it had cultivated a strong zeitgeist among those who experienced it first hand. What brings the most unease to this first class of Icedonians, is not any kind of heinous or extreme act, rather, an admission of humility. Though I prized practicality above all else… this was still a virtue I had yet to imprint upon my people.

They relented though, in the end, either acknowledging what I had to say as the truth, or, realizing that I would not be swayed, they had agreed to follow me upon my course of action. That is the reason why we sat there, one hundred fifty standards from our homes, waiting in wildlands, for the arrival of foriegn royalty: subservience, if not directly for the people, then towards my vision.

And as it were, my mind's vision was coming true. As an approaching guard had come from the perimeter to inform me that the Hibernian Host had arrived.

The garrison of Anglesey quietly watched from across the Menai Strait, both in awe of the history being made today, and wary of their Icedonian counterparts. It went without saying that betrayal was expected on both sides. To kill the legendary rulers of these two states would alter the course of thousands of years of future progress, and that’s a mighty tempting prospect to some. Regardless, the High King sat in that little boat with just an oarsman and his personal guards, distinguishable by their brown cloaks. Beside him moved another boat, carrying Conwanna and a series of individuals dressed in deep greens and whites. Diplomats of some sort clearly.

My first impressions of the man; he was shorter than I expected... though still taller than those around him. His dress was distinguished enough, with a slightly more ornate variant of a traditional Hibernian cloak covering his similarly styled, practical gambeson. The man himself was quite stocky, with the younger features of someone in their early twenties. He sported a relatively neat beard, and though his hair was a bit longer than some would approve of, it too appeared well kept. Strangely, he wore no crown, though a bronze circlet that some might call a crown hung at his belt. Overall, the High King I had heard so much about seemed quite average.

As the boats made landfall, Patrick stepped off, moving to help the rest of his party disembark. The glances he threw my way told me that similar thoughts were racing through his own head, a mix of amused surprise and heightened nerves thinly veiled behind the neutral mask that decorum demanded in situations like this. Finally the group approached our position, with Patrick and Conwanna taking a sizable lead, much to the poorly hidden annoyance of their respective guards. Many of them carried crates, likely lavish gifts similar to what had been exchanged between our two governments in the past. My personal hope was that the High King had been struck by the same urge to bring his thoughts on various inventions and ideas as I myself had been, but if not then at least whatever he had might soothe the yet still incensed egos of the Icense.

The group stopped naught but five feet away from our own, the tension obvious to everyone but Yhorne, who waved to me cheerfully from her mother's arms. The passing seconds felt more like minutes as the two of us staired, unsure what exactly to say. No weapons were drawn thankfully, but both retinues appeared close, the mutual concern of betrayal ever present. Finally, Patrick opened his mouth to speak… before closing it again. This gesture was repeating several more times, the man clearly wracked with indecision before finally speaking in plain English

“Well… hmm. This is… unexpected? Fuck it I suppose. Do we just want to start with introductions? This situation is clearly different than either of us are used to.”

Those were the first words of English I heard in almost twenty years that had not come from my own mouth. I couldn’t help the smirk that spread across my face. It was... refreshing. As if waking up from a dream.

“ Actually… If I am to be completely honest, you’re not the first one I’ve met who is… like us. But it is good to finally meet you. Please, come in. “

Holding back one side of the doorway to my tent, I revealed a rather expansive room, where cushions had already been set out for a meeting. I cast a glance up toward Conwanna and Yhorne; my god-daughter seemed extremely pleased to see me again, quickly jumping from her mother's arms and running up to wrap herself around my legs. We’d not seen each other since the day I left Israel to go north - months ago. As I bent down to hug my her, I looked up toward Conwanna. She… did not look back. I had heard about what happened to Recuridan, and that I was not there to be with her must have made her feel -

“ Wait till they show you the fire dust! “

Yhorne’s marble blue eyes looked up into mine, and her tone was filled with excitement. Though she often said nonsensical phrases, that one struck me as extremely curious. Looking up from our embrace, I turned my head up toward Patrick.

“ I’m sorry? Fire dust?“

“You can probably guess” he responded, gesturing for one of his soldiers to place a small barrel down at my feet. “But first, I’d like to know what the purpose of this meeting is. It’s certainly important enough to justify the risk. My contact with others like ourselves has been relatively limited. I’ve exchanged several letters with Viktor, as well as at least one with Clara in the Commonwealth, but this is… a first. Potentially the first instance of such a meeting in the world. Why, beyond the pleasant company of someone that’ll actually get your jokes, are we here?”

Perhaps it was just timing. Perhaps it was a tactical decision. Regardless, it was in that moment that the gifts truly started to make their presence known, distracting those around, diplomat and Icense alike, for but a brief moment. If there were ever to be a less formal moment in the conversation, now was it.

Placing a tender hand upon Yhornes shoulder, I stood up to face Patrick now. My god daughter staring between the two of us, despite her youth and inability to understand English, could very well feel the tension.

“ I fought a war against the Imperium - and I nearly lost. You’ve exchanged letters with Viktor? I met him! After the Imps sailed back to their country, I came along with them - disguised as an emissary. I had to see for myself just who and what these Imperials were; and what I saw shook any notion that I could defeat them. Their industry is twenty years ahead of ours, they’ve numbers in the tens of thousands, they’ve expanded all across the continent, they’ve cities five times larger Dublin! Then I met him, their Hegemon. The man lives in a palace straight out of a Medieval fantasy, and he truly believes that God sent him to the Earth to rule it all… There will be a second war, and I’ve no intention of letting that madman dominate my home. I wanted you here… to ask for your help. “

Letting go of Yhorne, I picked up the canvassed book from off the ground and strode right up to Patrick. We were only a few feet apart, a kind of electricity filling the space in between. Everyone in the camp by now had gathered to watch the meeting, and upon seeing the Sevrant and High King come within mere feet of each other, a shuddering silence had been cast upon them - language barrier be damned! I lifted up the hide covered book, it had no title, but clearly it carried a heavy importance, even lacking my explanation.

“ If your gift is what I think it is, then we might yet hold a hope for victory: These are all the notes I clandestinely took while traveling through the Imperium. Important buildings, power structures, factories, maps, weapons, contraptions, tribes, there is a legend at the front telling you how to decipher all the images. My gift to you. “

The high king cautiously took the book from my hands, inspecting it carefully along the exterior - hesitant to open it up among strangers. I continued.

“ He is a menace to us all. Should my people fail, they will come for you next. Icedonia needs Hibernia’s aid. “

Opening the book, Patrick slowly flipped through, occasionally nodding as if confirming a suspicion, but more often than not squinting in surprised interest. He absently motioned to the barrel, muttering “Don’t let anyone put a flame close to it by the way.” Finally, after several minutes, he set the book to the side, simply looking down as if deep in thought. “I was aware of some of this already. Some of our merchants import luxuries like regionally scented soaps from Imperial ports along the Elbe, and I’ve managed to secure a few examples of their military technology. The rest though… Some are ideas I’ve considered but either lacked the knowhow or manpower to invest significant time in. The rest, I can only wonder where Viktor found the time. If what you say is true, and from my experience with our good Hegemon I’d say that is entirely possible, then diplomacy and common cause will only help Hibernia for so long. I’m told you’re a military man. Assuming that includes your experience before arriving here, you may have more use for what is inside that barrel than I. The only weapons I have conceived are unreliable at best, explosive arrows mines and grenades. I can probably come up with a primitive form of muzzleloader, but rifling a barrel is beyond my limited capabilities. If you have more experience in that field, then perhaps there is a way to surmount the Imperium’s mastery of steel.”

He paused before continuing, “Though the details can be worked out later, as some of Icedonia’s more extreme policies are both abhorrent and unnecessary, I would be willing to... accept a comprehensive alliance if that is what you are proposing. Heh, I suppose the world would be better off without a British Empire anyway.”

[Nuxipal]

Javin Torrez
Battle of the Kabul River, Spring 5 YK (2975 BCE)

The enemy arrived a day after Javin's forces had done so. With the tribuatry flowing into the Kabul River between them, Javin's forces sat on the Western side of the battlefield with their right flank secured by the River to the north. Their opponent had the same, though on their left. The stream between them was no real obstacle, aside from the muddy banks slowing them.

Javin had his forces arrayed so that a strong contingent of the Harappan Guard were stationed against the riverbank to give cover to the majority of the Khasub Archers. The frontline stretched out for roughly a mile, while not continuous, it reached until the tributary river turned more southward. The other spears and archers were spread across the front to create a defensive line that was able to hold back any sort of cavalry charge. At the far left of Javin's lines, Javin had gathered his personal guard. About 300 Infantry and the 15 Elephants. Javin left the right flank in command of his brother-in-law, Ikshan. The man had his orders, hold the line, keep the enemy from coming too far over the river. The center was commanded by the commander of the contingent from Mari. The city shared a border region with the enemy and had long held disputes over the mining regions in the mountains between them. Javin had instructed him to advance only after Javin's Left flank had achieved success.

That success, would depend heavily on the Elephants and Camels along with the elite infantry Javin had near him. Each force had roughly the same number of soldiers with them, but with another 500 men only half a day's march away, Javin knew by mid battle, Ikshan would get extra troops to shore up the right's defenses.

As the sun rose into their eyes, Javin expected the enemy to start their attack, but they did not. Javin decided to have a good look around the battlefield while there was still a pause. Climbing up one of the War Elephants, the one he initially wished to fight from but determined he was not skilled enough to do so yet, Javin looked around the battlefield and saw the enemy's movements. They had sent about 2000 men across the river to the north to come around behind them. He could see Ikshan's messenger already on his way to notify Javin of the movement. While this reduced their current number, Javin's forces were still at a disadvantage numerically. He would wait unless something else changed.

The messenger arrived nearly eight minutes later and reported. "Chhatipati Javin, there are about two thousand enemy soldiers across the river. The next crossing is not for five miles however. General Ikshan believes that the enemy will wait until this force has encircled us. They heard that you had been beaten by a similar tactic before."

Nodding, remember exactly how he lost in Gaya. Though, the numerical differences there were much more extreme. "Thank you, how are your legs? Can you make it to our reinforcements coming up from behind before the enemy crosses?"

The messenger nodded. "Good, what's your name?"

"Ekanga" the young man said.

"Alright, Ekanga, this is your chance. I'm giving you a battlefield promotion, you are now the captain of these 100 archers from Sahuka. Take them and warn the reinforcements of the approaching enemy. Use the ford they will be crossing at to bottleneck them into arrow fire. If half of them cross, withdraw towards us. You will come across a tributary river that has steep embankments just a mile from that crossing. Force them to fight there again. After they cross there withdraw back to our main force here. Hopefully by that time we will have achieved victory. However, if you manage to beat them back across the river, do not pursuit them. We will see them attempt to come back to their army and will expect your arrival shortly after."

Ekanga nodded and said, "Thank you sir." He then shouted, "Archers of Sahuka, with me!" He then led them off to the east and Javin focused again forward. From his elephant mount he could see that the enemy army was not in arrow range of the river. He sent orders down to move the main force closer to the river while his own force crossed in totality.

The moment he began to cross the enemy army moved forward. Surprised by the sudden activity within the whole of their opponent's army. Javin's force were mostly veterans with few new recruits. The opponent's army was mostly fresh troops having been conscripted from the field after the last campaigning season's harsh battles. Javin knew quality was on his side and sought to prove it quickly. The enemy's camels were spotted near their right flank, opposite to Javin's force. Remaining atop the elephant to get better view of the enemy's disposition, Javin noticed that the enemy tried to match his width, but did not leave any spaces in their forces, resulting in a very thin line across the whole front.

While this was not ideal for an Elephant charge, it meant he could concentrate his forces into smaller areas and have local numerical superiority for brief moments in the battle ahead. With his whole 2,000 strong force across the river he sent the archers forward to harass the thin lines closest to them. About 700 men moved forward and began dropping their arrows into the front lines of the enemy force. After a return volley reached them Javin ordered them to space out. A formation movement they had practiced in the past to permit cavalry and elephants to pass through them, but also effective for preventing opposing archers from targeting them as a formation.

Several volleys passed between the two sides before Javin saw what looked like a commanding figure sending their camels forward. They only had a couple dozen to Javin's 70. He sent them forward to meet the opposing cavalry charge head on. His men were now better trained to use spear and some could shoot from their camels. Indeed all of the elephants had a primitive saddle to hold an archer, or in Javin's case, just him and a long spear as his bow use was not up to par with his own men yet.

He watched from his mount as the two sides clashed as another volley of arrows flew overhead. Javin began the process of dismounting the elephant to be replaced by an archer atop the warbeast. He saw across the front the enemy began pressing forward. Arrows dropping on the enemy across the line, but particularly he noticed the thick cloud closest to the river. Ikshan's archers would have the enemy heavily punished for trying to cross the river while the spears kept them stuck in the mud during the crossing itself. His opposite was leading the men forward as Javin joined his men in the line. He unslung his shield and was given a shorter spear. As the enemy approached he called for the elephants to advance into the enemy infantry force to be followed by his infantry behind them. 1300 infantry marched slowly forward keeping step with one another. His camel cavalry had chased the remaining enemy cavalry from the field and he knew they'd be coming back after his infantry had entered close combat. Positioning himself in the center of his own force had been primarily so they could all hear him, their lines were thicker, but the enemy outflanked them. Fortunately, it seemed their archers had been silenced for the time being. His own stopped firing as the Elephants began passing them. Only a few of them still fired as they had no elephants nearby as they could now drop arrows off towards the enemy infantry until the two sides clashed.

The elephant charge worked as expected, chaos within the front lines of the Peshawari troops. The enemy's veterans were on this side of the force. Which meant everything else was consisting of green troops and would fall like water before his experienced army. However, if Javin failed in this side of the battle, his forces would be pressed up against the river. He called out the final order before the strike. "Signal, Elephants and Cavalry form up on far left, flank enemy force and fight independently of command towards the enemy center."

The Flag bearer waved the signal out to the elephant commander who would pass it on when the camels came closer again. Javin for his part began a battle chant that his core of elite warriors echoed.

"We are the point, we are the edge,
We are the wolves that Hecate fed!
We are the Bow. We are the Shaft.
We are the bolts which Hecate cast!"

The chant grew across much of Javin's front line until he released the full charge with one last battlecry, this one loud enough for the enemy, now only a dozen or so yards away, to hear. "MORRIGU!"

The clash of shields, spears, swords, and axes clamored loudly. Javin's spear found home early, but was shattered by an axe. He drew his bronze sword and went to work hacking off spear shafts and stabbing enemies he could reach. He noticed that his elephants and camels had indeed returned to the battle as he wanted and were breaking the enemy's right flank and giving his left most units numerical superiority while his right still was fighting defensively holding the line. He couldn't see how his other fronts were doing, but he was hoping they were holding and by now the center was advancing across the river to press the enemy center.

His fight was yet to be won however, as the Peshawari Veteran force was significantly more competent than the fresher troops elsewhere. His men fought them to a standstill everywhere except on the southern flanks, which after nearly an hour of constant fighting had arrived close to Javin's position in the center. This prompted something he'd been waiting for, a retreat by his opponent. It started slow and calm, but as the riders arrived in the area it became a panicked withdrawal. Looking about as the enemy fled before them, Javin saw that indeed the elephants were not dead, but had instead been pulled back as an hour of fighting for an elephant was a bit more than their training could withstand at the moment. The rout was on, the surviving enemy veterans were permitted to withdraw as Javin's forces turned northwards and began to push into the enemy center. Javin never reached these enemies himself as they began withdrawing before he arrived.

By sunset, the blood soaked mud coated Javin's boots and pants. HIs shield survived, though was stained from the fighting as well. The clean-up from the battle went into the night as bodies were deposited into the river or piled to be burned. While Javin preferred they burn all the bodies, some of them held religious beliefs regarding that burial in the river was a sacred rite and required for those from their city-state. Javin had to permit this, but made sure they spaced the bodies out enough so that they couldn't clog the river at any one point. Javin found Ikshan after the battle and congratulated him on his success.

"I did not expect you to be so successful on that flank brother." Javin said patting the man's shoulder and smiling as he was handed a mug of ale by one of the camp followers serving the men that evening. "I hear you had less than a hundred total casualties, I had nearly five hundred dead, most of my force has some kind of injury and half of our camels and riders have been slain."

Ikshan laughed and returned the compliments, "It was your strategy brother. They did just as you predicted, our reserve forces reinforced me almost in perfect time. The enemy force across the river saw their way blocked and withdrew to Mardan instead of face a river crossing. Everything worked out for us this time. I am just worried by the report that the Peshawari veteran force escaping mostly intact."

Nodding in agreement, Javin could only say, "If we had a full cavalry force we could have given chase, but I could not let the battle be decided in my absence. Our armies were still outnumbered after the enemy began to withdraw. We now know that our men are of higher quality and the early estimates of their casualties prove this further."

Indeed, the early casualties put allied losses at nearly 1000 dead and another 1500 wounded. Enemy dead numbered nearly 5000 with another 1000 captured and an unknown number wounded who withdrew with the enemy leadership. None of their generals were taken alive, but there were at least two warchiefs among the dead.

"There will be more battles to come brother. We have shattered any hope they have of fighting together. Peshawar is the larger city, but after today's battle, Mardan has the larger army remaining. If I may suggest a change in strategy, we take Mardan first. They never suffered a siege last campaign and their people's will is unproven."

Javin nodded, this would eliminate the strongest force against them first and Peshawar would surely attempt to relieve the siege, where he could fight them in a field battle with his elephants and infantry against their infantry. It could work. "Alright Ikshan, we will cross the river five miles east of here and move to Mardan. You will command the siege with 2500 men. I'll hold the remainder in the siege camps to prepare to fight against any army which comes to relieve the siege."

At this time, the young newly appointed captain arrived. "General, Chhatipati, our forces have recovered all of our dead and compiled the equipment. We have enough shields and spears to replace any lost in the battle as well as to recruit further when we return after the campaign." At this Javin motioned the man to sit with them. "Ekanga, you did excellent today. Consider your promotion permanent. You will serve under me in the next phase of the campaign. You will continue to command the archers I sent with you and keep us covered when the Peshawari inevitably come to face us in the field again."

The three men sat and continued to celebrate their victory following this conversation. Ekanga was quite taken by how Javin seemed to understand various concepts of war that many of the elder officers hadn't thought of before. When asked on the matter, he explained that it was a matter of learning what he had seen during his life and putting it to use and that hey all should do that as well. They remained encamped here for two more days before moving on, first east to the best ford and then north towards Mardan.

Eight Days after the Battle

The fields around Mardan were bare. The Mardanese had harvested their crop and left the fields empty. Buildings surrounding the city had been flattened. Clearly someone within the city had expected this and set the city to receive a long siege. Sighing heavily as they crossed the lands, Javin said, "Well, I had hoped they wouldn't have harvested anything early. We will still have plenty for several months, but we will need to send troops to guard supply lines now. Ekanga, new mission. Take your archers and another 200 men to begin to scout around the city once the city is invested. Find the nearest source of food. Pillage small villages and towns to feed yourselves and return with any excess food you can get your hands on."

The young captain went off to prepare his troops. Javin nodded to Ikshan, "Lets get this siege underway."

By nightfall, the city's entrances were blocked off and defensive palisades were being put into place to defend the besiegers from the defenders. Javin looked to find suitable ground for a battle over the next few days. However, he found that he wouldn't get the chance as news that the Peshawari army was already spotted by what camel scouts he had left. They claimed they crossed a ford north of Peshawar and there was a fork in the river where another ford would let them reach Javin's force in five days time at a slow march, three if they hurry.

Javin prepared his men and kept the camel riders out scouting. They had three months of food for the army, so he couldn't afford two long sieges if he didn't get any kind of supplies from the land. He decided that having a battle within sight of the defenders would be to his advantage. A win would be demoralizing to them and invigorating to his own troops laying the siege. Whenever it took place, Javin had to be ready with a new strategy to face the enemy who already dealt with his Elephants on multiple occasions now.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Part 4, Chapter 19: From Bones, Breath

May 8th, 21 AG

Through the small alleyway I padded, eyes downcast in contemplation, the hubbub behind me an unwelcome intrusion. It seemed my days were never my own more and more recently - though I appreciated this invitation, and in better times would have been overjoyed to receive such a missive from the War College, much still weighed on my mind that transformed this time from a privilege to a necessity. The news from the north, as swift moving as it was, still came in a paucity that I begrudged. There had been a throw of the dice and no mistake, and a wager with a thousand lives upon the table.

But that was just me as usual, a fact which I tried to shake from my consciousness. It was a wide world. Responsibility could not overrun logic, and there was nothing I could do about such affairs except worry - I could not captain every ship, lead every patrol, and plan every strategic position. That would have to be left in the capable hands I had appointed to such tasks. My thoughts would make Tanya laugh - even my old family laugh - for I had never been a man for delegating. Another thought that I shoved aside with a conscious effort of will.

How long had it been since I had thought of them? A week now? Maybe two? Their faces were less clear now, less distinct, but the loss still keen. Perhaps I would never be free of it. If I had been in a movie, in a book written by an author too clever for their own good, this is the part where some person would have penned a light missive about how new loves drove out the old, and how my family here had now replaced the dull ache of that vanished time which I felt thinking about what had been lost.

That wasn't the truth though. Not my truth, at the least. But I had to soldier on regardless, for by my own actions, by my own ambition - a desire for purpose, to comprehend my place here - I had rendered myself far more than a mere pawn to drift on the currents, lost in melancholy. Even now they would be looking at my hunched shoulders as I walked, measuring with their keen eyes what might be weighing on their master's mind, and I would just have to make up some platitude. The plight of our soldiers in the field, perhaps, or my fears for Vladimir. Neither would be a complete lie. But neither a complete truth.

The light of afternoon swelled as we passed beyond the enshrouding buildings of the White Palace, and I raised a hand, shading my eyes against the glare of that all-too-bright sun. Spring, yes, northern latitudes, yes, but still far different than the half-reflected luminescence of a building constructed to trammel the light of day as best it could to inner corridors and bustling hallways. To my visage too accustomed to being bent over half-seen missives and reports in the dimness of candle and flame, it was piercingly bright, and after a brief moment I smiled to feel the warmth on my face where the shadow of my hand did not obscure it - the gentle caress of my Creator's nature was one virtue of this past which I neglected far too readily.

"Hegemon? If you'll follow me, Master Athal has set aside a section of the reviewing stand for you."

I didn't recognize the youth who approached me to humbly bow and wave his hand toward a segment of seating, but that meant little these days. Long gone were the months when I had been all but a solitary tutor to so many men on so many arts, now a scarcely consulted resource, placed alongside the Annals as something to be referenced without great ceremony. His clothing told him a man of the city, but his somewhat halting speech a scion of some outer village or fastness, not so accustomed to Common as to have shed his native accent entirely. I merely nodded at his words, and followed the robed acolyte toward the low bunker which stood near at hand.

A testament to the dangers that had unfolded in this process, in truth, and a precaution that I appreciated greatly. The project was one who I had been forbidden in no uncertain terms by anyone who cared to advise me on it from being anywhere near, and thus a matter I had been forced to lend mere theoretical expertise upon. Tanya, in particular, was all too wary of the dangers - especially after the first casualties. The ratio, the composition of the solvent for gristing, the dangers of the pressing stage. Ah, I could have prevented much danger with my own hands, but then again, many more men depended on me having my hands than depended on the speed of the success of this process. And the state had bodies to spare for the most perilous tasks.

Ethical? Certainly not. But the conclusion had been as inevitable as the rising of the sun, and truthfully made with but minimal consultation on my wishes. Generals, governors, professors - they all had more prisoners than they needed, and far fewer scientists than any wished. If by risking the life of a man condemned to the mines a man of learning might be insulated from danger, that was the necessity of the state. And such men were, I was given to understand, generously compensated for their peril. It was just another thought that niggled at the back of my mind, an uneasy conclusion not entirely at peace, but with the rationale to let it lie quiet here and now in the name of necessity.

"Glad you could make it, Hegemon."

The booming voice from the reviewing stand was not one I had expected, and a brief smile flitted across my face as I advanced at a stride to pump the burly warrior's outstretched arm. Formally that should have been a salute, as his commanding officer, but Istvan had long ago earned at least that level of familiarity. I had not known he was back here, but that was his prerogative, of course - I hardly marked the comings and goings of such men, for they had my trust.

"What, is Adria due to for another child Commander? I can't think you're back just for the pleasure of our company and," - here I shivered mock dramatically - "delightful northern weather?"

That just made the warrior laugh, and I strode past him to take a seat as he talked. The broad bearded soldier from Lakis had a tan above his great beak of a nose which gave all too much truth to my joke about the weather. Mara could be delightful when she wanted to be, but she could also rain for a week solid if the squalls out of the North Atlantic actually put together the energy to cross the Erzgebirge. The Balkans, I was told, had no such compunctions - and remarkably better temperatures. And the master of the Second had more call than most to enjoy those temperatures.

"You know better than you think - my brother's daughter is to be married. And, well, if I'm in town - why should I not attend a demonstration of your child?"

I didn't love that name. I had a thousand children, far more valuable to the world than this... construction. I had forged ploughs, introduced cultivars, cured illnesses, and lifted men and women from bondage. When men saw only the instruments of war I devised, I supervised, it left me in a dark place. But I smiled externally, the impression of happiness only slightly simulated, for in truth I was still happy to see Istvan. Happier still because it meant, for all of our faults, that the south remained a place where a master of hundreds of soldiers could take time away from his post simply for a humble wedding, unlike the eternally fractious northern frontier.

We exchanged small pleasantries about the ceremony he would attend later for some time, my mind wandering to when my own children would reach such an age, before a stooped man in a white coat wandered out of one of the small wooden buildings upon the field of the War College to bow in front of the bunker. His voice came somewhat tinnily through the slits of the concrete balustrade and reinforced glass, but the doors on either side had been left open to allow his words to penetrate to an acceptable degree - at least until the demonstration began in earnest.

"Ladies, gentlemen, colleagues - it is my pleasure today to welcome you to the exhibition of the Black School's most recent triumph, the Oathspeaker Mark Six. Your curiosity is no doubt piqued, and I see no reason to delay our demonstration. Please place the provided lengths of cotton within your ears, and we shall begin."

A few manservants swiftly moved through the crowd of perhaps two dozen individuals within the viewing platform, and I dutifully stuff the plant fibers into my outer ear when they came to me. It was a precaution that I treated with no degree of levity, for I was not now so young as to treat my body flippantly. Even if the suspicions of the master of Ireland, Patrick, were correct - a matter that I did not think more than a wishful fantasy - I had seen enough relatives and friends deal with tinnitus and other losses of acuity over the years to treasure what hearing I retained.

Then came the interminable wait as the machine was wheeled out of its housing, the great shed that at least nominally guarded it from unfriendly eyes. I did not envy the four men it took to drag the low sledge upon which the length of bored bronze had been placed, for their muscles strained even to the casual observer at moving the hefty weapon - but swiftly my concern for those men was lost as I poured over the shape of the fabrication which stood before us.

It had always been a passion of mine, or merely a desire, if you will, to gaze upon burnished metal. There was something so delightfully tangible about the beauty of polished brass, of glimmering stainless steel. Perhaps that was a part of why I had chosen the course I had taken, over more esoteric and employable pursuits within my major after polymers, or ceramics, or more complicated materials. Ferrum, bronze, tin, copper, aluminum, steel - they were the mundane workhorses of the modern world, not her superstars. But that had not diminished my love for them, though my compatriots were comparably few. I could not tell, of course, at this range, precisely what the engineers of the College had changed across those incarnations. This 'Oathspeaker' was hardly the first weapon that we had devised, and I certainly hoped it would not be the last.

But that had been the devil in the details, that jinn we had struggled for years now to overcome. I had seen the casualty lists, even heard at times when I chanced to be here the blasts, the failures. Blackpowder might be low-energy compared to her sisterhood of explosives, but that still left her heartily energetic, and wherever energy ran in vast quantities, danger could result. A rupture of a vessel, a barrel unmoored from her cart, too much powder in the charge, an imperfection in the casting - it was not unlike working with the boilers that I had been similarly barred from being around, really. It was the paucity of exacting methodologies that opposed our work most fulsomely, and the errors of human hands, and those were the gremlins most difficult to shake out of any system.

Hence the bronze. Iron would have been my preferred implement, for ease of manufacture and cost factors alone - but it was more brittle, even with the most stringent heat treatments and annealing, and unforgiving of flaw and failure. The finest steel that would have turned an arrow a thousand times from a heart could hold hairline imperfections which would render catastrophic breach under the energies the engineers dealt with in this equation. Bronze, aye, she had more give, more mercy within her bones, though the tin of her founding was a thousand times rarer than simple honest iron.

Yes, the bronze. The great gleaming beauty that lay resplendent in the afternoon sun, the pale spring brightness that had so offended my eyes. Her carriage was simple, durable, built to last instead of appeal to the senses, but that was of little import. Truth be told I should not have even given so many resources to the Black School as they had request, not even a half, save for the existence of the Danevirke. There was little a cannon could do that a ballista could not for a single percent of the price and effort - save breach worked stone. And Monroe had been insistent, Cerrus had been insistent, that we develop such capabilities. It was their foresight at work here, not mine, and Cerrus in particular who had been most interested in hearing about what the weapons of my world could do.

Out stepped the prisoner once the haulers had abandoned the carriage, and the engineers placed the charge and immense ball of firmly cast iron within the mount of the whispering monstrosity. A queer sound came as he approached the weapon, matchstick held at the full extension of his arm. It was the wind, whistling across the barrel of the weapon, and it made for a macabre undertone as we held our collective breaths. Next to me Istvan leaned forward unconsciously, and even as he did so, I realized I was doing the same.

Match touched pan, and an instant passed during which I was certain the reaction had faltered. Then the cannon leapt backwards, the front of the housing visibly jumping a fraction up from the turf as the weapon expended the chemical energy all at once, and an infinitesimal amount of time later the thunderclap overwhelmed my senses. Even through the cotton it rang loud enough to make me blink, though I expected the noise, and around me men and women exclaimed - some of the oaths none too dignified. From the bunker you could not see the target that had been placed downrange of the weapon several hundred meters, a wall of mortared brick and stone, but upon emerging from the housing I could only smile at the sparse bits of rubble that remained.

Yes, the Oathspeaker. A strange name, but then again, scientists were a strange lot. A solution to a problem we barely had as of yet, but a gateway to a hundred other victories.

[Elerian]

Danial Adiputera

Danial's childhood was, by all accounts, one surrounded by unhappiness. His parents, who toiled endlessly to carve a better life, were scarcely able to fight off their vices long enough to do so. More partners of convenience than anything, they had settled down to pool their meager resources and take comfort in each other’s company. The impending arrival of a child, let alone the challenges of raising an infant, made a long term relationship seem more like a prison sentence. While they were married, their relationship was a strained one for the duration of Danial’s time with them, and he generally looked back on his childhood with a certain amount of contempt. His parents bickered and argued frequently over even the most mundane things, and he was given the distinct impression that at times they were reluctant to admit they had a son. Though they were not physically abusive, their neglect fostered mistrust and encouraged Danial to become a social introvert. He found an outlet for his frustration in the form of martial arts and sailing. He felt the most free when he was either on the open water, or in the ring.

As wretched as his home life was, he now found himself yearning for a return to the chaotic dysfunction of his youth. He’d been turned into a slave. Danial still didn’t fully comprehend what had transpired, but the reality of his situation was beginning to sink in. His captors had been offered a substantial sum in exchange for his life. Although hardly a surprise, this cut Danial deep and would fester for years to come. He was a curiosity to them, but furthermore his strength and skill set set him apart from other slaves. Maybe the other slaves were afraid of him, or maybe jealous, but they all stayed away from him. That was all except for one: a sympathetic young man named Cham.

The two quickly developed a close mutual friendship, if at first for no greater purpose than the necessity of survival. Life as a slave could be paltry and cruel, and their respective talents complemented one another nicely. Cham was smart, but had a weak disposition. Had he been born in Danial’s time he might have worked in finance or computer science. Before Danial’s arrival, Cham had been bullied by the other slaves, forcing him to do the work they didn’t care to, and stealing his food when their masters weren’t looking. Danial put a stop to that quickly.

In return, Cham taught Danial much about the new primitive world he lived in. Despite being older than Cham, Danial must have seemed like such a child to him. There were many things that Danial took for granted in the modern world that Cham had to teach and reteach him again and again. But Cham was nothing if not patient and kind. He greatly helped Danial’s culture shock and adjustment to his new life. Many days had passed since he’d started his new life, and he was still trying to find his place.

[Orostan]

Luoyang - Aaron Dawson

Aaron turned around slowly to face the man pointing a spear at him. He was Asian and dressed in some rather drab clothing, with a yellow chest plate, probably bronze, and a similarly yellow crude helmet. Both pieces of armor had some symbol and lettering painted on them. Aaron slowly stood up. The man’s bronze tipped spear followed Aaron’s neck. After a brief moment staring at each other the man began asking questions in some language Aaron didn’t understand. Out of the corner of his vision Aaron noticed the boy that had jabbed him in the chest a short while ago hiding among the shrubbery.

The spearman asked Aaron another question, this time louder. His comrades in less ornate armor were standing behind him looking at Aaron suspiciously. Aaron still didn’t understand, but then he did. Aaron suddenly knew what the man was trying to ask him. It was like a sudden realization or suddenly remembering something he’d learnt a long time ago. Aaron didn’t know how he knew the language and at the moment figuring out why was not his top concern.

The man barked his questions again.

“Who are you? Where do you come from? What are you doing here?”

Aaron tentatively responded in his clearest tone possible.

“I am, uh, a traveler. My name is Aaron. Where am I? Who are you people?”

The man brought down his spear and put its back end on the ground. He was still tense though.

“You are in Luoyang, stranger. Come with me. You are suspected of banditry.”

The man was still holding his spear tightly, and as he almost pushed Aaron along the man’s friends took positions next to Aaron and took him through the forest and to the edge of a clearing. While they were moving, Aaron decided he ought to learn as much as possible about his situation.

“I haven’t stolen anything. I’m absolutely naked and have no idea how I got here. Who are you, again?”

The leader of the men sighed, but still held his spear almost at the ready.

“You are suspected of trying to steal part of the rice harvest. Why else would you be naked if not to sneak into the rice paddies?”

“I understand, but I don’t even know where your rice... paddies are. And shouldn’t I know the name of the man who might kill me soon?”

The man sighed again.

“My name is Lu Zheng. Save your excuses for the village’s chief, foreigner. “

A small wood building occupied a space just at the edge of the forest, practically leaning against some trees. Beyond it was a village. The people moving around it and working in the nearby rice paddies hadn’t noticed the group yet. Aaron was pushed forward again and into the building. Lu stood at the door and gestured with his spear at a pile of what looked to be clothing organized on the floor into piles based on use.

“Put something on. Quickly.”

Aaron obliged and put on a simple short tunic and some pants. He tied a small cord made of what was probably leather around his waist to keep the pants up. Lu banged his spear’s side on the wooden building’s entrance.

“Hurry up!”

Aaron exited the building and was promptly shoved in the direction of the village. As the group approached Aaron attracted many stares. Villagers leaned over and spoke to each other quietly. Aaron supposed they didn’t see many western people around here. Was he in China? How did he get here?

Aaron was lead into a single story pagoda which stood out in the center of a village made up of mostly clay brick buildings with thatched roofs. Inside the pagoda, Aaron was pushed into a room with a man in a blue silk robe. He was sitting on a small stool in front of a table decorated with animal skin. He was a rich man for this village, but maybe not for the rest of the world. Lu’s men were staying outside the Pagoda, while Lu stood behind Aaron.

“My name is Tan Jun. I am the village chief. What is your name, and where are you from.?"

Aaron considered his next words carefully. He was no good under this kind of high pressure situation.

"My name is Aaron. I'm from, uh, New York. Where are we right now?"

He had heard Lu mention the name "Luoyang" earlier. He hadn't had time to consider it with Lu looking for an excuse to poke him to death with a spear, but if he remembered correctly Luoyang was the ancient capital of China.

"Where is this New York?" Tan said, attempting to bore a hole through Aaron with his stare.

"It's... west of here. Over the sea. I don't know how I got here." Aaron hesitantly replied.

Tan glanced to Lu, and then back to Aaron. Aaron chose not to turn around and take a look at Lu. He'd probably stab him with that spear if he did.

"Where is West of here? Is it where your people come from? What were you doing before you came here?"

Aaron considered his options. He could lie, or he could tell the truth. Tan seemed like the perceptive type, but Aaron thought of himself as a good liar.

"I was a... a metalworker. I was looking for a job. I was on my way home, and the next thing I know I'm here in..."

Tan cut Aaron's trailing sentence off.

"China. You are in China. If you are a metalworker and not a thief, prove it."

Tan stood up and Lu pulled Aaron up.

Aaron was pushed out of the room by Lu and into the village's dirt square. Lu kept his hand on Aaron's shirt as Tan moved in front of Aaron and Lu. He was walking around the Pagoda now and towards what could be a bakery. No, a blacksmith. A wood burning kiln made of clay was standing outside of a thatched roof clay hut - but it wasn't being used now. The blacksmith, an aged man, was hunched over an anvil hammering at something. Tan stood a good distance behind him, choosing not to bother the blacksmith as he picked up the bronze axe blade he had just finished hammering at with a tong and dunked it in a nearby bucket of water, cooling it quickly. The smith lifted the axe blade out of the water, and saw that it was solid and of acceptable quality. He dropped it into a basket at his feet, and then turned around away from the kiln and anvil directly into Tan, Lu, and Aaron. Taken aback for a moment, he asked what was going on.

"Chief! Lu! Who is this?"

Aaron was about to wave before Tan announced his intentions.

"This... fellow..."

Tan gestured at Aaron.

"...claims to be a metalworker. We found him outside the city and suspect him to be a thief."

Tan then turned to Aaron and said in a somewhat condescending tone, "Make me a blade."

The smith nodded and replied, "Ah. I understand. I will enjoy this."

The smith moved aside, and Lu pushed Aaron towards the anvil and kiln.

Aaron turned to the smith, pointed down at a basket of crude bronze ingots, and asked "How much can I use?"

The smith laughed and said "As much as you need, kid!"

Aaron turned back to the kiln, which currently was loaded with dry unlit wood that would have to be lit. Aaron was suddenly tapped on the shoulder and turned around to see the smith with a wooden bow drill.

The smith smiled and said, "Here. You'll need it."

Aaron took the bow drill and took out the driest bit of wood he could see in the kiln, placing it on the dirt ground. He knew how this worked, he did it at camp once when he was a kid. He went about the work by placing some small twig and flammable debris on the bit of wood around his drill and then using the bow of the bow drill to start a fire. His first attempt was unsuccessful. The spindle slipped off the wood. His second attempt lit a fire. Almost panicking at the presence of fire so close to his hands he lifted the bow drill up with a jerk and carefully began trying to pick up the wood bit he'd set on fire. Fearful of burning his hands, Aaron threw the wood into the kiln. The kiln was now lit and as the wood in it was set alight heat began to emanate from it. Aaron cautiously picked up one of the blacksmith's tools, a pair of tongs, from beside the anvil. He used the tongs to pick up a block of bronze. He'd seen this done in documentaries. Aaron remembered the basics of it, he thought. He had to, his life was on the line.

Aaron used the tongs to put the bronze over the now healthy fire. As he watched, the bronze slowly began to turn red with heat. The tongs themselves were made out of hammered iron ore. This village didn't have the ability to actually smelt the ore, but they understood that it had a higher melting point than the bronze. The tongs were awkward and difficult to use, as their rough construction required some force to use properly. Aaron took out the bronze block and the blacksmith handed him a hammer. The expression on Tan's face told him he was surprised Aaron had gotten this far. Metalworking probably wasn't a common skill around here.

Aaron hammered away at the bronze, flattening it over the anvil made of the same iron rich rock as the tongs. Gradually he was able to make a sheet of bronze about a centimeter thick. Aaron then put the hammer down and gestured to a finished axe lying on a tree stump not to far away. Tan and the others were confused, so Aaron chose to make his intentions more clear.

"Axe. Give me the axe."

The blacksmith looked to Tan for approval, and then hesitantly obliged. Aaron used the bronze axe to make a sharp indentation across the middle of the cooling bronze sheet. The bronze sheet was getting too cold to work with, so Aaron used his left hand to carry the sheet to the clay kiln again with the tongs. Watching the metal turn red hot again he returned to hammering it. The sheet folded on itself, forming a long and thin sheet about a centimeter thick. Aaron picked up another bronze bar with the tongs, leaving the first on the anvil, and heated it. He did the same thing to it, forming it into a thin sheet by overlapping it on itself. He then left the bar over the fire for an extra long time and put the bright red hot object on the anvil gingerly. The now only very dull red first sheet needed to be heated for what he was about to do, and so it was. With both sheets heated well, he very carefully began to hammer them together. The overlapping nature of the sheets made them strong, and would make for an excellent cutting edge for a weapon. Aaron didn't have any dust or anything he could use to bind the two slabs of metal, so he simply placed both blocks on top of each other and began hammering and heating, and hammering a heating. Tan and the others continued to watch. The smith kept himself especially close to Aaron, practically right over his shoulder in fact. The glances Aaron was able to take back at him showed him staring intently at what Aaron was doing. After many cycles of heating and hammering Aaron was able to turn the two metal blocks into a bit of metal that was several centimeters thick and about forty centimeters long. The anvil, being the primitive tool that it was, was uneven in many places. That was doing him no favors as Aaron tried to hammer out the blade of the actual blade and a point.

Aaron finished his blade by dunking it in the same bucket of water that the blacksmith had finished his axe with. Turning around, he showed it to Tan and the others.

He did not expect them to start clapping.

[Saxony-Brandenburg]

Olivia Ingels

Waleed seems ready to handover the gold pieces as he looks over the product the man brought in. A wagon full of grain, eight rough sacks in all, barley from the more inland village of Noukh, simple enough. I accompanied him out into the edge of town while he greeted the trader at the edge of the village, where travelers often tie their camels to posts.

“Aye Baba? Did you check the bags yet?”

“What?” Waleed looked over at me, poking around in the cart. “Ofcourse not - I trust his father is an honest man - why?”

“Gold makes people do stupid things, is all.” I mutter, digging through the bags on the cart. The man looks worried for some inexplicable reason, before turning to anger rather quickly.

“Aye! Bitch! Don’t go sticking your hands in my goods!”

Waleed looks rather taken aback by this, “Youre lucky your father is an amicable man young sir, or else I’d have you driven out for saying that to my daughter.”

The young man, perhaps no older than sixteen, rolls his eyes, walking over to me as I open one of the sacks on the cart, swatting it out of my hand, causing the bag to spill open on the ground in a small cloud of debris. “Why you…” He touches the knife on his belt, scowling at both of us.

“Now come come - why don’t you leave now young man - I will buy your goods and what was in the bag she spilt and we will be good.”

“She? You are kidding yourself. That is some freak of a man you dress in women’s clothes!”

I kneel down and sift through the contents, running my hands through the spilled heap. Beneath the grain, I feel something finer - … sand?

“It’s sand.”

“What?” My father said, dropping the fist he held around the man’s collar.

“It’s sand. He stuffed the bags with sand to fool us.”

“You little bastard - I’ll!-”

A soft crunch was hurt as the fist connected with Waleed’s face. I screamed and stumbled up , falling back on my face as the man stuck him twicemore, and shoved him to the ground, a crack sounding off as his skull connected with a rock on the ground, splattering it in crimson blood.

I didn’t breathe for a minute, maybe two, as I scurried over to my father, tears welling in my eyes as I cradled his head. “Somebody - get help somebody! My father!...” In the distance I saw the man flee, not even taking his camel as he left from view, and a crowd began to form around the corpse and I.

…

Later that evening we sat in the frontroom, I had cried until it hurt too much to shed another tear. I had ripped at my hair and screamed until my voice ran raw. In the middle of the room, the body, wrapped in a cloth, layed in perfect stillness. That was once my father… that stone, that woolen statue, had bled and died, wherever the life went, sinking into the stained sand below. I sat in the corner, shaking, covering my face with my hands. Alya tried to comfort me, Yasmin looked on with an expressionless mask of a face, while the others in the room whispered and mourned in a more honest way. She held a hand on my shoulder, whispering words in my ear I couldn’t hear… until the quiet was broken by a simple phrase, spoken by Akar, a burly, hairy man, and one of my father’s many friends: “What a tragedy…” He muttered, greif muddying any anger he had in him.

But this was not the attitude of many in the rome, the foremost of them, Alya, who scowled at Akar as he spoke, spitting back at him: “Tragedy? You know well this was no trajedy, this was murder.”

He looked aghast at the idea he belittled his friend’s death. “Of Course! But-”

“There is no buts!” She snapped back. “There is murder, and there is dishonor, and there will be no justice until we avenge what was ripped from our family, my family!”

A still quiet filled the room. Her family? All knew of our relationship, but it was truly only when a wife married her husband that she joined his family. This was… different - but the emotion was clear, and no tradition could keep them from feeling it aswell. Another man spoke, his ire contaminating his words into a ravenous anger. “We will not be allowed to suffer such injustice - we will demand it from them so help me!”

Another: “We will behead the bastard who stole him from us!”

I looked up at them all, my frozen fear melting to unease, anger, and determination. Alya spoke again, grabbing the pommel of the bronze sword on her belt. “We will seek recompense, by force if I must!” She looked around the room, as almost all nodded in fierce agreement. I opened my mouth, and finally words came back to me.

“We will have our revenge.”

Twenty men under arms approached the farming village, the huddle of mud-walled homes busy with the sounds of fear-filled voices as we approached. Leading from the front, alya brandished her sword and round, bronze sumerian shield well and open, her hair cut short, looking for a fight. Some followed her example, others carried clubs, some carried spears, axes, while I stayed behind the group, my anger not finishing my unease at the thought of fighting. Besides… this would be peaceful right?

Nobody stopped us as we walked into town and up to the chief's home. A modest dwelling, for a modest town - perhaps of fifty or so people. There outside he stood, his arms crossed, with ten or so men, armed with farming implements and sticks - what little they could muster for weaponry. “Give us the pig!” I screamed, a newfound courage fueled by pure hatred and loss. “You will not enter my home and you will not harm my son, so help me the gods!” The man said through gritted teeth, taking out his large knife on his belt, causing the vigilante mob to grip tighter their weapons.

“We will not take no for an answer!” Alya barked. Stepping forward. “Hand him over or we will take him, and payment for this injustice!”

“I would rather die than be such a coward as to hand over my own son.” The greying man spoke, stepping forward, now but seven feet between them. Alya, brash and bold, kept advancing, but as she took her second step, one of the cheif’s men charged, screaming at her, and thus began the madness.

I could hear the screams of many a man from the fight, as the sound of cracking bones and shrieks of pain echoed through the center of the town. Those residents not invested hid themselves, while an all-out-brawl tookplace between the houses. But they were no match for us, who carried the fine weapons of a foreign power from another age. Bodies fell, and when the riot settled not one man fom the vigilantes fell, though Akar had been struck in the head, and sat on the ground, disoriented. There, I saw Alya, with her sword through the Elder’s chest, now realising what she had done, murduring a village elder in the center of his own town. She looked around her, and down to the corpse, the man coughing up blood, clutching the sword which struck between his ribs, and punctured his lungs, filling them with blood and unthinkable pain. I… did not feel remorse that day, and I don’t believe she did either, because as she saw the life seep from this man’s eyes, she put her foot on his stomach, and pulled the sword from his torso, leaving him crumpled on the ground, writhing. She stepped into the building, dropping her sword and shield, and in five minutes, returned with a man - blood trailing from his nose, with marks all across his face. He stumbled to the ground, whereupon the mob did descend on him, tying his ankles and wrists together, kicking him, and spitting on him. In rage I did the same, and barked. “Make them pay for it! Take whatever is in the house and as many livestock as you can! They won’t ever do this to my family again!” I broke down then, the tears and wails coming back, and I fell to my knees beside the hogtied man, he unconscious and unable to see how ugly his tormentor cried, how little satisfaction she got from this cruelty.

But soon they returned to the town, with a camel, sheep, goat, and pig - most importantly, a living body.

...

I had lost all my anger, all my vengeance. It felt like empty retribution, as the man, now helpless, cried - he cried in such fear that I asked for him gagged so I didn’t feel so much guilt, so much shame. It was no public event, it wasn’t some fine retribution. It wasn’t some fulfilling end. We dug a grave for him, and I asked that he be placed within. Squirming and screaming from beneath his gag, I turned away as one of the village butchers took a knife, and cut his throat, like you might do to a slaughtered goat, letting him bleed to death. I didn’t see them bury his body. I didn’t want to remember where they did, though the patch of dirt outside of town will forever be burned into my mind. I barely ate, my mouth so dry - I could only drink water from the spring in gallons, and shed such volume in tears in the next nights, choking, crying into the chest of Alya, unable to cope with the man who saved me some twenty years ago, being gone.

[Ah-eh-ioh-uh]

Marcio wakes up cold. Freezing is an exaggeration but it's more than just his bedroom becoming suddenly chilly. There are sensations on his body that are rather unfamiliar. He feels surprisingly free. That is to say, there's a weight that's not on him. Slowly he shifts about, his bare skin meeting rough, cold surfaces.

It feels like wood., twigs, leaves. It smells earthy and the air is cold and bracing. Opening unprepared eyelids he blink about as confusion tenses his body. I'm in a forest. Not in my bedroom. And I'm naked. Have I been kidnapped? And if so... Then where are my captors?

Perhaps I am dreaming, he thinks. I've done lucid dreaming before, let us see what's what, he thinks as he outstretched his hand to some random place ahead of him in the forest. Expecting to see the shrubbery alight with fire from lightning shooting out of his fingertips, he raises his eyebrows when nothing happens. He was out of practice but he was talented enough at it to have done it.

He had to check if he was dreaming or not. He pinched himself hard to find his surroundings unchanged and the pain confirming all of this was real. Why was he here? Who had brought him here? How do I get back?, were his questions. None of which could be answered anytime soon because he had NOT been kidnapped. Searching the world around him, he attempted to identify the plants around him and found some of them somewhat odd looking. Similar to what he knew but just different enough to put him on the edge.

He walked, very carefully about and began to notice animals. It had been surprisingly quiet when he had woken up, now he heard the insects buzzing and birds whistling, likely letting each other know a new player was coming onto the scene. The tale tell sign of animals scampering nearby, Marcio feels the air around him, smells the moisture. Closing his eyes he tries analyzing everything he could, knowing he was by the sea from his searching. The temperature and moisture levels were different than his old locale.



As he walked he kept eyes open for everything he could observe. The birds he saw were familiar and not. He was out of his element because these woods were not the ones he had fostered relations with. Walking for some time he was relieved to find a clearing with a large oak tree in the middle of it. Taking a fallen small leafy branch from its base where the roots looked powerful and healthy, he closed his eyes and began humming and singing. Chanting and dancing about, he waved the oak branch in the air in symbols and sigils of the things he needed. He needed help, to find out where he was. Attempting to connect to the local gods and spirits, he stepped ceremoniously around the tree, asking gods such as Odin and Freya to bless him with the power to attract that which he needed.



Soon enough the "powers" of the ancient oak spirit sent help to him, (thanking the old gods). A man, from a nearby village was in the area hunting for food when he came upon Marcio, dancing and waving that old oak tree branch like a madman. Eyes widening in fear, "Yokai" he said, or rather the equivalent of the time and area. "Yokai" is in reference to a supernatural spirit in the local language. "That strange man", he might later be referred to as, was waving about an oak tree branch and dancing like some Kami of nature or a Shinto priest. Of course if the locals ended disliking him enough he would soon be seen more like an "Akuma", meaning, demon or devil, evil spirit. Locals had never come across a man quite like him before. He was not even remotely Japanese looking whereas the one who came before him had features they were familiar with.

The man's presence when he neared had changed the vibrations in the local wildlife, the birds changing tune. Marcio took these sounds plus the man speaking as a signal of the gods acting. Opening his eyes he eventually laid them on the oddly dressed human figure approaching cautiously.

"Hello?" He had asked in English, only causing more apprehension and fear in the man with the bow and arrow in hand.

"I apologize if I have disturbed you, Kami of nature" Said the man, in fear but respectfully in his own language, bowing his torso significantly.

"You haven't disturbed-" he began in English before he realized that the man hadn't spoken in English himself.

He looked to the man in puzzlement. It wasn't English or Spanish. Nor any language he thought he knew. So why then could he understand him? And why had the man called him a "Kami", (whatever that was), of nature? His magics had done many things in the past, but being able to understand foreign languages was one he had never anticipated. Had his pleas for divine intervention produced more than just help? Had they given him special powers? His mind and body began to fill very quickly with excitement.

"Hello?" He asked the man, this time actively attempting to manifest these new powers of his.

"If I have disturbed you and your holy place, please forgive me, Kami of nature" the man said once again, this time bowing lower as he didn't know what to make of this whole language barrier.

"You haven't disturbed me-" Marcio said slowly, having been successful in recalling his new language arts power and listening to his own speaking so as to try to puzzle out how it worked among other questions.

"I have actually been attempting to call you here" Marcio said with more confidence and excitement coursing through him.

"Attempting to call ME?" The man asked, wondering wildly why such an unremarkable man such as himself would be chosen to have some great destiny involved with the spirit world.

"Well, attempting to call for SOMEONE" he admitted truthfully.

"I was casting a spell so as to call on the gods to bring me things I need, assistance being one" he said.

"What could I possibly do for one such as yourself?" The hunter asked, knowing it could be inconvenient being involved with spiritual things but knowing the spirit world's wrath was not one he wished to incur by ignoring a request from a deity of nature.

"Well, for one, I would like for you to tell me where I am. I would also very much like to know what you think you're doing calling me things like a "Kami of nature" " he said, not knowing that this conversation was actually the start of a rather epic journey from which he would never be the same after.

[Nuxipal]

Javin Torrez
Battle of Mardan Fields, Spring 5 YK (2975 BCE)

It was still early in the campaigning season and a second major battle loomed ahead. However, this would be smaller in scale. The scouts reported that there were only 3000 Peshawari warriors on foot approaching and the Mardanese were holed up by his own siege troops. 2500 men held Mardan under siege. The other 3000 which were in fighting shape would face against an equal number, but of presumably lesser quality troops in the coming battle.

The only obstacles were the few small rivers which Javin's army and the Peshwari army had already set up behind. Not even a mile separated the two sides from one another, but both well outside of bowshot. The battle would be much quicker than the last one. His war elephants arrayed before the army, though only ten of them were available as five had minor injuries and he did not want to risk their deaths or the drivers losing control.

The enemy army stood firm behind their small tributary river, deeper than they had in the previous battle, which only made an elephant charge more dangerous. Of Javin's 3000 infantry, 1000 of them were archers. His army was broken into four main groups, evenly split between infantry and Archers, with only the center of the whole formation having elephants to smash enemy lines. Javin stood with the left center, Ekanga at the right center. Sending the signal to the whole army, 1000 men crossed the river and moved just about halfway between the two streams. They were about 700 yards from the enemy's front line, enough space behind them now for the rest of the army to begin their advance. The river they crossed was hardly ankle deep and the other one was about the same. The Archers spaced themselves out and with the archers at the front and the elephants between them and the rest of the infantry, they slowly advanced until they were about 300 yards away from the enemy positions, the most extreme of bow ranges. A few of the archers, the ones with the strongest bows, had been positioned in the right center formation and they began dropping individual arrows at the enemy, baiting them forward.

With their current spacing, even good archers with similar bows would have trouble hitting individuals standing this way. And the few return arrows only found dirt. The Peshwari, unwilling to let their opponent freely shoot into their ranks from such a range began advancing. Crossing their river they advanced on all fronts towards the assembled armies under Javin's command. As they closed the distance, more of his archers began to fire, but the enemy was closing quickly. Javin nodded to the flag bearer, who signaled the elephants to charge, the archers to withdraw after loosing one more volley and the infantry to advance, permitting the archers to pass between the sections to reform in the rear of the force.

Javin's warchant was picked up by most of the army at this point. As the Elephants crashed into the enemy formation, the cry of "MORRIGU!" echoed across the landscape as the army surged forward. On the flanks they were met with force, however, in the middle the elephants had done their job. Disorganized frontlines and a struggling force, the two center sections smashed into the enemy with all the power of a whirlwind. Bodies began to drop as the Peshawari center collapsed entirely. The plan to turn outwards and envelop both sides of the enemy force now began. It didn't take long, it seemed that whomever commanded the Peshawari army had been slain in the elephant charge and without their orders the army didn't stand a chance.

Two encirclements of the entire army took place. By late afternoon, the battle was done. Some 1500 prisoners of war were added to the thousand already building trenches to Javin's specification. Javin's forces lost only 400 compared to the 1500 dead and 1500 captured the Peshawari had. Worse of all, they would not know of this failure just yet. A demand was sent to Mardan to surrender, which was declined. A second surrender request was sent with a threat which Javin approved of for Ikshan. "Surrender, or for each day you do not, one Mardanese prisoner dies. One the first day, two the second, and so forth."

Sure enough, the city did not surrender. By the fifth day Javin let Ikshan know he could continue this until he ran out of prisoners. Javin took his 1500 prisoners and a force of about 3500 men, many of which had been recovering from the first battle, with him towards Peshawari.

Siege of Peshawari

The city's defenders were surprised to say the least. Unlike Mardan, the fields were being harvested slowly. Javin was able to quickly invest the city and send demands of surrender using a prisoner, whom he branded and warned that if he was not to take up arms against him again and if he were captured again, there would be no mercy. Naturally, the city refused. It survived siege before and could again. However, with no field armies anywhere nearby the Peshawari were in a tough position. Spies in the city had estimated that there had only been a token force, five hundred at most, left to defend the city.

Javin put the prisoners to work again. Digging trenches and creating a series of fortifications to protect the siege camps. More of them were sent to harvest the spring crop and to replant what they could for a fall harvest. Javin did not expect to be up here at that time, but he did not wish for a newly conquered city to simply starve once it was under his control.

He did not like having to split his force like this, but with the scant food resources around Mardan, Javin couldn't keep his whole army in one location. Two more weeks passed before news from Mardan had arrived. Javin had been spending an afternoon with Ekanga in his tent when the messenger arrived.

"Chhatrapati Javin, news from General Ikshan." He said before continuing, "We've had a break through in the siege and have now taken most of the city. The gates were left open to us and we were able to march in and hold all but the inner citadel for two days now. Food is plentiful for our forces and the citizens alike. They appear to be more supportive than we expected. We should have control over the citadel soon. Best of luck to you." The man recited, as if he had been practicing the whole way. "Anything you'd like to send as a reply."

Javin nodded and said, "Yes, tell General Ikshan that he is to occupy the city and reward those who aid his men. Once the city is taken pay for housing for the soldiers if you cannot find a barracks to house them in. We will be in the region for a few months after the completion of this campaign to solidify relations in this region."

The messenger nodded and left Javin and Ekanga alone again. "Ah, one down and one to go!." Javin remarked to Ekanga who could only say, "Well, it would seem that you were right about a short campaigning season. Its not even summer and here we are, waiting for the last city to fall. It's really a shame that we don't get more time to know each other."

Javin smirked at that, "Oh, you thought you'd retire after this? No, you are a captain in my army sir. I would think you will find yourself stationed very close to my personal residence once we return to Harappa."

The two spent the rest of that day together as the siege continued on.

Early Summer, Siege of Peshawar, 5 YK (2975 BCE)

The early summer rains made the trenches muddy wrecks, but the enemy was suffering Peshawari defectors were plentiful. They reported an assault would carry the day, but Javin held back. No reason to attack unless victory was assured. And sure enough, one afternoon that victory was assured. The sounds of fighting inside the city could be heard. Soon gates were being opened and large throngs of people were standing outside of them, though not as if they were attacking, but simply preventing someone's escape.

That someone was the ruler of Peshawar, which soon was delivered along with his personal guard and household to Javin's tent. In the rain and mud, the older man pleaded for his life. Javin crouched down and spoke to him.

"You should have just surrendered and joined the Kingdom peacefully."

The older man weakly said, "Marry one of my daughters. All of my daughters if you must. Just do not kill me!" Javin ignored him and walked to his eldest son, who was similarly bound. The boy was only 12, perfectly impressionable. "What is your name?" The boy answered in a scared voice, "K-Kairov." Javin then looked at the older man, "That is your father correct. No older siblings?"

The boy shook his head, "They all died in the riots."

Nodding and motioning for the boy's bonds to be cut. "Kairov, I would name you Raja of Peshawar and cement our new friendship by marriage to one of your sisters. As the new ruler of the city you will decide which of your sisters I will wed."

The young boy saw the women of his family nearby, similarly bound, though not forced to the ground as his father had been. "Banhi. You will marry Banhi." He looked at one of his sisters whose head dropped. She was probably 16 or 17 by the looks of it. Javin then replied. "Very well. Banhi and I will remain in Peshawar for some time as your rule is solidified and your father is imprisoned. Let us return to your home."

Most of Javin's army moved into the city, his prisoners were happily reunited with friends and families which they had not seen in some time. A messenger was sent to Ikshan giving him the layout of the events that were unfolding in Peshawar and that he would also be staying in the region for some time.

Later that evening he met with Banhi, who was scared and visibly shaking. Javin approached and put a hand on her shoulder, "You have nothing to fear Banhi. We will stay in Peshawar for some months before we return to Harappa. You will live in my household as one of my wives and will discover I am a fair and kind man." The young girl nodded submissively before moving to start removing clothes. At this, Javin stopped her. "No. Not until you are ready. Go rest, it is late." The girl hurried away and Javin was able to sit and think for some time. Unlike Harappa, Peshawar had been a monarchy at the start. With a new ruler, there would be some uneasiness as the transition of power took place. He would have to ensure no one tried to wrest control of the city from the hands of the boy.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

Bruno Davids
Southern France

I learnt a lot during my first night with the people of Torsen’s village. We spent the night together around a fire. An old man, whose age I could not determine with any degree of certainty, told stories, both of his own past and of the mythical days of yore. There were stories I knew, such as the tale of a great flood caused by the gods that wiped out all life, and the story of a hero traveling to the ends of the earth fulfilling tasks. There were also stories I had never heard before, like the story of the giant birds that took away a leader and left a people to fend for themselves. The people knew these stories, and after each one, the people of the village, numbering around fifty, debated its merits and the relevance to their life. After the story of the giant birds, the people solemnly contemplated their own future. I found out that their leader, Bors, had died during a hunt three day before. It was his funeral I witnessed at the start of my dream, and it was his daughter Telda who I had met after waking up.

Among those present, staring into the flames with a pensive frown and surrounded by people who gave him plenty of space, was Torsen. Torsen was Bors’ son, and the responsibility of leading this village had almost naturally fallen on his shoulders. The old man, Torsen’s great uncle, had his hands on his nephew’s knee, as if supporting the terrible load that had befallen him. Torsen was young, perhaps my age or slightly older. His eyes were a deep brown, and by its contents I could not tell whether he was entirely present. There was a lot to see, and since I did not know these people, so I resigned myself to observing the debates.

That was, until the old man rose from his cross-legged seated position, and gestured to me. Telda, who sat next to her brother, gestured too, and confident by her approval, I too rose to stand. At full height, I drew quite a few whispers from those present. I was a giant among them, and my appearance must have been unusual.

“My boy…” the old man said, squinting to properly see me in the fire’s dim light.

“You are larger than the largest among us, your skin is pale and your eyes blue. Tell us, where are you from?”

I did not quite know what to tell them. I dearly wanted to tell them the truth, but it was clear they would have no frame of reference for what I had to say. So, for their sakes as much as my own, I elected to be vague and mystical.

“I come from a far-away land, near to the sea, and I have travelled far to get here” I told them, after which I intended to sit down again. The townsfolk hadn’t had their curiosity satisfied, however, and joyfully they gestured for me to continue to stand. I could not supress a smile, for these people were extraordinarily kind even though I had only just met them.

“Your homeland…” the old man started carefully. He clearly weighed every word before speaking, as if language itself was something of great value.

“Do they wear… clothes there?” he continued, a mischievous smile crawling along his mouth. The others laughed too, and I felt my cheek flushing red. As the townsfolk saw that, they began jeering even harder.

“Yes, yes… we have clothes. I just seem to have lost mine. How, I honestly do not remember”

Even in a village that only had stone tools, the concept of a drunken stupor seemed universally recognisable, and a familiar ‘ohhhhhhhh’ sounded from various throats.

“Tell us more about this homeland” the old sage said. “Do you miss it?”

I had not thought of that. In a sense, I did. But after this dream, I would wake up there again, so it was but a short trip back.

“As much as anyone who travels far from home does, but I am a traveller through and through. I enjoy seeing new parts of the world as much as I miss home”

This solicited some knowing nods from those present. These people were semi-nomadic, and travelled more than I would in my lifetime. I pressed on.

“My home is a place of marvel. Food is plentiful, and water readily available. We live in houses of stone and have no beasts to fear. When the weather is cold, we warm our houses. Everyone has a task set out for them, and there is plenty of time for rest and relaxation when work is done.”

Not everyone seemed to believe my fanciful tales, but some had their eyes wide. A flurry of questions poured in from all directions, and I did my best to answer them all. We grow all food ourselves, and we eat from captured beasts without need of hunt. Clean water is pumped from leagues away, without need of boiling (though we do drink warm beverages when we are cold.

“So no-one goes hungry where you come from?”

I suddenly fell silent. That was an answer I could not give truthfully. It was a hard question, that made my stomach turn slightly. It was as if I were looking at the childhood pictures of someone guilty of heinous acts. A child, with a wish to become a pilot or a doctor one day, on a steady path to becoming someone they would never want to be. And if you could travel through time, and tell the child what they would become, they would hate you for telling them.

“Alright, alright” Torsen said. It was the first time I heard his voice, and it was deep and authoritative. When he stood up, I saw that he almost rivalled my own height, with arms that were twice the size of mine.

“Let’s leave Bruno here alone, he has not travelled this distance for all out questions”

I was grateful, and felt guilty of my gratitude. Torsen had cut off a question that would have suddenly erased the good humour that filled the atmosphere around the fire. I would have some time to think of an explanation, at least.

“One last question from me though” the chieftain said, and I swallowed.

“You said everyone had a task where you come from. What was yours?”

I sighed gratefully, but it took me a few seconds to come up with a proper answer. What could I tell people without concept of law what my job was?

“I gave council” I finally told him. “I advise my… my chieftain on how to lead our people”

Torsen gave a curt nod, but his brown eyes lingered in my own for a couple of moments, as if he were trying to read my mind. Then, he clapped his hands.

“Alright, all to sleep, now” he said, waving away the groans of protest made by his fellows.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but today was a tough day, and we all need some rest. Tomorrow, we will hear more from Bruno. If he chooses to remain our guest”

I did not know whether there was threat in that phrase. If there was, I could not hear it. Yet, his eyes were again fixed in mine, as if they were trying to read my mind. As if they were trying to tell me something. There was something, and I could think of only one way to find out what it was.

“Of course. You are very kind” I responded. The townsfolk cheered, and for a moment I imagined spotting a faint smile on the lips of my host.

The next morning

When I woke up the next morning, I immediately saw that Torsen had wasted no time. Say what you will about the man, and I would have a lot to say about him over the course of his life, but he knew how to start something off. He didn’t quite know how to finish or how to stop and think, but I imagine that is why we would grow into the team we later became. He was dressed in a simple woollen tunic, and if I had not seen him before, I would not be able to tell that he was a chieftain.

“Good morning” he said plainly. Through the opening in the little hut I inhabited, I could see the sun slowly rising above the hills. From here, you could see the distant stones and dolmen darkly silhouetted against the bright morning light.

“Care for a walk?” he asked. I barely had time to think, as he reached his hand out to me.

“sure…” I answered, painfully aware how early it was. I grabbed his hand and he pulled me upright.

Now, normally, my teeth felt weird after sleep. My teeth were, over a period of a few years, painfully bent into shape with braces. My braces were gone now, but every night since I had to sleep with a plastic mould in my mouth. Sleeping without the mould left my teeth slightly readjusted, which I could notice the following morning. My teeth were perfectly fine now, however. It was only something I noticed made sense long afterwards.

Torsen and I made our way past the village hovels, constructed from twigs and skins. Most people were already out and about, and Torsen greeted all of them. He had a chat with Telda, asking her how she was holding up. Fine, she said, consdering. You could hardly see they had lost their father just days prior, but such was their harsh life. He then spoke to a few others, about the weather, about the hunt…

Finally, we cleared the village, and once they were out of earshot Torsen’s whole demeanour changed. His shoulders slumped, his back arched, and he put his big hands to his face. He began to breathe heavily, and I could unmistakably hear him sobbing.

“What a fuck-up you think I must be…” he finally managed to say. I was still overwhelmed by his sudden transformation, I could not even begin to get some response out.

“You must think us backwards savage”

To be very frank, I did. I had considered them quite beneath me, if I was totally honest. It was very hard not to, these strange people with their short bodies and dirtied look, foraging for food and being amazed by the thought of stone houses. I had not even imagined that they could have a concept of savagery, seeing as they lived in total squalor. Even the night before, when I was blessed with the privilege to see their culture and hear their stories, I had not seen them as fully equals. But seeing Torsen show such true emotions made me reconsider, at least somewhat, how backwards they could be. I had seen modern people lose their parents, and it was just as visceral.

“I don’t think that” I lied.

“You and your people… You are doing your own thing, there’s nothing wrong with…” I tried, but I Torsen cut me off.

“Oh, fuck off” he said. “I just lost my father to what you tell me is an entirely obsolete practice where you are from. How is that ‘doing our own thing’.”

I had not considered that in the slightest when I had told the stories the night before. Sure, I was aware I was slightly arrogant, but to think that I was making all the suffering these people went through meaningless… That was something I had not thought of. I tried to think of something to say, something to retort, but I was hollow.

“Torsen, I’m sorry, I…”

“I don’t want your apology” he said bluntly. “I couldn’t care less for it, or for where you come from. I want my people to stop losing the people they love due to entirely preventable circumstances. My mother…”

We stopped. We had arrived at the dolmen holding Torsen’s father. The flowers, food and vases that had been put out were untouched, still standing as offerings to the late chieftain. Torsen got down on his knees.

“Are you from heaven?” Torsen asked me, suddenly.

“Just tell me if you are, there is no sense in keeping a secret if you are…”

“No” I said abruptly, before thinking about it. It did not even occur to me that it was a possibility. Even if it were useful, to misuse the genuine faith of the mourning. Of any genuine faith. I put my hand on his shoulder, the first time I had touched a person in this new world.

“But I will help you nonetheless”

[Ah-eh-ioh-uh]

"You are in the forest surrounding Onomichi" The man replied.

Marcio listens very carefully and analyzes the language and as best he can approximates what it might. Having met many different people and encountered many different cultures through the years, he finds it most similar to Japanese. So is that where he was? Some place in Japan? Unlikely, as he would have felt or heard what was going on as it happened if he were kidnapped. If he were kidnapped, it didn't explain this perosn's strange form of dress or why he himself awoke with his body unbound. Had he been kidnapped by some weird anime cosplayers with a particular fondness for physically fit latino men?

"Why are you wearing that?" He asked in reference to the animal skins and whatnot.

"It is not unusual for humans in this area doing what I do to dress like this" the man replied, wondering it the spirit had never met humans before.

"Do my clothes offend you?" He asked, hoping he hadn't trespassed against the gods in some way.

"Not necessarily, you are supposed to be a... hunter?" he asked in reference to the bow and the quiver of arrows.

"I apologize if my activities offend you, Kami of nature" the man began.

"My family and-", he began to explain but Marcio needed none of it.

"Hunting does not offend me" he said curtly, wondering just what sick game was going on here.

"I wonder if you might show me to the nearest settlement and perhaps answer me some more questions?" He asked, skeptical of this man in animal skins.

"Yes of course" the man replied nervously, gesturing him forward, hoping that his village and he did not do anything that would cause the spirit or his kin to call down calamities onto it.

Marcio stood skeptically and whilst he didn't know a bow and arrow to be a common weapon for serial killers or assasins in moderns days to use, he still folded his arms and let the man no in no uncertain terms that HE should lead. If the man had anything to do with his kidnapping he would not be turning his back to the man, especially armed. The man obliged.

"Have you any clue why I was in the forest?" He asked, hoping this man and his sick perverted fellow cosplay fetishists didn't take him for a fool.

"It is your home is it not?" The man replied skeptically.

"So you are saying you are not-" he hesitated, wondering whether he should continue letting this (possibly deranged man) think him a Yokai or whatever.

"WOULD not be involved with moving me from where I was before and into that forest?" He asked, wanting that man to just say what it was that he was playing at.

"No!, the man said in shock at the thought.

"I would not do such a thing to a human OR a Yokai" he confirmed.

Marcio did not look convinced. This man might not even be sane. Heck, Marcio for the first time doubted even his own sanity. "Where in the world is the settlement you're taking me?" He asked.

"In the U.S. possibly? Or am I really to beleive I have been transported unawares to Japan of all places?" He asked, the truth of the matter starting to dawn on him but needing more evidence to settle in.

"Onomichi is a village bordering a nearby empire on an island where the sun rises" the man said.

Marcio knew that Japan had been frequently refered to as islands where the sun rose. The land of the rising sun, Zippangu, Nipon, Japon in Spanish, "Nihon". The languge did not seem to be modern Japanese but it was similar enough that he began to be really uncomfortable with the hypothesis he was coming upon.

"What year is it?" He asked.

The man's answer sounded more mystical than numerical and didn't answer very well. He hadn't spoke in AD or BC, but rather in relation to some famous legendary historical event or other. Haha. What a laugh. For all his "magic" he had never tried to jump back in time. That thought was ridiculous. The man was either mad or perhaps Marcio was.

They did not walk very far and they spoke little. Eventually the man came to a stop, Marcio still suspecting ill, would have been forcing them to walk slowly so he could analyze his surrounding for both animals and treachery. It was, however unnecessary as the man also wanted to watch out for animals AND the man's legs were somewhat shorter than his own. It actually became a slower walk than he wanted.

It DID however give him time to consider that this man was not going to be the optimum choice for being a kidnapper. Weapons could even things up but a weapon with a person taller and broader than he would have no need for evening things out. Marcio did not feel drugs in his system and he could probably quite easily overpower this man if he needed to. He worried mostly about animals or co-conspirators.

They could hear sounds of what seemed like human settlement nearby and wondered why they had stopped.

"I hope you don't find my leaving you disrespectful but I think it would be best to warn everybody you'll be coming" he said.

"You see they might have never met a Yokai in the flesh before and seeing you might... alarm them. I do not wish for them to behave disrespectfully or irrationally around you when they gaze upon you" he explained before Marcio could be offended.

"Sure..." Marcio replied, some lingering skepticism in him because things like time travel were not concepts embraced too easily even for a Neopagan practitioner of "magic".

The man bowed respectfully to him and left to go to his village.

[Elerian]

Danial Adiputera

A battle was raging in the muddy streets of Teluk and Danial Adiputera managed to find himself against four foes who hammered at his defenses. They rained blow after blow, but the skilled fighter dodged and slipped expertly. It practically made combat look easy just watching him. One of his assailants took a swing at his side to which Danial blocked easily with his Philly Shell, and pushed his opponent to the ground.

As skilled as Danial was, there were simply too many. He eventually grew tired and let a few blows hit him before falling to his knees, dropping his arms in the process. Danial wore only simple clothes and no protective gear so the blows stung. “I yield!” Danial cried out to his opponents who immediately stopped in their tracks with devious smiles. “Have mercy!" the foreigner yelled.

His opponents, children no more than ten, were armed with wooden sticks and shouted in joy for having beaten the well-known marvel of Teluk. Suddenly the small crowd of bystanders who had been witnessing the spectacle laughed and cheered. Danial stood and grabbed one of the scrawny boy’s arms, raising it into the air to declare him a champion, once again the crowd let out a great cheer. Danial patted the backs of the others before they scurried away.

This was one of the reasons the people were growing to love Danial. The slave had managed to integrate into their lives given time and an earnest effort. Even if many of his ploys were to gain their favor. His existence had long since made the circuit throughout the region. Nobody was really sure how he got there or where he came from, least of all Danial. The favor of his captors was important to him. In his first few weeks with them, he’d been beaten for mistakes, but now that many liked him he experienced that less and less. On the other hand, the chieftain had done little to inspire love from his people, instead most feared or hated him. It was said that he’d grown cold after the death of his son in a raid.

Cham and some other slaves stood off to one side, their jobs tasks having been completed for the moment. He walked over to them and was greeted by a smile from his friend. “A valiant defeat friend. There is no shame in it.” he said jokingly.

“You can’t win them all” Danial agreed with a smile.

He leaned up against a nearby mud wall and relaxed for a time with Cham and the other slaves. Sometimes the children would come to say a greeting. A young even came by to present him with a flower, to which he bowed as deeply as he was able. The girl grew red in the face and scurried off with embarrassment. While other slaves and tribes people were fixated on Danial, Cham was largely ignored which suited him just fine.

Afterwards he and Cham made their way back to their hut. Many of the affluent members of the village had several mud huts in a compound. The man lived in one, his family in another, and his slaves in the third. Danial’s master was the local chieftain, so he had the largest and highest quality huts in the village. And yet, they were still made largely of mud. Since he’d come into the good graces of his captors, Danial had tried to convince his master that he could build a better dwelling. Danial was himself tired of his damp accommodations, and wanted to live in something better. His master, Neoh, had agreed to let Danial start making a hut in his free time if he wished. Danial had begun work on it a few weeks prior, but was still far from finished. So, instead the two slaves went to their own dwelling. Their hut was a single room which was sparsely furnished save for a few clumps of bedding and some rudimentary chairs. Danial sat down in his own chair and faced Cham.

“I’ll be leaving here soon, I want to go home. I’d like you to come with me Cham. I don’t understand this hell, and I certainly don’t want to live in it” Danial said, changing the mood drastically.

“Careful friend, this is my home you’re talking about” Cham replied with a smirk, in a vain attempt at shifting the mood again.

“Dammit Cham, this is serious!” he shouted back.

“Sorry Danial, but where will you go? You’ll be enslaved again if you go out there alone again” Cham replied.

“I don’t even know where I am now, but I know I can’t stay here forever. And between the two of us we might make it” Danial said back.

“You are where the spirits want you to be, but you are not of a good state of mind” Cham stated.

Danial looked up from the table a grim expression across his face. “So you won’t come with me then?” he asked.

Cham avoided Danial’s look and replied, “no, I cannot.”

“So be it” Danial replied, a hint of sadness in his voice. He got up and walked to a window. “All I ask of you is to not reveal my intentions to the masters. Can you do that for me?”

“I won’t give you away to the masters, but I won’t help you escape either” Cham said bluntly.

Danial sighed. “Then you are a true friend Cham. I’m sorry.”

“I know, I know. Do what you must and perhaps we’ll see each other again someday.” Chamsaid as he left.

Danial turned back to the window and stared out at the churning waters off the coast of Teluk, lost in thought.

[Lazarian]

Mark Hoffman, Day 1

Mark stirred, feeling the soreness spread through his aching back as he emerged from his slumber. His eyes still shut tightly, he curled up, feeling the wind blow against his naked body. The rock he was on top of was cold and sharp, a horrid bed for fate’s newest victim.

Then they shot open. Quickly rolling off the rock into the grass, he hyperventilated for a few moments, trying to grasp some sort of understanding of his surroundings and situation. Instead of his apartment, he found himself in the middle of a field. Wherever he was, it was cold. Horribly cold. The wind bit at his exposed skin, and he clutched himself, trying to take shelter from the frigid weather.

This wasn’t Michigan. The realization was almost instinctual, a deep gut feeling. The trees were different. Where had he been last night? The last thing he had remembered was getting in bed and setting his alarm, and closing his eyes. Perhaps this was some sort of prank pulled on him, or some reality TV show. But it seemed far too real for that. Maybe this was some sort of dream. But he’d never felt so alive in a dream before. His heart pounding, he searched over the landscape for answers.

Perhaps this was just some nightmare. But the cold biting into his naked body didn’t feel like a nightmare. The field was rather open and exposed - a glen in the midst of a thick woods.

“Hello? Is anyone out there?” he shouted, still filled with shock. Nobody answered. It was quiet out here - asides from the blowing wind and the rustling of leaves, and the quiet chirping and singing of birds, there was nothing. For a couple of minutes, he curled up on the rock in the fetal position, alternating between deep breaths and sobbing. This was a horrid nightmare from which he could not awake.

Instinct drove his body off the stone and in search of real shelter. He had no real survival skills of note - sure, he’d gone fishing on Michigan’s Great Lakes plenty of times, but that was with a rod and tackle. And his garden at home was well tended...with store bought fertilizer and seeds. Perhaps if you counted watching episodes of Man vs Wild as survival knowledge. For example, if he had a baseball cap, he’d filter whatever water he found through it. And he knew that you could eat dandelions.

Closing his eyes, he knelt to pray. “God, please deliver me from this nightmare.” he begged with closed eyes, his clasped fingers trembling in the cold. It filled him with a soft comfort - he knew that eventually, he’d awake in his bed, and this nightmare would be over.

Until then, he had to find a way to get out of the cold. In the distance, he saw some sort of faint smoke rising over the treetops. Could it be civilization? It was worth checking out.

The trip over there was painful and slow. Making his way through the brambles and undergrowth of the forest with bare feet was a chore, especially with the cold nipping at his back. He’d grown rather out of shape over the last couple years. Sitting at a desk job and being sedentary certainly had its consequences. After pressing his way through the forest for what felt like hours, he stumbled out of the forest.

A log cabin greeted him. It was a simple, brutalist structure - notched logs stacked upon each other like the old Lincoln Log toys he had played with as a child. The roof was composed of sod, with green grass springing from the top. Smoke trickled out of the roof of the cabin, most likely the remnants of a weak hearth. Around, a few fields of crops (that he did not recognize) grew, their shoots piercing from the ground and into the world. A few cattle (although much more sickly and weak than the ones he was used to) grazed in a sparse pasture nearby.

“Hello?” Mark shouted, carefully approaching the cabin. He was rather self-conscious about his nakedness, as well as intruding onto whoever’s property this was. The shelter (or small farm) was located on the top of a hill, with a beautiful view towards a valley beneath. A small town of some sort laid nearby, with the ocean not far from it. Boats of some sort sailed in and out of the town, although there was not a single car or plane in sight. Let alone a paved road.

This was all just a dream. Seizing the confidence that none of this was real, he strode up to the door and knocked. Once. Twice. Thrice. On the third knock, a woman opened the door…

...before quickly shrieking and slamming it in his face. She was short and quite thin from what he had seen, although her blonde hair, blue eyes, and fair skin was much like his own. Her clothing was bizarre - some mix of robes and furs. Certainly nothing that any modern manufacturer would ever make. “Wait!” he protested in surprise, pounding on the door to gain her attention. “I mean no harm! I...I just need some directions!” he continued, feeling a hint of irritation. This whole situation was a mess.

“Directions to where?” she replied through the door. Behind it, he heard the little voices of children. They must have been quite young.

“I’m...well, where am I?” he asked, looking around. It was rather pointless to ask such a question in a dream, but he felt compelled to ask.

“What a foolish question.” the woman scoffed, fear and annoyance mixed in her voice, and Mark imagined her crossing her arms. “You’re on the outskirts of Akershus, capital of the Republic of Norway, proud member of the Commonwealth. But if you were from anywhere around here, you’d know that.”

Mark froze. Most of what she had said was incomprehensible nonsense. Akershus, Commonwealth...but Norway. That was a real place. It wasn't often that he had dreams this vivid. Could he have...been drugged and thrown out here? Of course, it was ridiculous. His rational mind protested vigorously - that was completely implausible, and why would anyone do that? But if this was all a dream, surely he would have woken up by now. Or all the scratches and blisters on his injured feet would have done it.

“Norway?” he said questioningly. He may as well take it seriously, as surreal as it all felt. Although, why could they understand each other? He didn't speak a damn word of Norwegian. Perhaps she spoke English...but then in that case, where were the roads? Where were the cars? Surely it was a dream. And yet, he continued as if this was all real. “Great, then you can get me in contact with the authorities. I believe something’s gone terribly wrong. I’m not...I’m not from here.”

“Obviously not!” retorted the woman, clearly short on patience at this point. “You’ll stay right there until my husband gets back, stranger, and he’ll take you to the local magistrate. The Committee will see to the likes of you, trespassing on people's property and giving the poor children a fright like this!" she claimed through the door, a surprising amount of hostility in her voice. Mark supposed it was fair - he had trespassed, after all. He walked away from the door, waiting for her husband to get back from wherever he had gone off to. All things considered, it could be a lot worse. At least he'd found civilization, as strange and unfriendly as this woman was. Maybe it was an off-grid commune of some sort.

Looking over the farm, he stared at a patch of strawberry plants towards the side of the cabin. They'd been transplanted from somewhere else, and were surrounded by a small border of stones. He recognized the plants - had a crop of them growing in his own garden at home. They were small and shriveled - clearly the soil was bad, and they were planted too close together. Clearly, the woman had the opposite of a green thumb. It was ironic, considering that she lived out in the country. Usually organic-farmer types like this were all about crop efficiency.

"You know," he called, walking back over towards the residence, "you really ought to put some fertilizer on your garden. And your strawberries are far too close together. If you give me some jeans and a trowel, I can get them fixed right up." he said, trying to placate the woman. "I'm not a convict or anything like that - just woke up in a field nearby with nothing on me. Completely honest, ma'am. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I promise I'm telling the truth."

He was met with silence. Damn. Well, it had been worth a shot.

[UniversalCommons]

Harappa (2975 to 2974)

Aprus's belly began to swell and her pregnancy became visible. She was hungrier than usual. She spent time learning the script of the Harappan's so she could read what was written about medicine and agriculture. When she could, she traded for paper. She had cultivated a garden with spices and seeds, some of them from seeds that had been brought in from Arjun's travels. Arjun had insisted that a servant provide her help with her gardens. Also, her medical assistants insisted that they help her with treating people. She ended up treating several of Arjun's men who had fought for Guru Javin's campaign.

Several of Arjun's men had fought in the battles of Guru Javin. All of the nobles and landowners had to provide men for Guru Javin's campaign. Some stayed behind if they were needed to tend the land, smith, or hunt.

Ajax listened to tales of the battles and took notes on what he heard afterwards in his room in his cloth journals behind closed doors. He was careful to write when he was at home. He continued to teach the bow to Arjun's men. He also taught the hunting spear while they were deep in the woods. He would go into the woods to hunt with several young men and he would show them the trail of the deer and the boar, the monkey, the tiger, and the elephant. He was careful to not hunt the tiger and the elephant. He showed them to how move quickly and quietly in the woods, climb trees, and be still for hours and watch for birds, rabbits and other animals.

When Ajax and Aprus had time, they would eat with the Arjun as guests when the merchants came. They would discuss the different trade goods, cloves, cardamon, cinnamon, black pepper, cashews, sesame, turquoise, lapis lazuli, cotton cloth, carnelian beads, pearls, and shells. Ajax would ask about rhinoceros hide, elephant hide, ivory, and the skins of the tiger.

Later Aprus would write down the conversations from memory as she was trained to do using the methods of Eidos and the Memory Castle. She quietly acquired paper scrolls to write her journals in.

One night Aprus, Ajax, and Arjun were talking.

Aprus, “I have many journals which I wish to send back to Ur. I think you will be well rewarded if you bring them back. You know of the embassy in Ur. I need them to be taken there. They must be transported carefully.”

Arjun, “I am not planning on going back soon. I am sending Ravi back there. It is a very long trip.”

Ajax, “I too want to send some of my journals back home. This must be done quietly. There is good trade here, but I am not here as a soldier. “

Arjun, “He is leaving very soon. We will pack them as part of his goods in wooden boxes.”

Aprus, “I will suggest a reward for delivery of our journals in silver and spices.”

Arjun, “I would like gold. Your smiths make fine gold and copper jewelry, bracelets and earrings. I have heard they mix silver and gold together to make beautiful rings.”

Aprus, “You have us here.”

Arjun, “You are fine friends. You have helped me tremendously. We have a golden friendship. Much more valuable than silver or spices.”

Ajax, “I agree we have a golden friendship. We will ask for gold. Knowledge is worth its weight in gold. You know if you would include some samples of your goods like cotton, lapis lazuli, carnelian, and the hides of elephants or rhinoceros, it would be even more golden.”

Arjun, “I will agree to this. The goods will be shipped.”

Aprus, “Can you write us a letter to that effect and put your stone seal of the bull on it.”

Arjun, “Of course, I will write an agreement.”

Ajax, “We will be asking for more people to come from the Nestos League here. The land is fertile and the forests have many different animals we have not seen before. There are also trees and plants that grow in the woods for medicine.”

Four boxes of papers are sent to Ur. Three of the boxes make it to Ur. One box is stolen by some sailors in Dilmun. The stolen box contains descriptions of trade in Harappa and has carnelian beads and the hides of a monkey and an elephant.

At Ur, the contents are copied by the scholars in the embassy at Ur and copies are sent back to Oak. It takes almost a year for this to happen. At Ur, the scrolls are weighed and Ravi is given a box of gold bangles, copper earrings, and electrum rings of the same weight as the scrolls as is written in the agreement signed and sealed by Arjun, Ajax, and Aprus. The samples of cotton, ivory, and lapis lazuli are included in the contract. Ravi does not know what has happened to the fourth box.

Victor Spear reads several accounts of military campaigns with elephants and camels. He is impressed with the descriptions of the elephants and the action involved. There is something primal about elephants charging front line troops. The accounts are copied in the House of Wisdom. A copy is sent for Diaghis to analyze.

Victor also reads about the medical treatments using Harappan medicine. Copies are made in The House of Wisdom then distributed to the Temple of the Body Parts in Oak.

Victor Spear is hesitant to send another expedition. He still has not gotten clear information on the war in Ur.

[Ah-eh-ioh-uh]

Marcio was not convinced that this wasn't some elaborate kidnapping plot or mugging so he did not stick around to just allow him and his goons to get the jump on him. Marcio needed help and needed civilization but was not fool enough to stand around waiting for him to bring some witch-hunting mob to catch him like a bound pig with an apple in its mouth.

Marcio maneuvered around the surrounding forest to a spot he could hide but also hear and see them from. He did his best to leave the possibility of running away open to him.

The man had walked back home and folks told him he looked like he had seen a ghost. This did not strike his fancy in humor. Concerned as they were he could not tell them yet. He needed to consider whether he should tell or not. Maybe they would think him mad.

"What's wrong Tori-San? You look as if you'd seen a ghost" they said with concern.

The hunter went back home to worries from his family, needing to shrug them off to think. Eventually he decided he would risk looking mad if he could avoid the wrath of the spirits.

He told a village elder that he thought it possible he might be mad but that it was too dangerous for him to ignore a ghost or Kami. "A brown man" he had called him. Taller than humanly possible. Strange features unlike any he had seen before. Broader than any other human he had see, bigger. He didn't look human at all. The basics were there like two arms and legs, a head, the basic shape. But BIG. Tall and muscular, waving an ancient oak branch like a priest or shaman. And NAKED. He recounted as best he could what happened and how they spoke.The elder thought about this for a bit and concurred that Tori did the right thing by telling, the wrath of the spirit world was too great a thing to risk even for lunacy.

"We shall gather elder Sato among others, between us we might be able to figure out what to do about this so-called 'spirit' " and so he gather some elders, male and female, grandparents thought to be wisest among their number. Sato (the village shaman equivalent) and some few others gathered to discuss what to do. It was decided that mad or not, it was too potentially dangerous to ignore. Discussing things further, they decided to bring the "Yokai" into the village as planned and introduce him to Sato. If the being really was a spirit, Sato was best equipped to handle it.

It was decided that some imposing looking men would be there for it pretending to be doing work. Corporeal or no, a show of muscle may keep the spirit from doing anything too bad. With those plans in mind, Hatori set out with someone else for company upon insistence. He was too afraid to do it alone.

They neared the place where he had left him but Marcio wasn't there. He peaked about from behind and beside bushes. He was very afraid. The hunter had seemed to take a bit longer than his anxiety thought necessary and he was afraid the man had been gathering a lynch mob to come or to have him burned him at the stake. The men came upon where he had been left and found no one. They began to argue, one saying the other was truly crazy and had wasted everyone's time. The other insisting the man was real and had been there. The one he met had called out for him, searching and Marcio responding with fading further into the tangled growths. Marcio listened very carefully and walked as stealthily as he could as the two argued their way back to the village to tell what had happened.

In his listening, he found little to suggest they were planning some gruesome end for him and decided that maybe they were worth more investigating. Following them all the way back to their village, he had stepped on a twig or something and nearly been seen. This scared the one he had met and caused him to run, yelling that the spirits were angry at their human sneakiness. The other shook his head and reluctantly jogged to catch up with the old lunatic.

"The spirit found us out!", he yelled, a little to loud for his intended audience.

"We are all going to pay for what we have done!" He cried in terror.

"I SAW no spirit!" The other yelled in disgust.

"Hatori is just imagining things and being scared by a common fox prowling about or something" he said dismissively.

"He was THERE I tell you! He was there when I left him and if we hadn't tried to be so sneaky about it all, he might have blessed our village with divine favor!" He said indignantly.

The entire congregation began to argue about it all, most calling Hatori a crazy old lunatic set off his rocker. Eventually Marcio had had enough and concluded that he was not in danger of being violated or mobbed by these ancient peasants or cosplayers, whichever they be. Stepping out from the wild he straightened his back and called upon his renown stage presence to make himself known.

"Behold!" He said, tow which he received the response of man gasps.

"It's HIM!" Hatori said loudly.

"It's the brown man I had been telling you about! He's REAL!" He said with fervor.

"Where did you go when Hatori asked you to wait?" Said the one who had accompanied him to the forest.

"I suspected Human duplicity and decided to investigate your intentions before committing to entering this village" he spoke with loud theatricality, his voice full of strength.

"I TOLD you-" Hatori began before Marcio interrupted.

"I have divined that there is more to you than meets the eye" Marcio spoke, folks who had been told to go indoors having not followed orders long.

"And what have you found beneath the surface" The shaman had asked, afraid but boldly stepping forward to parley with Marcio.

Marcio considered very carefully what he should say next as life and death depended on parleying with these oddly dressed people's.

"I have found that whatever happens happens and that I need to ask help from SOMEBODY, duplicitous or not" he said cryptically.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

Bruno Davids
Southern France

Torsen’s village was abuzz with industrious activity. The allure of luxury was one hell of a motivator, it seemed, and no-one was wasting their time resting. Women, men and children alike were hard at work creating their own fantasy. The conversations were alight with hopeful notes, making hard labour feel like a breeze.

“I will pick up weaving when we don’t need to hunt anymore” one said.

“I will care for the Stones of our Fathers when I have the time” another replied.

“I will still hunt, it’s good fun!” another said. Then, she looked pensively. “Would that still be allowed?” she asked, looking at Torsen and myself. We were checking in on all labouring groups, and were now passing the group of five cutting down trees and branches. A lot of wood was needed for many of the projects I had in store, and they had volunteered to take that job themselves.

I looked sidelong at Torsen. He was the chieftain, after all, so I expected him to make all decisions on what was and was not allowed. However, Torsen looked at me in a similar manner. Confused, I gestured towards him.

“Well, Torsen decides what you can and cannot do” I reasoned.

“But what’s better? I cannot decide without knowing what you do?” he replied.

That phrase left a bad taste in my mouth. Torsen was a natural leader, and had a charisma I could not possibly match. He knew what would be best for these people. But he did not have the knowledge I had, and was totally dependent on me for information. For some advisors, that total dependence was heaven. For me, it was unsettling. It meant that I had a lot more influence in Torsen’s decisions than I had initially thought, even though I did not know these people as well as he did. Besides, whether hunting would be allowed was not really a matter of technology or efficiency. It was their personal choice. And, believe it or not, as a lawyer, laying down the law was actually not something I was accustomed to. I did not make rules, I interpreted them.

In the end, I decided to answer cryptically. “Well, I don’t see anything wrong with that. And it will take a lot of time before you will be independent of the hunt”

You. Not we, you. I did not see myself as part of their lives. I was a councillor, an advisor, nothing more. Looking on as an outsider, not considering myself part of their polity. I did not know how long I would be staying there. How long the dream would last.

A dream.

I caught myself forgetting that I was dreaming, sometimes. It was all so vivid. I smelled smells I had never smelt before, and I heard birds and saw animals that were strange to me. The vividness of the dream lured me in, made me forget that it was all not real.

Torsen and I continued our walk, me explaining various different aspects of what was being created. We passed the large animal pens being created, for boars and oxen. I explained how, once caught, they would have to get used to human presence, and how you had to make decisions on how to breed the most docile, yet biggest ones with one another. Seeing as Torsen was interested in this process, I explained some of the basics of genetics. How, like in humans, animals inherited traits from their parents, and that over generations, these traits could be enhanced by selective breeding.

During this conversation, we also passed by the riverside, where about six people, two of them children, we ankle-deep in the river. They were using shovels to excavate clay from the river bed, putting it in large baskets to be transported to the village. The villagers had been most incredulous about this line of work, and had viewed it with suspicion, but when Torsen vouched for me there were plenty of willing volunteers who wanted to help in the process. The clay composite was not perfect, but it would have to do. Torsen and I picked up a few buckets ourselves to carry it to the village. On the outskirts, a few handy workmen were creating a wicker dome. I marvelled at their handiwork, since I could have never created such a thing myself, but it was a part of the process where my knowledge and their own experiences came together nicely.

From the base upwards, others were plastering the dome in layers of the river clay, slathering on layers and allowing them to dry, then slathering on other layers on top to create a thick coat around the superstructure. I was not entirely sure how to create a kiln, but in my mind it looked something like that, and it would have to do. Those working with the process would later have to perfect it, even though I could not help them. I often made clear how I didn’t know everything, and that their knowledge was just as valid as mine, partially to shift blame should anything go wrong.

As we passed them, I made sure that they left a hole for the entrance, the fuel and the top, to allow smoke to exit. When I had tried to explain the principles of fire, which needed fuel, oxygen and heat to work, they laughed in my face. Obviously, these people worked with fire their whole lives, and were not stupid, a mistake I made a few times too often. It was hard to guess what they knew and did not know, so I apologised profusely whenever I underestimated their abilities. On the other hand, there was also information that I would have thought obvious that they did not grasp. Without statistical sciences, it was hard to understand what disease was, for example, and the hygiene standards were low. I tried to have them separate the various foodstuffs, and make them wash their hands after handling animal intestines, but this was seen as a waste of time and it did not quite catch on yet. I was very lucky not to have caught any food poisoning yet, I believed, not knowing my own resistance yet.

In the centre of town, a water well as being excavated. While the river was close, I explained that ground water was healthier, since it had been purified by the earth. Like with the hygiene, people were hesitant at first, but since Torsen insisted that they listen in this case, there were volunteers happy to build the well. It had taken them the better part of a day to dig deep enough for ground water to seep in. Then, the walls were covered in clay, as the ground water slowly rose to levels where it could be cleanly obtained. A pulley system with rope and a bucket was devised, and the hole was surrounded by wicker fencing and covered with animal skins to stop filth from getting in. The first people to use the water were hesitant, but when they found out that they no longer had to walk to the river to get water, they were grateful.

Just outside the town, the most long-term project was being prepared. Using rudimentary tools, volunteers were hoeing out dirt in square plots, in order to allow for seeds to be sown. Children had been sent out to collect wild grains and roots, the biggest they could find, to start off the experiment in agriculture. It was back-breaking work, even for these hardy people. I explained to Torsen that, once cows had been domesticated, they could be used for the more laborious work, like ploughing the fields. Torsen thought it all a bit fanciful, using animals to do a human’s work, but the image did intrigue him.

“How close are we to the sea?” I asked him, looking pensively in the distance. I had asked these mysterious questions before, and Torsen had learnt to just answer them without asking for explanation. Every time I asked a question like that, a new plan of mine would follow, and Torsen was happy to be taken along for the ride.

“About two day’s travel. Four, if we take all baggage” he said.

“Ah” I answered, with a smile.

“When we got everything set up here, we might want to venture south. The sea water contains a lot of salt, which can be used to preserve meat. In the long term, perhaps…”

Before I could finish that sentence, a cry came out of the forest just outside the village. We both looked up, and out of the bushes came running a man and a woman, carrying a man by his legs and shoulders. They were sweating previously, and obviously out of breath. They were the party sent out to try and capture a few boars for the recently-finished pens, a truly dangerous task. We ran to meet them in the middle, and the closer we got the clearer it was: the man they carried was covered in blood, his right upper leg sporting a large gash.

“We… We…” one of the carriers tried to say, but he could not get it over his lips, exhausted as he as. I shook my head.

“Doesn’t matter. Get him into one of the huts” I shouted. They were too tired to argue, and ran ahead into the village. Torsen and I were close behind, as I delivered a list of necessities to the chieftain.

“I’m going to need a few buckets of water, some clean woollen strips, a leather belt of sorts, and a heated stone axe-head or something. Like, insanely hot, straight from the fire”

“But wh…” he tried, but I cut him off.

“No time, Torsen. I’ll explain everything later” I said abruptly, almost rudely. Torsen, white with shock himself, was unable to argue, and shot off into the village to get the things. The two carriers went into the first empty hut they could find, and I followed suit. For the first time, I could get a good look of the wounded. Blood was flowing out of the gash with spurts, following his heartbeat. It had missed his artery, but only by the width of a prayer. The man in question was writing in pain, but he tried his best not to shout.

“What happened?” I asked the two carriers, who took some time to get themselves together.

“I… we…” they tried. “We got ambushed by a boar. He tore into Falik with a tusk before we could get it”

“Alright” I said. A boar tusk. Not the cleanest of wounds, then. Who knows what that boar might have been doing before.

“You two go get that boar carcass, get your mind straight. I’ll handle this”

After the two went out, Torsen came in with a bucket and a leather strip, handing them over to me.

“The axe head is heating in a fire, and others are searching for wool” he informed me. I nodded.

“Thanks, Torsen. Please, keep getting fresh water. You’re in charge of the supplies now” I said. With a nod he left the hut again, and I was left alone with the man. The patient, now. I hunched over him, taking the bucket with me. As I checked the wound, I started conversing, both for my own nerves and for the info.

“Hey, what’s your name?” I asked, as I began carefully pouring water on the wound.

“I’m… I’m… FaaaAAAAAAAA”, his name turning to screams as the water poured into the gash.

“That’s amazing, I have family down there…” I answered, making a little dentist joke for my own nerves. Falik was not going to object. With that, I took the leather strap and wound it tightly around his upper thigh. Painfully tight, as Falik let out another scream.

“I’m sorry, but I need to stop the bleeding” I said, more to myself than to him. The squirts of blood subsided, but there was still more oozing out than would be healthy. I poured some more water on the wound, washing away some more of the filth and grime.

“Jesus, when did you last bathe?” I asked incredulously. As far as I could see, there were no pieces of tusk lodged into the wound, just some dirt from the outdoors. Washing my hands in the bucket and pouring on some more, I wiped away the last of the dirt, leaving what looked to me like a clean wound.

At that moment, Torsen got back in, carrying a stone axe and woollen strips. I quickly grabbed the axe.

“Alright, I’m going to need you to hold him down for me” I said to Torsen, who quickly complied.

“Why’s thaaAAAAAAAA” he shouted, as I pushed the heated stone on the wound. The wound started sizzling, and the hut was filled with the stench of burning hair and flesh. The stone was a blunt object, and I probably burnt more of his skin than was strictly necessary, but with that action, the wound stopped oozing blood. Some more water, and I could see that the gash was sealed, and hopefully sterilised by the heat as well. Quickly, I began binding his leg with the woollen cloth, protecting the wound from further contact with the outside world. With this, I didn’t know if I was doing any good, but at least it would not hurt. Binding the leg with wool was quite easy, since Falik had fainted from the pain. After tying the wool, there was a moment of silence. I only now realised how I was breathing, and how sweaty I was. Panting, I started untying the leather strap around his thigh.

“I am going to be the death of all of you…” I said, slowly. I felt a sudden oncoming wave of emotions, like a bout of nausea in a rollercoaster. “I’m just causing more harm than good”

“Tell that to his sister” Torsen said. He stood up, and put a hand on my shoulder. I clenched my fists around the leather strap, as if to tear it apart.

“Falik lost his dad to a boar, and his mother died from starvation two winters ago. Another sister he lost in childbirth” Torsen continued. “We live in the constant presence of death, Bruno. And every one of us is willing to die in order to stop that”

“But many more might die in the process” I replied.

“So that their children may live without fear” Torsen retorted.

I nodded, silently, as another tear rolled down my face. Torsen sat down beside me.

“Tell me, though. What did you do just then? Can it save lives?”

I nodded. Torsen frowned.

“Then teach me”

[Ah-eh-ioh-uh]

And so they felt relieved, no wrath of nature would be befalling them yet. He noticed women averting their eyes with lots of blushing as he was very much nude, a few men too but that was another matter entirely. Parents closed their children's eyes from the sight of an unclothed man and there was much excitement. All the yelling drew people to ignore having been told to stay away. Plus when it seemed Marcio wasn't going to be there, they had seen much less need to stay indoors shut away. This brown skinned man was unlikely to be kept secret for long.

Marcio inquired as to the areas surrounding this village, wanting to have some finalizing proof of where and when he was. Suppose he really was in Japan. This rural village could have a rather familiar bullet train running only a few miles away from here. There was nothing yet he had seen that this wasn't some cosplay or odd traditionalist society. Maybe he was in a primitive village but modern Japan was only a horse ride away. Marcio let it be known that he wished to travel about and explore this island and that Kami or no, he wasn't one to be kept like a prisoner.



Marcio was a curiosity of course. There were stories of different types of man this direction and that. It had been hinted at that he did not know where he was to a few, and that he was from somewhere far away. Of course nobody anywhere nearby had actually seen these fabled humans. There were ones with eyes like the sky. There were even some men in a faraway place fabled to have skin that was BLACK. Fantastic stories and none of them sounded like anything remotely like Marcio's home. He told them he did not know how he came to be in that forest and they assured him that they would never think to keep him here against his will and that they would cooperate in every way they could to assist him in allaying his concerns.

He was distrusted an demystified somewhat soon but not enough to hurt too much. The villagers couldn't shake off the story about how he had been said to have been first encountered casting "spells" in the forest. He had been found nude in the forest doing ceremonies like it was nothing (one of the benefits of practicing paganism). What being could do that if not a nature spirit of sorts? Language is tricky and was different then so these are vague approximations for unrefined concepts. "Witch", some thought him, though significant negative connotations this might have were not present in the local cultures of the time.

"Kami", "Nature spirit", "Yokai", and even nature DEITY. Countless things they hypothesized him to be. He chose to straddle the line between being ambiguous about it and confirming their ideas. He wasn't set in stone about what he thought he was, nor what he WANTED others to think he was. This gave him an aura of mystery to most, with some distrust mixed in at his refusal to give them a concrete title to assign him. He did not think himself dead so being a"ghost" was in doubt. He gave them some hints and few facts that insinuated his beliefs about himself to his best approximations, whilst never quite outright saying what he was.

This way they can never truly claim he deceived them or that he admitting to being such and such. He had heard stories about time travelers who were accused of witchcraft. Therefore he was not going to build his OWN funeral pyre for them to burn him at. He wasn't about to openly admit to the whole village that he DID indeed consider himself a witch. After all... With how things like culture and religion change societies over time, he knew very well that historical "Witches" could go from beloved pillars of the community to demonic agents of great evil in the eyes of the people overnight.

That's why he would do some careful political maneuvering and sprinkle in doubts and contradictions to things he may have previously stated so as to confuse the mess. He needed them to have doubts about each-other's credibility and state of mind so as to have no one story rule his fate. Soon enough none of them knew who was lying or who was remembering falsely and nobody knew exactly what he was.



Soon, there was no one true story about his arrival and origins but a confused mess of folklore that allowed him to be able to change his role in this new situation of his. It made him distrusted and he knew it was a dangerous game he was playing. But he knew it was a safe political gamble he was making. He could take on the "Witch" moniker and embrace it when it was politically advantageous to do so... And then abandon it if religion or some other thing turned the table on witches to make him the bad guy.

He could be anything. He could be any-ONE. It all depended on how he played his cards and the fickle nature of titles. Wickedness or righteousness were things that he was disgusted to know were at the whims and mercies of glorified fads masquerading as "faith" or "morals". Politics and things like public perception made liberals into saints one morning and the spawn of hell the next, vice versa and interchangeable. One for the other and the cycle seemed never ending. But he was unlimited. He would sweat to keep his future UNLIMITED.

[UniversalCommons]

Illyria 2975 February

A group of men in bronze had come to Oak on swift ships. They had copied the triangular sails of the ships of Oak and built outriggers on their boats. They were led by a noble named Cadmus. He had come to Oak because Oak had promised him the secret of making salt. Salt and bronze were what drove the Illyrians to fight with each other. Cadmus had joined the Nestos League. It had enriched him because he was first defeated as a pirate. Then he became a privateer hired to attack the ships of Uruk.

Wealth had flowed into his small kingdom and he had married Harmonia, a daughter from a neighboring city. Contact with Oak and willingness to trade had brought him salt and better tools for fishing. His land was arid and did not produce much produce.

Cadmus came to Oak to join the Nestos League.

Cadmus came to the open forum. He gave a brief speech.

Cadmus, "I have come to join the Nestos League. You promise many things which will help bring peace to my lands. Already I have more bronze and salt than my neighbors. They have come to me seeking peace. When you came, you sent Diaghis, the Wolf of the Sea to stop our piracy. We cannot stand against your ships. We have already joined you against Uruk, enemy of Ur in securing the seas. Diaghis is more than a wolf, for he travels with Alcibiades a man of cunning and learning. We would join the Nestos League. Your men know many secrets, secrets that would bring prosperity to our lands. It is the promise of helping us with farming and making salt, not just a military alliance which we seek. For with this knowledge, we would not need to send our sons out to capture merchant ships or raid our neighbors. I have the seen the bounty of Oak and the promise that prosperity brings. We would send you craftsmen and warriors for our land is sparse and yours is plentiful. I ask you to support my petition to join the Nestos League."

Victor Spear, "You have come in peace and not brought arms. I see that you previously acted as pirates, but are now repentent. I have given others second chances. Be warned, though we will watch you carefully to see what you do. We will consider your petition. We would send scholars to teach you of salt and farming as you have asked. In return you will swear an oath and sign an agreement. This must happen. This oath is binding and will require that you send us men and provide us with knowledge. Each agreement is different. Later today, I expect you will sit with the scholars and discuss our terms."

It was not always through arms that the lands of the Nestos League grew in Illyria. The scholars were sent to Cadmus lands and they helped manure the soil, plant grasses, and farm worms building raised beds to plant gardens. They planted grapes, tomatoes and beans. They built barrels to collect water and used clay ollas to help irrigate the soils. They planted jujube and dates for fruit. They showed the farmers how to weed thoroughly. They planted bushes to create wind breaks. Sea water was boiled for salt. Nets, copper fishing hooks, and cordage were introduced for better fishing. Less babies died when a Daughter of Penelope came among them.

These things attracted Cadmus's neighbors, many who came to swear fealty to him. His lands grew. When a neighboring tribe came to fight him, they found he had more people armed with bronze and better training. They challenged Cadmus to single combat. His champion, Polypheumus had been training in the method of the Upright Way. Cadmus's champion challenged the rival champion to wrestle, tripped and pinned him.

[Lazarian]

Mark Hoffman
Day One, Part Two

Mark shivered in the cold. It’d been hours since he’d arrived at the cabin, but the woman was insistent about not letting him in. He was tempted to make his way down to the small village, but it was bad enough to be seen by one family naked, let alone an entire settlement of people.

He should have been awake by now. He couldn’t remember a single dream that had felt this real or lasted this long, with this much detail. Even during dreams, there was some sort of knowledge that this wasn’t real, that it wasn’t a true existence. But what could the alternative be? That he was drugged, kidnapped, and brought to Norway, of all places? It was absurd.

Finally, a group of figures emerged from the woods. It was a group of men. Four of them, to be exact. They were short, blonde, blue-eyed, much like the woman. Although they were rather thin, they were clearly in good physical shape, with sinewy muscles and stern faces. The oldest member of the group carried a crossbow in his left hand, and the others were carrying what appeared to be the carcass of a moose. A bolt poked from its skull, dried blood covering the skin around it. In their off hands, they held javelins, with long wooden shafts and metal tips.

Spotting him, the group stopped.

“Good afternoon!” Mark called out to them, feeling rather delirious from the cold. The embarrassment of his situation had started to fade - there were much more pressing matters than personal pride. Such as eating, finding shelter, and finding some damn pants. “I don’t suppose you would be the owners of this cabin?” he continued, covering his privates with his hands.

The older man walked forwards. He was most likely in his forties, with a wrinkled face and greying hair. Upon his shoulders was a robe of furs, and he wore a long tunic and trousers. It was a very primitive look - no machine stitching or polyester was in sight. Perhaps this was some sort of Amish community.

“I am.” the man stated, looking Mark over. “I am Ivar, and these are my sons, Sven, Trygve, and Vidar. And yes, this is my farm. Explain yourself.” he growled, clutching the crossbow tightly.

“I really am sorry.” apologized Mark in quintessential Midwesterner politeness. “Just, eh, woke up naked in a field a couple of miles away from here. I have no idea how I got here, or even why. Could you take me to the local authorities? I’ll find the local embassy and get this all sorted out.”

“...embassy?” Ivar questioned, raising an eyebrow. “I know of no such thing, stranger.”

“Really?” Mark quipped, rather surprised. “You’ve never heard of an embassy? Well...alright. Could I please just have some spare clothing? I’ll be out of your way as soon as I can. I just can’t head down there like this.” he continued, pointing towards the small village in the valley below.

“Spare clothing!” Ivar laughed, in some sort of odd jest. The other men (who Mark presumed to be his sons, judging by their resemblance to Ivar) laughed as well. “Do you take me for some sort of aðalþingmaður or chief?” he continued, shaking his head. “Perhaps I could give you my winter coat. But such a gift for a stranger would be unspeakably generous.”

Really? Spare clothing was a luxury? Even the Amish were better off than this. He’d been to a Mennonite community before, and they’d had plenty of amenities. These people lived in a wooden cabin with a single set of clothing. And apparently, they didn’t seem to understand proper seeding or spacing. Raspberry plants without trellises. Turnips just growing all right on top of each other. So they probably weren’t environmentalist permaculture hippie types, especially considering the dead moose.

“I’ll trade you something.” Mark sighed. “Tell you what. I’ll help you skin, gut, and clean that, and you let me borrow the robes. Would that be fair?”

“Assholes.” he thought to himself. Although he didn’t necessarily give money out to homeless people on street intersections, he’d always contributed to the Salvation Army whenever they’d come around and tithed properly to his church. These people didn’t even have the basic human decency to let him borrow a robe.

Ivar thought for a couple moments.

“I suppose.” he said begrudgingly, before brushing past him and heading inside the home. His sons carried the slain moose over to a large rock, before unsheathing copper knives and beginning to skin it. It was rather haphazard - they removed the head, tearing it off, and then proceeded to cut open the stomach right down the middle. That wasn’t how you did that. He’d only been hunting a couple of times with his college buddies, but he knew the basics of field dressing.

“Could you step aside for a moment?” he called to the youths, quickly striding over to them. They really were rather young - the youngest looked barely thirteen, younger than his youngest brother William. The other two were likely fifteen and seventeen, although they stood with much more confidence than any teenagers Mark knew. Seeming rather amused, the youngest approached him.

“What is it, stranger?” he asked, sitting casually against the large rock. “I understand your tribe hasn’t developed clothing, but surely you’re not telling me that you’ve never seen a moose before, right?” the young man (Sven, presumably) mocked, poking fun at Mark’s nakedness. What a prick.

“No,” growled Mark, “I’ve seen a moose before. They’re not exclusive to Norway. Saw ‘em all the time growing up in the Upper Peninsula.”

“Oh, you’re from the North Norway region?” Sven replied, obviously intrigued.

“No.” sighed Mark. Of course. Most Americans didn’t know about the UP, so it was a stretch to assume that these imaginary Scandinavians would have any idea. Or these proto-Amish Scandinavians. This whole scenario was deeply unsettling, but it was best not to dwell on it. It was just a dream. “It’s a part of Michigan. One of the United States, up near the North. It’s right up there next to Canada.” he continued, reaching his hand out for the bronze knife the youth was holding.

“United...States.” repeated the young man, raising his eyebrows. “I have never heard of such a place.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” thought Mark, as he took the knife from the youth’s hand. Well, at least that ruled out any possibility of this being real. Even the most isolated countries knew about the United States. And somehow, despite these people having never heard of it, they could understand him. As he took the knife from Sven, he gently sliced across his hand. He’d had enough of this dream.

Instead of waking up, drops of blood pooled on his palm. The young men stared, eyes wide. Mark stared as well. What the fuck. It stung terribly, the jagged edge of the knife tearing much more skin than he had intended. He’d be fine. But this was real, apparently. He felt on the verge of curling up into a ball and breaking down completely. But these people were already judging him enough, and they were his only link to getting back home. He might as well skin the deer and get the damn coat.

“A-alright.” he stuttered, taking deep breaths, trying to keep from hyperventilating. “Listen, first you’re going to want to remove the genitals.” he said, as he gripped the dead moose’s reproductive organ and started to saw. It was gruesome. He felt sick to his stomach, and the cold, hunger, and gore didn’t help. God, how had he gotten in this situation? After a minute, he successfully removed them, throwing them away from him.

“Then, you cut down to the pelvic bone,” he continued, driving the knife in with a squelch, “and saw upwards to the jawline.”

The knife was not very sharp. Certainly not his father’s hunting knife, by any means. It was a primitive thing, a copper blade wrapped in a leather handle. After a minute of vigorous sawing and cutting, he successfully made the cut.

“See,” he explained, “you want to slit the skin and peel it back before cutting through the muscles. Keeps the hair out of it.” he said, as he did so. “Then, you’re gonna want to cut through the muscle layer up and away from the organs so you don’t puncture the stomach and intestines and ruin your meat.”

He continued, cutting through the animal’s windpipe. Once he had finished the cutting, he put the knife aside and pulled down hard on the split windpipe. The entrails pulled free down to the midsection. Perfect. The teenagers watched him with curiosity, as sweat poured down his brow. He was clearly and evidently out of shape. Rolling the carcass onto the side, he picked up the knife and sliced through the diaphragm on both sides, and then stuck his hands into the entrails. It was disgusting. His hands were covered in dripping viscera, and bile rose up in his throat. Nevertheless, he continued, pulling the entrails out of the deer and tossing them onto the ground.

“What are you doing?!” snapped the oldest brother, Vidar, shoving Mark out of the way. “You’re wasting perfectly good meat!” he said, gathering the fallen organs off the ground and placing them onto the large, flat stone.

“Perfectly good meat? You’re telling me that you eat this shit? What kind of barbarians are you?” Mark snapped back at him, balling his hands up in fists. He was starting to get pretty pissed off with these savages. “You can’t eat intestines!” he continued, almost shouting by the end of the sentence. The younger brothers gripped their javelins, and Mark stopped.

“Easy there.” he said softly, raising his hands up in the air. “I’m just trying to help. Even if you do eat the entrails, you can’t let them contaminate the rest of the meat. You’ll get sick.”

The brothers looked at each other, trying to decide what they thought of the newcomer. Where had Ivar gone? He’d been talking with his wife for quite some time. Vidar stepped forwards, pushing violently into Mark’s personal space.

“Where exactly are you from, stranger? Because you speak our language, yet use words we do not understand and claim things that we do not know. Are you an Imperial?” he scowled, hand gripping the shaft of his spear.

“Who are the Imperials?” Mark asked, stepping backwards away from the young man. “No, I...I told you. I’m from America. Surely you all have some sort of outpost with the local authorities.”

“We are the local authorities.” scoffed Vidar, looking at Mark with scorn. “This is Akershus. The Republic of Norway. Part of the Commonwealth of the North.”

Mark sat down upon the ground, putting his head in his hands. The Commonwealth of the North? Was this some sort of anarchist movement? Why couldn’t he wake up from this fucking nightmare?! He took some time, taking some deep breaths. He could feel the youths’ judgement as he sat there, although he was far beyond caring at the moment. After around a minute, he found another question spring to mind.

“Part of the Commonwealth of the North. What are the other parts?” he asked, looking upwards at the boys. They seemed rather concerned about their new guest. Perhaps he was a madman, or a lunatic.

“The Republic of Sweden and the Republic of Denmark, of course. If you’re not from there, how did you get here? Perhaps you’re one of the barbarians in the North...but if that was the case, you would not have survived this long without clothing.” Vidar continued.

“What year is it?” Mark pleaded, desperation filling his voice. If they knew of Sweden and Denmark, how could they not know of the local governments? “Do you know what a car is? Do you know what guns are? Have you heard of the EU or the Euro? Of Stockholm and Amsterdam?” he continued, getting increasingly frantic as he went along.

“Calm down, foreigner.” the young man replied, seeming quite wary of the presumed madman. “The year is AS 18. I have no knowledge of what a car, a gun, or a Euro are. And I have never heard of Stockedholm or Ampsterdam. Again, I repeat, where are you from? Where is this America?”

Mark held his head in his hands, trying to comprehend. His thoughts racing, his breath running short, his mind scrambling and breaking at Vidar’s words. Quickly, he came to a simple and terrible conclusion.

He must have died in his sleep, and this was the afterlife. There was no other explanation. This wasn’t a dream. No dream could feel like this, and he could not wake up. Pain did not wake him up, nor terror, and it was all so real. And this could not be the present: these people knew of Sweden and Denmark, but lacked knowledge that even primitive indigineous people would know. And there was no way for a man to fall into the past - and even so, AG? A crossbow in a time with sustenance farmers? There was...no way...it wasn’t possible...and worse still, if this was the afterlife, everything he had believed his entire life was a lie.

Falling backwards into the grass, he began to laugh. Who could have predicted this? The Muslims, Christians, Buddhists...they had all been wrong! Every last one of them! Heaven? A lie! Hell? A lie! Unless this was some sick Purgatory! A punishment for his empty faith! Attending church all these years, following through the motions, living a comfortable faith with no real sacrifices! He was punished for his sins, or worse, there were no sins at all! This was all there was! Eternal cycling through time and reality! The realization was too much to comprehend. Tears streaming down his face, he howled up at the sky, clutching himself tightly, the cold biting at his exposed nakedness. He was Adam, cast from the Garden of Eden and into a cruel and savage world!

The brothers looked at him, rather unnerved by the man’s insanity. Gripping their spears tightly, they backed away towards the cabin, seeking to tell their father of what had just transpired.

“I believe we should contact the Committee.” Vidar said to Sven and Trygve. “They’ll know what to do with this man.”

[Holy Tedalonia]

Goliath
Edward “Ted” Tomlinson
April 25th, 20 AG
Altamonte, Lower Germania

Wood slammed into my gut, bringing with it great pain and knocking the wind out of me. Splinters flying into the air. It was a strong blow, and it knocked me back. I would have fell if I didn't catch my footing.

"Come on, Edir," stated the warrior from across the circle mockingly, wooden blade in hand, "How many rematches will we have to do, in order for you to understand that you can't beat me."

He plants his sword into the ground, requesting a new one after battering the old to a unusable state. His name was Vanash Kannock, a outsider just like me. Hailed from some mountain tribe, I had heard. He was easily the strongest among his class, especially compared to Edir Tomli, a thin scrawny lad who punches would likely do nothing except bring someone happiness for being so weak it would feel like soft pillows. Really I was out of my element, range was my preferred way of dealing with things, with a crossbow and bolts this guy would be little more then a log of flesh.

Had my future career not matter, I would have avoided this unnecessary pain. Imagine being David and taking down this Goliath. Even more so without my "sling". No doubt it would be the talk of the military. That would if I hadn't done rematches days on end... Regardless, constant fighting did bring some results, and with this recent defeat I now know I can win. Probably won't matter, anyone who fights long enough should be able to understand why they are losing and resolve it with ease.

"Let's have another go," I stated letting loose a bestial grin.

"You never learn do you," Vanash stated returning a grin.

The Dueling Officer sighed once more, obligated to stay and observe until his shift ends. After we returned to opposing sides, he shouts, "Begin."

Immediately Vanash charges and swings downward hoping to take out his prey with ease. I dodge to the left, avoiding the overarching swing. It was always easy to dodge his first swing being as it was to broad. Knowing he missed, he quickly swings his blade leftwards, hoping to surprise me with another blow, swinging low. Not going to happen like last time, I thought to myself as I jump over his flying blade. I swing my blade landing a blow on my foe, winning the match.

"Finally won, huh," stated Vanash with a grin, "about time."

"I just had to get the hang of things," I stated nonchalantly. Honestly Vanash is a blockhead, a person who prefers to act on instinct rather then thought. If you fight with him long enough, you figure out his habits, but for those who fight him first time on the battlefield, he is unpredictable. From what I understand, Vanash finds glory in war and battle. Which is why he tolerated my rematches for so long. Win or lose, he enjoys a good fight.

Regardless, if I met a man like Vanash on the battlefield, I would be destroyed. These duels effectively mimics battle assuming the first hit is a killing blow, however I don't think I'd be able to land a killing blow with the first head, nor be able to last long enough to land a second. Something that needs refining and fine toning.

"How about another rematch," I suggested once again with a grin, "this time two hits means victory."

Vanash eyes widen with surprise, but grins once more, "Sure why not? I gotta redeem myself somehow."

Outside the dueling circle, a groan from a impatient dueling officer could be heard.

[Orostan]

Luoyang - Aaron Dawson - Month 2, Day 13

Tan had liked Aaron's work. In fact, Tan had liked Aaron's work so much he took the blade for himself. The bronze blade was a good deal stronger than any other blade made of bronze in the village due to its layering, and Tan had subsequently ordered Aaron to produce more bronze Jian swords with the smith, who Aaron learned was called Bai Fu, or Bai for short. Bai was an old man who said he was about sixty. An impressive age for the bronze age. At least Aaron thought he was somewhere in the bronze age. As Aaron learned more about the world from merchants that passed through the village and conversations with the villagers he discovered that what he believed to be a village that might one day become the city of Luoyang was in reality a satellite settlement of the actual city state of Luoyang, which was ruled by an Emperor in typical Chinese fashion. Emperor Hui of Dai. If Aaron recalled his history correctly the first Chinese dynasty was the legendary Xia, which was supposed to have ruled this area. Aaron had never heard of any Dai dynasty, and the merchants told him the next nearest city wasn't under Dai control. He hadn't seen much writing anymore, which was very disappointing. The only text he'd seen was the single character Tan ordered to be written on any armor that Aaron and Bai made, which was supposed to be the character for "Dai" and a symbol of the Dai Dynasty.

Aaron also began to get an understanding of how society in China worked. The Dai Dynasty extracted tribute from neighboring towns and villages to Luoyang through threat of enslavement. While the Dai Dynasty wasn't needlessly cruel according to Tan, the threat of enslavement was very real for a village that couldn't pay its tribute. This was part of the reason why Tan wanted Aaron to produce as many of those bronze blades and tools, they could be used as tribute or for trade because of their exceptional quality (for their time). But Aaron had other ideas. He found Bai to be an agreeable man who was quickly able to figure out how folding bronze on itself to make a stronger blade worked, so one morning he approached Bai with an idea. Aaron told Bai that in his homeland they used metals much stronger than Bronze. Bai, being the inquisitive and intelligent type, was eager and energetic to try creating these metals despite his age. Aaron asked Bai to take him to where the anvil in the village came from, and Bai happily lead Aaron to a large rock buried in a hillside, not far from where Aaron had woken up. Bai complained about his back on the way there.

The rock Bai lead Aaron to was half buried in a hillside, with grass on the top looking like it was about to fall off. Regardless, the rock was clearly rich in iron. Bai pointed out where he'd used a bronze pick to remove parts of it, almost bragging that he'd done it. Aaron would return to the site the next day with Bai and two bronze pickaxes he and Bai had made using the same layered method they'd been using to make swords. Aaron said to Bai that he could do the work himself, but Bai practically begged Aaron to help. Tan found the image of Bai following Aaron around very amusing to the point where Tan would sometimes lean against a tree or sit on a stump to watch Aaron and Bai work. Tan's wife, whose name was Su, often sat with him. Su seemed like the intelligent type, as she was very interested in what Aaron was doing with Bai and would sometimes come over to ask questions. Bai was always eager to answer. Tan was less inclined to ask questions and was more a fan of observing Aaron and Bai over long periods of time to answer his questions himself. Lu, the captain of the village's small military force and lead hunter was usually out hunting or drilling his men. When Aaron saw him, Lu was usually scowling at him. Lu obviously didn't trust Aaron very much.

Once they had finished all of Tan's orders, Aaron and Bai began work on a simple blast furnace. They had already gathered a neat pile of iron ore from the hillside and Bai had told Aaron the location of some nearby exposed coal. With decently large piles of both coal and iron ore they were ready for next stage of their plan. Next to the iron boulder, they began to build a large cylinder of clay. The top of the column was built into a crude hopper, and several small holes were put in the sides of it to serve as ventilation. Near the bottom two larger rectangle shaped holes were made at different heights. The lower one would be for allowing molten iron to leave the furnace, and the upper one for removing slag. As their construction grew larger and both Aaron and Dai returned to the village to ask the local brick maker for more of his labor, interest in their activities grew. The first one to follow them to the iron boulder was a young girl who couldn't be more than sixteen or seventeen, and kept her distance from the furnace despite Bai's calls and assurances that it was safe near the furnace. The ninth day saw more villagers watching Bai and Aaron work, and the tenth saw a small crowd. Bai eagerly asked a man he knew if he'd be interested in helping make the strongest metal ever. With Bai acting as a salesman Aaron found himself with some new recruits for his metallurgical industry. Bai was eager to tell them all about their blast furnace, and how its thick clay walls "would hold back hell itself". Aaron had some villagers help Bai thicken the walls of the clay furnace and build several clay mounds with some hand shaped pipes on top, meeting the clay furnace about a third of its height up from the ground. These fire-proof and heat resistant pipes would host the bellows Aaron and his group of villagers were working on. The box bellows were composed of three main components. The first was a piston made from spare and low quality bronze that couldn't be used for tools or weapons with a front covered in fur to make a reasonably air tight seal around it. A hollowed log, lined with thin bronze sheets in case any burning particles entered it, would form the body of the bellows. A simple valve was drilled into the side near the end of the bellows that would be attached to the clay pipes to allow air to fill the bellows when the piston was brought back.

Near the end of the month Lu and some of his men stood by with the usual group of people along with Tan and Su. Tan wore a sword with the first bronze blade Aaron had made as he and his wife watched Bai and Aaron work. Bai boasted about how this metal would be the strongest in all of China, making sure he was loud enough for Tan and a group of women watching to hear. Aaron was enjoying the attention as well as his group was finishing on their fourth bellows. Yesterday in the village Bai had taken a bellows and used them to impress villagers by forcing a crude pinwheel to spin with them. Aaron made Bai put the bellows back, unfortunately for Bai's fun. Tan had spoken to Aaron that evening and asked how soon the furnace would be complete, how much it could produce, and a whole barrage of questions. Su was equally as interested, and demanded that Aaron and Bai eat dinner with the Juns. Over rice, Aaron explained that he was unsure of the quality of the first products of the furnace. Tan informed him that in three days the tax collector from the city of Luoyang would arrive - and that he'd better have something that could pay tribute by then. Tan and Aaron talked about society for the rest of the night, with Su joining the conversation with her own thoughts as well.

The next day Aaron took Tan's words to heart and began attempting to produce iron. He knew that some combination of coal and iron ore would be required in the upper hopper for the furnace to work, but not which exact combination. So for the first test Bai and Aaron chose to put two thirds iron ore and one third coal into the hopper. With a few villagers working the bellows, they produced a pile of slag and a small amount of what they thought was probably iron. The Iron was brittle, and fell apart quickly when they tried to work with it over the village's kiln and anvil. So they tried again, and again, and again. Each time they reduced the coal content and increased the iron ore content. By their last trial, which had so little coal it could barely be used to smelt, they had identified the strongest and weakest types of Iron they could make, each of which was now its own pile of ingots. The strongest was what Aaron believed to be wrought iron. It was made using the lowest possible amount of coal, and as such featured the lowest carbon content. It was hard, but malleable when heated and not brittle. The second strongest material was what Aaron thought was cast iron. This material was more impure than wrought iron and weaker but more malleable. It could be used for cooking pots or metal objects that weren't going to be under very much stress. The last material was pig iron. Aaron understood that having pig iron was important for steel making, and this pig iron in particular was very brittle. Bai had questioned the use of such a weak material, but Aaron had done his best to explain to him and the villagers how it could be used to make steel and why they were able to produce different types of material. Aaron's explanation was probably not very good and got a good deal wrong, but it was the best he could do. At least they didn't think it was magic and understood the basic science behind it.

But for now, pig iron was useless and the group focused their efforts on producing cast and wrought iron, but especially wrought iron. The first single edged swords produced by Dai on his anvil with the new material had a blade edge and core of more brittle iron, closer to cast iron than wrought iron, and an outer body of softer wrought iron to protect the more brittle core. By using the layering method and the two types of iron Bai was able to create a weapon very skillfully with his years of experience, and each new weapon or tool came out better than the last. If the village had any work animals, Aaron would have thought to make a plow. But as it is scythes and hoes of iron were enough, and the villagers were already feeling much better with the reduced effort required by better tools to tend to their fields.

Almost midway into the next month, when the village had amassed a small pile of spare iron tools and weapons much to Tan's delight, the Imperial tax collector came. The tax collector rode a horse into the village first, and loudly demanded the Emperor's tribute. He had bronze armor on with the breast plate and helmet bearing the Dai Emperor's symbol as well as a leather scabbard with the hilt of a sword poking out on his hip. Soon afterwards two other similarly armed and armored men entered the village, followed by several laborers pulling simple wooden carts. Tan strode out to greet him.

"The tribute today is very special-", Tan tried to say respectfully before being cut off.

"I do not care to hear excuses. Bring me the tribute, and load it into the carts. Each one must be filled."

Tan silently obliged, and gestured to the group of villagers which was now assembling in the middle of the town, who began to load the carts up with pots of rice, weapons, and tools as the laborers who pulled the carts sat on the ground and rested. The tax collector conversed with Tan while the carts were being loaded, seemingly dropping the hostile character put on before the villagers. That was, until he saw iron weapons. From his spot leaning against Tan's pagoda with Su, Aaron witnessed the tax collector begin making loud orders suddenly.

"Bring me that sword! What is it made of? Who made this?", the tax collector barked as a villager handed him an iron sword Bai had made yesterday. The collector withdrew his own bronze sword, and compared it to the iron one as Tan looked over to Aaron.

Aaron began walking over to the village square, Bai jogging up into the square from his spot near his kiln to reach the collector faster.

Upon reaching the square, Bai began to speak to the tax collector and loudly proclaimed that "I am the one who made that sword! The metal is the hardest, and the blade is the sharpest!" with great pride. Aaron began to walk faster towards the collector now.

"Could a feeble and old man like yourself really create this... weapon?" the collector asked Bai as he took a careful look at the blade.

"Yes! I created the metal too, with great aid from my foreign friend!", Bai bragged.

Aaron now entered the square and passed some villagers loading a cart. Tan put his hand on Bai's shoulder, urging him to tone it down.

"Ah. I see. Who is this friend?", said the collector as he scanned the crowd. Aaron stood out like a sore thumb, and the tax collector rode his horse away from Bai and Tan without a word and up to Aaron.

"Is it you? Did you tell Bai how to make this?", asked the collector looking down from his horse at Aaron. Aaron could only nod, and the tax collector smiled.

"Well then. It seems this village has presented a tribute greater than any slave or sword." said the collector as his grin expanded and his men moved up behind him.

Aaron took a step back.

[Saxony-Brandenburg]

Olivia Ingels

The cracking of wood against wood permeated the clearing like that of machinegun fire. Over and over again as the whirling bodies fought, sword hitting shield, sword, and strike again, the momentum sometimes breaking their weapons in two, and having them scramble away while disarmed. I watched Alya intently as she struggled across the field, her own sparring partner following in close pursuit. The two seemed to dance in the light cloud of dust kicked up by so many bare feet upon dirt and sand - the noises of fresh bruises and clashing strikes sounding of music, a melody with fierce and quick rhythm. Her partner advanced on her rapidly, pushing her sword out of the way with his small wooden shield, moving to stab her with his (admittedly blunted) wooden sword. But she, being far more agile than he, stepped just in time to move off his strike, and in doing so, push him to the ground, the two bodies piling ontop of eachother, until Alya was sprawled atop him, holding her wooden sword to his throat.

“I win it seems Jamar.” She said with a cheeky grin, before helping him up. “So you’ve made up for your previous loss. Perhaps I underestimated you.” The man said, feeling the long scratch that had begun to bleed on the back of his thigh. “And it seems I paid for it.” “That you have - Olivia!? Do you have any bandages for Jamar? He cut himself on a rock.” She called over to me, sitting on the sidelines under a tree. Fortunately, I had been staring at her the entire time, entranced by her muscular form fight, gleaming in the early sun with sweat. “Yeah sure! I called out, standing up and taking one of the piles of bandages I had ready-made for this sparring practice. Accidents were bound to happen when the town guard was so green and new to fighting, much less so the fine sumerian weapons we were sent to ‘protect sumerian interests’ in the region -- which effectively meant our skins and livestock from raiders.
But with recent events previous assumptions of safety has been called into question, as relations with local towns and villages soured at the news we had murdered a chief in his own home. The need for additional, professional security was obvious, and hence, the militia’s forming. As the two walked over to me, I looked over Alya with a bit of a blush, her strong arms and legs like branches of a strong tree - and if not for my understanding I was being watched, I would have drooled. Shaking myself out of my momentary stupor, I knelt down by Jamar, and wiped off his scratch with an alcohol-soaked-rag, nodding with satisfaction when I could see it was barely in issue, simply wrapping it in a easy bandage and tying it tight in a big knot on the front, before slapping his knee with a grin. “There you are then - good as new - you have the protection of Al-Uzzar in your wound fair soldier.” The man chuckled, and nodded. “Thank you sage.” He said with a half-serious voice, going to sit down beside me, Alya following in-tow, before wrapping her strong arm around my waist. “You packed lunch for me, didn’t you love? All the boy’s wives did, and I surely wouldn’t want to be left out.” I blushed at the word “wife” as it became all the more apparent that, though by proxy, that is what I was considered… her wife. A blooming joyous and euphoric sensation came over me, as I looked at the ground with a big dumb grin, stammering. “O-o-ofcourse I did! Let me see here...” I looked through the basket I had brought with me, placing it in my lap and unpacking it, handing her a thick square shape wrapped in a thin cloth, taking out a few more cloth-wrapped items, offering one to Jamar which he took with a thankful nod. “What have we here then?...” Alya asked, unwrapping hers to find a thick and hearty sandwich beneath. “A flatbread sandwich with hummus, chicken, greens and onions.” I said, smiling, beginning to munch on the third I made for myself with greed. She nodded, and began to stuff her face full of it, making pleased noises through a full mouth. “Well I’m glad you enjoy it - you need something to fill you up when you’re using so much energy.” I added between bites, watching her, pleased with the response my cooking always seemed to receive from her.

“Well - training even a little town militia like this is hard work-” Alya began, swallowing her mouthful before continuing on. “It starts to strain your arm from using it so much when you’re swinging for hours… becomes incredibly sore.” I nodded in sympathy as she went on, “Endurance, not strength, I believe is the key to fighting. You have to not get too tired, even after an hour in the blazing sun - because if you do you get slow, sloppy, and stupid -- and then you get stabbed.”

“Not only that!” Jamar added, interjecting merrily. “But you become significantly weaker than even an average man when you’re tired. Strongest men in the world - once they collapse, they’ve lost all their ability. Boom. Gone.”

We all snickered at this, as alya raised her eyebrows at me, sticking out her tongue. “Oh stop it you perv!” I exclaimed, shoving her jokingly, swatting at her. “Now then - can I get you anything else? Some water?” “That would be appreciated.” Alya spoke with a very desperate grin. As I stood up to walk to the spring to fill up a bucket - she added, “I love you!” “Yeah right.” I replied, “If only for the free meals.”

I sat on the floor in a circle of soldiers, wives, and friends, our hands moving with diligence. Armor, it would seem, did not come like the arms did from across the sea, and it was laken upon by the community to supply those who volunteer to defend the community with what protection we could give them. Leather, of course, was the most plentiful material, the foreign bronze a spared commodity. It was reasonable then that I recommend we do something similar to the greeks, and layer leather and cloth over a bronze plate to produce a decent set of armor for the chest, leather skirts for easy mobility and cheap cost, and helmets, if we could afford it, to be made of metal. Thus we began the long and arduous process, sitting in a circle on the floor, punching holes in the thick, cured leather to run string through, mirroring the pattern exactly on the bronze plate with argous effort. Hammer and awl was used by the strongest among us, while the rest tailored the cloth, and recorded sizes of waist and chest, hips and shoulders, as to not waste as much as possible. Alya it would seem, was incredibly psyched about this process, because she stood ready to not only help make her armor, but customise it as well, sitting in the corner painting her wooden shield, dreaming about the ways in which she could accessorize the outfit, with a belt or a color or pattern, some way to distinguish herself and take pride in that which was hers and which would keep her safe in battle. I stood up to walk over to her, inspecting what she had painted on her shield with the crude dye. I found a very beautiful sun on the shield’s rounded face, it’s red arms sticking out on a dull-white background, while arabic words in latin script traced around the rim. “Protect me, Al-Uzza, as I fight to protect those I love.” How fitting.

But as the night wore long, we departed, and returned to our home, the lavish dwelling for local standards, of three rooms, a bedroom, a kitchen, and a front room, with eyes blurred from exhaustion, arms weak from labor, her’s more than my own. As she collapsed on a chair in the front room, closing her eyes, I quietly left for a moment, returning with a bowl of hot water and a washrag, but a few minutes later. Quietly, I began wiping the dirt which clinged to her legs in thick layers from the day’s sweat, gently scrubbing it away, rinsing in the bowl, and continuing. She opened an eye, and smiled, the hot water soothing on her sore muscles. “How could I have asked for someone so generous?...” She mumbled, looking up at the ceiling. I moved soon to the other leg, and her feet, shrugging, chuckling. “You know it’s funny. I can’t say any of this is generosity - I enjoy making you happy. It makes me happy. I love you, and… I want to see you smile. I want to know you’re okay. I know I’m not the perfect wife - hell, I know most would want a husband to have children with - but… I want to show my appreciation any way I can.”

She sat up, and leaned down towards me, placing her hands on my face. “Oh my sweet Olive - no, no no. You are a sweet, generous person, it is in your nature. And as for your body… I could care less for the need for family. You are my family, you are enough. Nothing says this can’t be enough, that this isn’t right, you and me, together, happy.

I began to cry as she spoke, looking up in her eyes, the pools of dark brown melting and radiating care. Radiating warmth. Radiating love. I wiped the wells of tears away, and continued, enjoying just the feeling of being with someone… “Now strip and let me get the rest of you- I’m not letting you drag any dirt into bed. Else I won’t sleep for weeks.”
…

I wrapped my arms around her, she wrapped her arms around me. The window was open, letting the cool breeze of the desert at midnight lick our faces, the full moon shining it’s soft rays down on her. I stroked her face, felt her hair, and curled up with her. The night wore on, and I had never felt safer, never felt more content. Even the longing for my late father melted away for a few hours, melted in comfy bliss. This was family. This was enough.

[Lazarian]

---

Mark Hoffman
Day One, Part Three

---

“Get up.”

Mark groaned, trying to tone the man’s voice out. He wanted to be out of this hellish nightmare. Clearly, he was in some alternate dimension, or a strange and primitive afterlife. Perhaps a purgatory of some sort. He wanted none of it. If this was what death brought, he wished to die again.

But there was no escape. Ivar prodded him with a cane, poking him in the ribs.

“Arise, Mark. We’re going to go see the Committee and get this all straightened out.” Ivar said firmly, jabbing him harder. Mark winced, closing his eyes and ignoring the man.

“I said to get up!” Ivar snapped, kicking Mark in the back. Mark stirred, but kept his eyes shut tightly. Perhaps he would be lucky enough for the savage to spear him and end it all. Of course, Ivar did no such thing. Beckoning with his fingers, he gestured towards the prone man on the ground. Quickly, his sons approached and hauled Mark to his feet, dragging him unwillingly back into the present.

“Father, spirits have invaded his body!” protested Vidar, staring at Mark with judging eyes. “I would be careful.”

“No.” replied Ivar, dismissing the youth’s concern. “This foreigner is lost and cold. His distress is understandable. We shall take him into the city to declare him a citizen. He is one of us now, whether he likes it or not.”

That sounded like slavery with extra steps to Mark. The sound of Ivar’s footsteps grew closer, and Mark looked up with bloodshot eyes. With extended arms, Ivar held out a thick coat. It was a heavy and crude garment, almost like some sort of belted bathrobe. Mark didn’t recognize the material...but his body begged for relief from the cold. As Ivar’s sons released him, he took the robe from Ivar and put it on. It was surprisingly comfortable, and a blessed deliverance from his shame and embarrassment. Of course, Ivar was shorter than him, so it stopped above his ankles and his wrists stuck out of it...but it was so much better than nothing.

“We’re headed to the market. Have your people heard of trade, and currency? A new development, but a wonderous one.” Ivar said, seeming rather pleased that Mark had begun to settle down. Sven, the youngest, walked off to some sort of makeshift stable. Trgyve went with him to fetch whatever it was they were getting.

“Any man that can work is worth his keep around here.” continued Ivar, looking over the strange foreigner. “Even those abducted during glorious conquest are full citizens, worthy of every right that a freeman deserves! And my dear wife Frida said that you mentioned something about the crops. You gave her a real scare, but you left her unharmed. So you’re no Imperialist or raiding barbarian.” Ivar continued, poking Mark in the chest. “And I’ve been looking for farmhands.” he finished, patting Mark on the back.

“I...I’m no farmer. I’m an office admin.” stammered Mark, trying to process everything. It sounded like he was about to be pressed into some sort of indentured servitude. This all seemed like some sort of ancient settlement, but he couldn’t place the year at all. These people had currency, which placed them at least past ancient Greece...but then the crossbow. The damned crossbow. That didn’t appear into the middle ages at the very least.

“There you go again with the nonsense.” replied Ivar, shaking his head. This strange man was quite odd indeed, although he didn’t believe in such things as spirits. The Commonwealth believed in no such things. He had heard tales of the Imperalists talking of a “Christus” spirit, and anything that those blighters spoke of was false and treacherous. Finally, his sons emerged from the stable, with an ox in tow. Quickly, they got to work hitching it to a simple cart which laid outside, covered from the elements by a lean-to shelter made of wood and thatch.

“The Elders will pay finely for such a fine catch.” Ivar said proudly as his sons deposited the gutted moose carcass into the cart. “I guarantee it. I know Knut will give several loaves for the choice pieces.” he bragged, smiling at Vidar. Leaning on his cane, he pushed Mark forwards. “Onwards, Mark! Prepare to see the finest city upon which the sun ever smiled.” he crowed, pride filling his voice.

---

It was not, in fact, the finest city upon which the sun had ever smiled. Although, perhaps, it may have beat out Flint or Highland Park. Akershus was quite impressive for the developmental level of these people. The city was a harbor city, built on a large hill near a bustling port. There were many buildings in the town - probably at least thirty or forty houses of some sort. And they weren’t all log cabins either - some of these buildings were built with stone and mortar.

He had to admit, it was more impressive than he was expecting. Simple white banners were raised on pennants on the outskirts of the city, although the emblem upon them was...a gear and a sickle, encircling a raven. The sickle was understandable. The gear...horribly less so.

Either way, it was a small walled settlement, and it was much more than he had expected. Especially the harbor - those wooden docks were built on firm, sturdy supports. Longboats sailed in and out of the harbor. Reaping the ocean’s harvest seemed to be these people’s main form of sustenance, although it had an unfortunate side effect of permeating the city with the smell of fish.

“So, what do you think?” crowed Ivar, gesturing at the buildings, the docks, the people. They were all much like Ivar - relatively short men and women, thin and lean but strong and sinewy, and adorned in tunics and pants of various fabrics. It was much more colorful than he had expected. Movies and television had always depicted the Medieval era as being brown and bleak, but these people’s attire was as colorful as any from his home. “Is it everything you expected?”

“...it’s a little more, actually.” Mark said softly. “I’m very impressed with what you all have created.”

Yes, they were all savages, barbarians and primitives. But they had spirit, heart, and community. Perhaps his earlier comparisons to the Amish weren’t unwarranted. They were cheery people, singing and humming songs as they walked through the street, striking up upbeat conversation, and haggling fiercely at the dock. They’d even welcomed him with warmth when Ivar had introduced him as a “cousin from several towns over”, although their staring faces betrayed their disbelief of the statement. Perhaps...perhaps he wasn’t quite willing to roll over and die, just quite yet.

Finally, they reached the end of the town, to a large building. It was made with wattle and daub, a sign with some engraved runes in the front of it. Mark couldn’t read it. How odd. The language seemed to come naturally, with no circumstances, but their written language was completely and utterly incomprehensible. The laws of this afterlife were still a mystery to him.

“Go ahead.” gestured Ivar, pushing him towards the doorway. “They won’t bite if you speak the truth.”

Mark stumbled into the building behind him, his eyes adjusting to the relatively dim room. It was a small building, perhaps two rooms. The one he had entered had a wooden floor, and it was relatively empty asides from a desk with chairs both behind and in front of it, and a wall-mounted coat rack. Inside, a man sat, reading tablets. Fascinating. Clay tablets, but no sort of paper. Crossbows, but bronze knives. It seemed as if there were technological anachronisms within this society - like they’d advanced too fast in some areas without catching up in the others.

He assumed this was the Committee. Ivar had mentioned it a couple times on the way down, and as far as Mark could tell, it was a blend between an early sort of police and customs official. An interesting role, but not entirely unexpected. The man behind the desk stood, greeting Ivar warmly and shaking his hand. Ivar greeted him likewise - Mark wasn’t paying too much attention, although he overheard the name Skard.

Skard was dressed in a deep blue robe, with a solid wooden club affixed to his belt. He was a man in his mid-thirties, with pale features and blue eyes. Signs of a rough life marked the man - a formerly broken nose and a deep scar across the left of his face. The man reminded Mark of a veteran cop he had once known. A little weary from the world, but tough as nails and sharp as steel.

“So what have you brought me today, Ivar?” Skard asked, taking his seat behind the desk once again. “The Committee of Public Security is always ready to serve, but this had best not be a waste of my time again. As official decree states, spirits are not real.”

Ivar squirmed. Apparently this wasn’t the first time he’d been here, Mark noted. And their official decree was secular? That spat in the face of everything he’d heard of the ancients. Religion was a crucial part of life, with every primitive culture having their own pantheon of deities to explain the world. And yet...official decree. Paperwork. Spirits not being real. This place grew layers upon layers of complication by every waking moment.

“Skald, this is much more a matter you would be concerned with. This is Mark, and he emerged from the wilds, naked and afraid.” objected Ivar, leaning on his cane.

“As many Northern barbarians are.” scoffed Skald. “Well, I’m assuming that you’re coming here to induct him as a citizen of the Norweigen Commonwealth. If that’s the case, I’ll go ahead and mark him down in the records as a farmhand for your family’s farm.”

“No!” objected Ivar, forcefully pounding his cane on the wooden floor. “He speaks of things that do not exist! He speaks of cities that are in no record book, and of farming techniques never mentioned before!”

Skald instantly leaned further in his seat, his facial features shifting from bored and apathetic to fascinated in a single second. He drew a deep breath, scrabbling runes onto an unbaked tablet. There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments. Then, he looked up at Mark with a piercing gaze.

“Mark,” he asked, “would you mind telling me where you came from?”

Mark shifted uncomfortably. He’d spoken too much on the way here. Any chances he would have of assimilating into this simple village would be shattered if they viewed him as a witch or outcast.

“I’m from the North.” he said quietly, looking away from Skald’s gaze.

“Would you mind telling me about these cities Ivar is speaking of?” the official inquired, standing up from his chair and walking over past the desk. “You have nothing to fear if you have nothing to hide, Mark.”

“...you wouldn’t understand.” muttered Mark, looking down at the ground. How could he possibly explain modern civilization to prehistoric Vikings? It was pointless. These people didn’t know their neighbors, let alone about America. There were a thousand years of history standing in the way of a proper understanding. Skald didn’t like that answer. Reaching towards his wooden club slowly, he took a step closer to Mark.

“You wouldn’t happen to know about any Imperial movements in this area, would you? Because if you tell me now, we can let you free with no consequences.” Skald said warmly, although a dangerous implication hid behind his pleasant words.

“I don’t know who the Imperials are.” blurted Mark, taking a step back away from Skald. What had he gotten himself into? This wasn’t a registration. This was an interrogation. “I promise I’m not with any clan or tribe. I’m a farmer that got lost in the woods.”

“A farmer with no clan,” protested Skald irritably, “that hails from the North, yet has no clothing on him...but has been eating well. You are a liar, Mark. I can see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice. Tell me of which country you come from. I promise you have nothing to fear.” he finished, sounding simultaneously fascinated and irritated.

Mark threw up his hands in frustration. Fuck it. His chances of getting out of this situation without sounding like a lunatic were basically gone. There was no rational explanation as to how he was here. He had no story of how he was here, no plan, nothing to tell or give but the truth.

“I’m from Michigan.” he sighed, broken down and beaten by this horrid afterlife. “The Upper Peninsula, to be exact. It may as well be from another world. I don’t expect you to believe me or understand, but it’s the truth.”

“No!” Skald eagerly replied, leaning forwards on the edge of the desk, eyes filled with excitement and glee. “I do understand! I have heard of such things before!” he laughed, joy filling his face. “Ivar, you old bastard, your hospitality has blessed us all on this wonderful day! Go on, Mark from Michagan. Where is this land located?”

Mark hadn’t been expecting that. No accusations of witchcraft, no further pressing questions about whoever the Imperials were, no beatings by that sturdy wooden club. No. He had been met with genuine curiosity and...joy. How could the official have heard of...such things?

Was he not alone?

“W-well…” he stammered, at a loss for words, “it’s a state between Canada and Ohio. It’s a beautiful land. They call it the land of a thousand lakes. Miserable, freezing winters, but beautiful summers. I’m sure you can relate to that. It’s part of this country called America, unlike anything you could possibly understand. I was an office manager...your closest equivalent would be a quartermaster?”

Skald scribbled furiously on the tablet, his face betraying fierce emotions of glee and excitement. Mark wasn’t sure how to feel about the whole thing.

“Listen, Mark,” Skald interrupted, “I’ve heard enough to know what I need to know. Canada. Clara’s land. I’m afraid I must pen a report to the Stórþing at once.”

“The Stórþing?” objected Ivar, in clear disbelief. “This odd stranger surely isn’t worthy of such note, Skald! I assure you that he’s no Imperial spy.”

“I concur.” remarked the agent with a grin, still scribbling on the tablet. “Ivar, Mark has been registered to the records of this city. Furthermore, I declare him to be a citizen of the Commonwealth, with all rights and freedoms such as one deserves. You may take him up to your farm and keep him under your care until further notice. Do not let any harm befall him.”

“I don’t understand.” muttered Ivar, shaking his head. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

Mark sympathized with the greying farmer. It didn’t make any sense to him either. But three words filled him with hope.

“Canada. Clara’s land.”

The words echoed in his mind. Clara. A remarkably normal name, from a place that no primitive Norweigen could have possibly traveled to.

He was not alone in this afterlife.

There was another.

“Skald,” he gasped, “I have to see this Clara. Is she a lost soul as well? Is she from a different plane? I must see her! I have to! I have to!” he cried, his voice rising to a shout in a desperate plea. It had been a day and his soul had been crushed and now rebuilt again. It filled him with joy and despair, a mess of emotions that he had never felt so fiercly. Skald hushed the man, putting a finger over his lips.

“All things in due time, Mark.” he said calmly and firmly, finishing his report on the tablet. “Patience is a virtue, after all. Now go, and enjoy your new citizenship. Find joy in the honest labours of the field and the sea. And when the time comes, I shall see you again.”

[Ah-eh-ioh-uh]

It was made known to him that they could scarcely afford to spare men to accompany him about the area and as horses had not been introduced to this area, the journey would be long. It is said that wandering about the lands surrounding the other villages might upset the locals too. Going by himself would be foolishly dangerous and politically unwanted.

Marcio inquired as to the neighboring empire and was told they had some female monarch of sorts. Or so the rumors say. There was a parallel drawn between Marcio's own happenings and a story about the neighboring empire. It is said there had been a lady that appeared out of the wilderness just the same as he did. A hypothesis he was coming upon was that the queen in the empire neighboring, was that very same naked lady. Timetraveler appearing mysteriously in the past?... Typically the move is being crowned or deified in the stories.

They say she is revered like a holy figure. Marcio contemplated traveling there to explore but had his reservations about it. If this ruler next door was evil and power hungry, she might see his arrival as a political and religious threat to her legitimacy as a ruler. He did not wish to give her any reason to hunt him or seem bent on challenging her for supremacy. He wasn't necessarily opposed to having her station and power. But neither was he feeling ready to have it. In truth he wasn't quite sure what it was he wanted, assuming this world was truly some place in the past. But what he did know was that he did not wish to be making enemies this soon into his arrival.

It was dangerous to be HERE even. Lusting after her throne or no, all that was needed was the impression of being so and she might send armies out to go and capture him to do some gruesome acts on him. He doubted his arrival would be kept secret long and if the queen caught wind of it, who knew what she might do. If he traveled there, he would be at her mercy. Heck, their incursion might be seen as an invasion or an intimidation attempt if he were to bring strong men to guard him on the dangerous trek. He hypothesized that his best route may be SOUTH, not north. He needed to gather allies and support in case the north attempted his demise.

And so Marcio decided maybe being revered as deity or at least seen in a spiritual light wasn't so bad. If the north attempted to invade, they would fight harder for his safety if he were holy than anything else. He would need some secular influence too but religious reasons always seem to breed the most fervent of causes. That is why Marcio decided to begin learning their ways of life and all about their religion in particular. He would set out first to be some sort of priestly figure. They gave him his own space somewhere in a local family's house, thinking it odd that a Yokai would ask for clothes but obliging none the less.

He stated he wanted to learn more about them and that he the assistance he wanted from them was in part, a new place to call home. He insinuated that clothes were for modesty's sake so as to fit in with the rest of the village and not leave blushing faces all about. He never outright denied the idea that he could make do without clothes (or housing) in the weather, but rather, he allowed them to draw that conclusion without his interference. Not lying but not demystifying himself either.



The family would begin bring him food and he would eventually begin inviting him to have meals with the family as well. But just to start, they were far too wary and reluctant to have a spirit, god or whatever (demon?) dine with them. And so they bring him food much in the same thinking as an offering to the household spirit guardian or a local deity. This was of course, in the hopes that he would not take offense to them eating without him and perhaps even bless them for including him in the meal. Their body language was quite amusing and a delight to that power hungry part of him. The wife of the family bowed and kowtowed when she brought him his food, giving him the best of their food (or so they hypothesized).

They offered what they thought a spirit might like and what might be most ingratiating of them to him, using what they knew of local legend and myth to suit their purposes. They weren't rich, even in this village, and so they hoped he would not feel offended by being served the same food they ate. Few had the resources (or time) to give him an entirely separate meal and hopefully he did not expect for them to cook him anything nearing fancy or any delicacies. And so with some trepidation in her mind she would get to her knees and offer him food, averting her gaze, too nervous to even ask him if it pleased him. Simply, she left as respectfully yet quickly as she could, ears searching for the telltale sounds of a storm that might come if he was displeased.

"Hoping your countenance knows our respect and hoping you find the food pleasing" she managed, Marcio almost expecting her to stutter.

This was going to be be fun...

[Guuj Xaat Kil]

Johann Sebastiano, Day 0 (Arrival)

He woke up to the smell of a fresh rain on a forest, dewdrops dripping about on the leaves of sparse conifers and bushes all around him. Standing up and shaking off his grogginess, he examined his surroundings. Moist soil, sparse forest surrounding him, and a lake at the bottom of what he was standing on; which a quick look to the back revealed was a mountain. Overall, great atmosphere and view, but first, two things of higher importance, "What the... Where the hell am I," he muttered to himself as he shivered from the mild cold, "And why am I naked of all things." Morbid thoughts then quickly came to mind, and he sifted through them at a fevered pace, at least he could rule out getting kidnapped and... All that undesirable stuff. "Moving on..." the Filipino-Canadian quickly thought as he gave another, more scrutinizing look at the lake below, "Seems pretty familiar, but getting clothed and going back home is first priority..." And so Johann Sebastiano trudged forth through denser forests eastwards. For about two miles across road-less terrain and without any shoes, to be precise. Barely a mile in and his endurance gave up on him, forcing him to rest and sooth his feet, which could be described as melting. Groaning out in displeasure and hissing loudly as he shook his head and massaged his feet, it appears that some results were going to occur.

And results came, although it was going to be up to him if he made it a good result or a bad one.

"Looks like we have a stranger in our midst." A wild axe man appears! After making his unseen presence known with his footsteps on the forest floor, he then revealed himself to him. Needless to say the displaced man was absolutely terrified, although deep within he was rather intrigued; the man spoke a somewhat rough version of Haida that he could still decipher with ease, but first, trying to not get killed, "Please, don't kill me, I just wanna go home." He replies in perfect Haida, which surprises the axe man. "You can speak our tongue with ease, stranger?" he simply nods hastily in response, and the man's face turns thoughtful, "You don't speak like the ones we trade with, their botching of our tongue is grating. You, you're interesting, perhaps I'll let the chieftain judge you instead." And his hopes soared, no death immediately for today, maybe tomorrow, but he can worry about that later. "And go get some clothes when we arrive at Tlat'a'áaw T'áay, you look disgusting." He simply walked onward with his captor, looks like first impressions were going to be poor until he got some clothes. More time passed and slightly more than a mile's worth of distance crossed again barefoot.

His feet were once more on the verge of splitting from his body at that point, but at least some debatable relief was found for Sebastiano in the form of the village being in sight. Debatable as the moment he entered the somewhat mediocre sized village, eyes were immediately on him, and he couldn't help but subtly cover his privates, "Just stay calm, just stay calm, in the end all this will conclude," he thought to himself, trying to reassure his mental well being as to keep it stable and to ensure he doesn't just break and go nuts, "Soon you'll be away from this oddly backward village and back in good ol' Victoria, British Columbia." He had doubts initially on where he was, but his captor speaking Haida was proof enough of his location. Still, it couldn't hurt to ask to truly confirm, "Hey, what islands are we on?" He quickly asked, and the man simply gave him a brief, and incredulous look. "We are on X̱aayda Gwaay, surely you must know about these isles if you can speak our tongue so well." Was his response, and the Filipino-Canadian simply nodded his head and gave a quick 'thank you' to the man. That was his location taken down from his list of worries at least, although his worry was not fazed in the slightest.

Stopping at a distinctly large abode which he assumed to be the chieftain's home, he was tossed some clothes by another man coming from within said abode. Profuse "thank you"s were given and he quickly dressed himself in them, another worry gone, thank goodness. But something loomed over him, the fact that he was about to be judged by said chieftain, and perhaps even sentenced to death. With heavy trepidation, he took his steps into the hall of the Haida chief. The place at a first glance seemed like some simple wooden home, but a closer look revealed intricate carvings, each with their own story. He thought once more of the village, it was oddly backwards and perhaps even bigger than Old Masset in the north, the fact that he hadn't heard of this village in all his travels to Haida Gwaay really stuck out to him. He would've thought of it more, a tentative maybe for getting a conclusion, but the chief had made his voice known, "Jaahguhl, who is this stranger that you have brought before me?" An aged man spoke up, his voice carrying a punch in authority. The man who escorted the displaced one, apparently named Jaahguhl, then spoke up, "Great Chieftain, I saw this stranger naked in the woods, his feet sore," he quickly replied, "He spoke our tongue so well, that someone could assume that he is a native of this land."

A critical look from the chieftain, "I'll believe it when I hear it," he told him, then his gaze once more fell upon the stranger, "Outsider, speak our tongue, speak it well." And the man nodded, "Deep breaths, deep breaths..." calming himself down, he spoke up in their tongue, "Great Chieftain, I am merely a lost man looking for a way home, I don't even know how I got here, I simply woke up naked." An unreadable face was the chief's initial response, before a hand gesture beckoning him to continue was given. Nodding, he resumed, "I live in Vancouver," confused stares, "It is a large island in the south, occupied by some familiar people, you might know them as the Kwakwaka'wakw, Nuu-chah-nulth, and the ones south of them, Coast Salish." Another man stomps the butt of his spear into the ground, "You are a spy for them then!" he cried out, getting a few others to join him, "We should execute you on the spot!" Another man from said group then spoke up against this, "No, if he was a spy, he would know many things about the outsiders, we should torture him for information instead!" On the fence moderates jumped in to back his suggestion, and in the middle of all this, Johann was on the verge of breaking down.

A firm fist slams on the sides of a wooden chair, and the jeering and shouting slowly stops.

"Let, him, continue." Was all the chieftain said, and thus the Filipino-Canadian linguist takes the lull in noise just after as a sign to continue speaking. "As I was saying, I hail from the large southern island, but I am not one of those people I named, I come from across the great sea and settled in the city of Victoria, a village that is very very large." shouts of 'impossible!' and 'no such village exists!' erupted, and these seeded even more thoughts within his mind, "I will prove it, there is an airstrip in the north, near Sandspit or as you call it, K'uk'áal, which will have planes to take me to Victoria." More jeering and laughter, 'foolish man' they mocked him, and he began to seriously consider that he wasn't somewhere familiar. "What year is it?" He asked, and he simply got dimmed laughter and a few 'hmm' s, did nobody really know what year it was? "I ask for one condition Great Chief, something that will not burden you too much," he asked of the chief, who all this time was simply looking at him with an unreadable face, "If I am proven wrong, I wish to stay here until I find reason to go elsewhere."

The chief simply leaned in and gave him his most scrutinizing look, which then softened after a few moments, "I have seen many eyes in my years, stranger," he leans back on his seat as he says this, "I have seen lying eyes, murderous eyes, evil eyes, envious eyes, and oftentimes, confused eyes." He has a thoughtful look develop on his face, "But in all my years, I have never seen eyes so confused and distressed," he continues with and understanding but very faint smile, "You truly are lost are you? Very well, you shall stay with us for five whole sets of seasons in service, if you are proven wrong in this search for an... Airstrip..." He looks towards the stranger's captor, "Jaahguhl, take a canoe and people to row it, go to K'uk'áal and allow him to look for this, airstrip." the chief orders the incredulous wood-chopper and rower, who simply looks back and forth between the stranger and his chief, "Keep a close watch on the stranger, as he may try to escape my punishment for him." A long hard stare, and the man relents. "And I forget, what is your name, outsider?"

"It is Johann Sebastiano, great chieftain."

"Strange name, as for me, I am Chief Hluuwee Chaahl. Now go, search for these fanciful things you speak of, and do return to me if you find nothing, for if you don't..." a stare, "You do know of our reputation, don't you now?" Needless to say, the stranger named Johann Sebastiano hastily nodded and gave his promise, with some hasty and borderline panicked nodding. Soon the pair had left for K'uk'áal or as the stranger called it, Sandspit; a few hours later, and the chieftain mused to himself, "How odd of him to speak in such a strange dialect," he muttered to himself as he saw their canoes leaving, "It seems to be a more eloquent version, even for me."