New Civilizations (IC, Closed)

[The Grim Reaper]

Djedset, Egypt

It had been about a day since Vijaya arrived. He had spent the night at the House of Menes, albeit under no little scrutiny. It was the tradition for homes to be occupied by only immediate family, here, and whilst he had been welcomed as a guest, there were still many questions about who he was. He seemed to have a sense of where he was - at the mouth of the Nile, near what would eventually be Cairo. Still, he was certain that he was supposed to be able to see Cairo from whereever this was - more to the point, that at least someone here would know what Cairo was. On the one hand, perhaps he was being gaslit - but that didn't solve the question of why there was no civilization anywhere near here, nor his sudden ability to speak fluently every language he could think of. It was possible that he was, at least, still in Australia, but all the large rivers he could think of were heavily populated. That he had somehow been transplanted into a pre-Arabic Egypt seemed...well, not a likely option, but equally unlikely to all other options. In the absence of any other information, assuming that this was Cairo gave him some falsifiable hypotheses to test.

He tried to think of wildlife that he would be able to identify about the Nile. The first that came to mind was the camel - unbeknownst to him, camels would actually only be imported to Egypt from the Middle East centuries later. In fact, Vijaya was well-aware of modern Australia's immense camel export market, leading him to discard the project. He'd be more likely to find a camel there than at his current home in Cairo. The next was the ox, believing that bovines in most other nations would either be their domesticated descendents or the wild beasts of the New World. On this matter, he was more successful - they were at least aware of bovines, although Vijaya quickly realised he had no idea what an ox actually was to an extent necessary to narrow down his location. Still, it was a start? He knew there were crocodiles in 'iteru'. There were, however, also crocodiles in Australia.

Finally, he managed to think of an animal that he would be able to find in the wilds of Egypt rather than Australia.

A cobra.

He would simply search out a wild cobra, and - no, this is a terrible idea. However, if in the course of ordinary life, he were to be bitten and killed by a cobra, he would at least know where he was. This was a great improvement.

Unless he didn't see it, and it turned out to be an inland taipan or some other Australian snake. He'd have to hope that Egyptian cobras were actually hooded. Or if it could spit venom - he didn't know of any Australian spitting snakes.

Ah well, curiosity would have to take a backseat for now. Menes would not host him for long if he could not earn a keep, and Vijaya was not exactly a man with the capacity to earn with hard work. So he'd have to use his brain, and figure something out. He was a man taken with procrastination, and frankly the idea of doing an honest day's work was a bit of a pain. However, it had to be done - or he could just propagate a leisure-based culture. He no longer had video games, and so he expected to have to fall back on those old undertakings of board and card games. This gave him an idea.

The soothsayer helped him gather some of the children of the village. He was to teach them how to read, write, and count - concepts that the village was somewhat familiar with, in producing iconography laden with meaning as Vijaya explained it. 'Signs', to borrow de Saussure's word from that great mainstay of communications study, semiotics. But Vijaya was a notorious proponent of alphabetic writing systems, ever since he had flunked Mandarin. The soothsayer was an easy-going man, willing to let Vijaya do whatever he wished if it would keep the children from interrupting his auguries, and the mothers of the village were curious enough to run the risk of corrupting the youth. They didn't have much to lose, Vijaya managed to convince them, and a few hours of peace to gain otherwise.

"These are vowels - A, E, I, O, U, Y. Without a vowel, a syllable has no force to it - no power to it."

"What's a syllable?"

"We don't know yet. You have to figure it out as you go."

"Oh."

Vijaya was not a GOOD teacher, by any means, but rote-learning would at the least dent the shadows of ignorance. The entire Latin alphabet was written out in sand, and Vijaya had tasked the kids with the arduous task of writing out the letters next to their home - memorizing one letter, taking it home, and coming back to memorize the next. Then, he said, they were to maintain their alphabets by reviewing their neighbours', and he would go about to make fixes as the days went on. He did the same with numbers - zero, one, two, and so forth. The concept of zero, of course, made minimal sense to the children, who were frankly outraged at the idea of a number having a value of nothing. This made him somewhat concerned. Children, surely, wouldn't have the foresight to feign ignorance of the number zero for a prank.

So he figured he'd give them a break, while he chewed over the implications.

Some pieces of bark were brought to him. He intended to try and make a rudimentary pack of cards. The kids were excellent spare labour in this regard. He was not sure if papyrus yet existed in this world; nor, more importantly, if they had the capacity to manufacture it, but he figured that it would not serve its role well as a stiff-backed card. On these, he used the traditional ochre that the soothsayer was willing to part with. It was a reasonably modern deck - some cards had numbers, 1 through 10 (a useful way to introduce 0 as a digit), some had the letters J, Q, and K, (standing in, algebraically, for either 11 or 11 through 13 as the game should call for), and finally a pair of zeroes - the Jokers. He hoped that giving a physical card the value of zero would help to instill the idea of 'zero' in the children's minds through play, while the picture cards would help them understand the concept of algebra. To teach them a game, he decided to let wait - he wanted to see what they would come up with alone.

At the same time, he also wanted to instill a sense of empathy, and of strategy. There were two games that sprung to mind - poker, which even in the modern world he didn't understand, and Go. Whilst he did not play Go, its rules were simple enough that he believed he could remember them, and his preferred game of chess would require a somewhat more complex manufacture and teaching process.

Go was simple enough to replicate - he called for a set of pebbles of two colours, and simply made divets in the sand - initially eight by eight, as squares on a chess board, smaller than the 9 by 9 boards with which he was unfamiliar, but quickly expanding out to twelve by twelve as the small play area annoyed him. His instructions for Go were simple - each player takes a turn to place a pebble of their colour in a divet. When a contiguous territory of pebbles is completed, the interior pebbles are all removed by the player who has completed it, becoming a tally of their points whilst the emptied territory is considered 'dead'. The end of the game, then, would be when mutually agreed upon. There was something about liberties and eyes, but he hoped they were just extrapolations of the basic form of play.

He wondered what the town would think of his antics.

[Holy Tedalonia]

Part 1, Chapter 5: They Approached the Storm with Eagerness and Nervousness
Ted and the army passed through the mountain and marched downward to the region the traders had mentioned. He continued downward until they reached their intended destination. Once their he told the Warlord that they should encamp into a forest, so their force can remain hidden. The warlord yells his orders and the men begin to walk to the nearest forest.

Once the men's encampment was established Ted decided to rest against a tree. This relieved some pain Ted had in his leg. He was never a long term walker, and needed to get use to the idea of long term walking. Once his legs got comfortable; the warlord came to him. They discussed the plan on how to deal with the invaders. Ted suggested that they need to scout out and find them before doing anything else.

The several men chosen by Ted and the warlord set out to scout ready to find the enemy encampment. Ted concluded that he would have to be cautious and consider his movements carefully. As the men depart Ted ponders on how he'll defeat the enemy. The men Ted had begun to scout the area prepared to find an army of the invaders.

[G-Tech Corporation]

The Village of Kal, Near the Sasso Forests, Promina Province
July 5th, 63 AG

Sweat dripped down Orisas' forehead to his eyebrows from the short military cut that his head sported, an irritant the Outrider dashed away in a jerky movement. This country was beautiful, the rolling hills of verdant emerald complemented by forests that seemed almost tame and like toys compared to the vast black depths of the forests of the Imperium. But, beauty aside, it was hot. The breezes off of the Middle Sea normally kept this watch at midday from baking like buns on a tray, but today the winds were all but still, the leaves on the trees set as if carved of stone, the plains of grass so quiet Orisas could hear the breathing of his partner, Aton, as the latter shifted against the tall oak where they had taken shelter from the scorching sun.

A joke occurred to the watcher, and as he turned to jest with his fellow about breathing as loudly as a bull, a flicker of movement out near the treeline of the nearby forest caught his eye. Straightening back up, and wiping the sweat away from his eyes, Orisas peered in to the middle distance, squinting against the noon glare. There - yes, it wasn't just a breeze rippling the trees. Men moved near the dappled shadows of the forest. Their attire was indistinct at this distance, but they were several, at least a handful, and moving with a furtive purpose that immediate alerted the Outrider's suspicions.

His hand shot out to tap Aton on the shoulder as the burly northman crouched down, and the other sentry followed suit in an instant. With gestures motions of battle-speech the warrior indicated the direction of the curious characters, and his comrade peered in that bearing for a moment before nodding; he too found the strange characters an oddity, an oddity worth investigating.

Orisas limbered his bow and strung it while Aton gathered the other riders of the watch quietly through the thickets, saddling up on their swift coursers with the skill of long practice. Emerging from the woods, the party of twenty horsemen made for the suspicious characters, bows and short spears at the ready. On foot the suspects had little prayer of evading interception, so the outriders came on straight ahead, dappled gray cloaks now throwing off the heat of day as they had concealed watching eyes before.

The figures seemed agitated, and Orisas cast is voice forward in tones of command.

"Halt, strangers to Promina! Stand fast, and be inspected."

No arrows were yet out to bowstring, but the eyes of the sentries were hard and cold. In an area where the hosts of the Imperium marched, few lawful citizens or residents had latitude to wander the wilds as freely as these men did, especially near the borders of the gathering flags of the black and white.

[Conwy-Shire]

Amadeus Mulcahy | Part 1, Chapter 10
June 4th, 63 A.G.
June 4th, 1 C.R. (Colchian Reckoning)

The low-walled settlement of Kutaizsur was a true town by the modern standard, its' urban expanse nestled within the confines of a river valley and housing a population presumably in the low thousands. The southern face of the town, which faced the Phaesos Basin and housed the main gate, was a walled and towered façade mounted upon an inverse Tell, the cycle of decay and restoration building a motte of broken-down mud brick and sealant upon which the new walls stood. Framed as it was with rising mountains at its' back, Kutaizsur stood inviolable, untouchably impressive to the men of Ashtur - whilst the only thought it brought to my mind was of Ozymandias.

The journey here had been a fraught but leisurely three-day march, as I was both confident in the mettle of my men yet also sceptical of the local intentions. Though goods and resources had been traded through intermediaries between Ashtur and this new town, no soul in living memory had made the journey, and there had never been a reason to make the trek and follow the Phaesos to its' source. Yet now this upjumped strongman calling himself god and king of the region had given us a reason - an opportunity - that we couldn't ignore. Leaving Lanchkhutam with the dawn succeeding the herald's ultimatum, we set out to follow the Phaesos north and east, through untamed country and wildernesses that concerned me more than anything. It was now a given that these people were from ancient times, their control of the cultural universals indicated as such, but even this close to a city one would expect sprawl hamlets, satellite settlements and the like. As such the expedition was forced to camp most nights, unable to request shelter from the non-existent rural population, and as such I was roped into the sparring practice of the soldiers.

Even though the half-a-year of tough living had toned my body, whittling away the excesses of my modern lifestyle and building up corded muscle in the regions most used by the agrarian man, my tall thin figure still made brute combat a severely distasteful pastime. My compatriots were of a different build however, all of them shorter than I, and the majority built of thicker, tanned hides covering steely muscles, their bodies defined by nothing other than the earth they tilled or the craft they practised. When we made camp the first evening every one of us was energised and eager, the psychological product of our new undertaking fuelling a belligerent mindset, and so when I was called up to join the men in their practice I unwittingly consigned myself to a vigorous thrashing. Bundles of long, thin sticks, roped together and fashioned to something akin to our bronze blades clacked together noisily as men swung, blocked, riposte and (all too often) cried out in pain as blows connected with uncovered skin. That night, and every night thereafter, I lay down to sleep feeling sore all over, regretting the short-term side effects of my physical training.

It was good for the men to see me as their equal however, sharing in their burdens and pain as opposed to a removed and calculating leader. As our group dove further and further into foreign land, on the direction of the Lanchkhutami delegate who accompanied us, the mood became softer, but never to the point of being fully drained. Here the land was scraggly, meadows that looked uncropped by the mouths of hungry domesticated herds, and the paths at various points widened and narrowed at an arbitrary whim. It was tough going, but we had finally made it to the town, a mere stretch of fields and open ground separating the urbs from uncultivated wilderness.

As we approached the wall, our expedition drawn up into a column with Huszars on the flanks and rear, it was clear our entrance would be strictly regulated as a posse of enforcers, most probably close friends to the strong-man of the town, fanned out from the main entrance and stood watching the procession as it wound its way up the Tell and towards the stretch of wall which housed the gate. The town's enforcers, their bully-boys, were attired like the messenger and guards that had appeared in Lanchkhutam, though this band wielded an assortment of blunt, dull and sharp weapons with no uniformity. They appeared bored by us, as though this process was a repetition of an earlier iteration which they had experienced many times before. It did not bode well that this probably meant many of the settlements, more likely Kutaizsur's neighbours, had already signalled their subservience to the large town and its' despotic strong-man.

We were admitted with little fuss, the only hiccup coming from the demand that the mounted men remain outside with their horses, an understandable arrangement even though the huszars were at this moment more for superficial shock and show than any real comparative military advantage. We were then ushered down the axial street towards a hall of stone and brick, distinct from the mud-brick homes and walls by virtue of its size and tone. I had already formulated my plan of address for the meeting, and it came as no surprise to me when our local entourage refused the demand for the meeting to take place outside on the raised platform that lead into the stone hall. I had to be relentless if they were to respect the words of a young, thin emissary, even if he was taller than most all of the residents of the town. The mood instantly became ugly, and one of the enforcers made his way into the hall, no doubt to confer with his master.

The chief himself came out, this supposed embodiment of Helios on earth, and he most certainly disappointed when it came to physical attributes. Neither his visage nor his height gave credence to the divine claim, though his temperament lent itself to the Greek concept of fallible divinity. As he exited the hall I drew myself up to full height, noting that I stood a full head above him, letting me look down into his angry eyes as he yelled and spluttered.

"How dare you! Who are you to demand of a god?" Spittle tumbled out with amongst the words as the chief puffed up his chest.
"I am Amadeus," I responded in measured tones, suppressing a savage grin that threatened to wash over my face. "I represent the League of Helios and have come to birth new trading ties between our two fair civilisations."
"Our two..." He repeated incredulously. "You are here to submit to my authority - your impotent league even bears my name - yet you speak of equality? Of trade? Swear yourself to me and I will… overlook your transgression"

"No."

The single syllable reverberated throughout the square onto which the hall fronted, and everyone from my loyal guards to the growing throng of onlookers startled at the blunt refusal. The chief, now fully enraged, finally snapped. "If you will not submit, then you willingly forfeit your rights as our guests in this town, as well as surrender your status of free men. You will be as slaves to us, working like the others in our mines and fields. Men, detain these interlopers."

A mere moment after the command left his lips, the chief stepped back and his posse, now strengthened by the arrival of more bruisers and enforcers from around the town, stepped in to encircle the expedition. My own men were no more lax in their response, setting their hoplons forward and interlocking, forming a tight shieldwall covering the full three-hundred and sixty degrees of the infantry circle after I stepped off the platform back into their midst. We would not fight here, in the square however, and as the local enforcers closed in we slowly moved towards the axial street, those inside the shieldwall guiding their outward-facing comrades so as to maintain formation. The onlooking crowds had quickly dispersed after the hostility became apparent, hunkering down in their mud-brick homes until new circumstances allowed them to continue with their lives, and as we cautiously moved down the miniature boulevard no-one but the enforcers shadowed our movements. Perhaps they didn't want to fight on their own streets, perhaps they were perturbed by the wall of shields and spearheads that awaited the first of them to engage.

In the age of primitive combat it was morale above all else that decided a fight, which was why I had banked so heavily upon the investment of cavalry, and as we reached the gate and pried open the large doors which had denied the huszars access beforehand, I could feel the investment was ready to pay itself off with interest. There would be no cavalry charge however, for even the sight of the horse line set the upjumped townsmen to flight, dissipating into the sideroads and alleyways of the town as both arms of the expedition linked up. Now, with the opposition's defences annulled, it was time to purge the blasphemy of Kutaizsur for the first - and last - time.

[Holy Tedalonia]

The Village of Kal, Near the Sasso Forests, Promina Province
July 5th, 63 AG

The sudden encounter with the strange men scared Orthos, one of the guards. He and his scouts were scouting for their warlord and Ted. They were expecting to find some sort of powerful men, but were surprised by how unique they looked. They wore strange cloths, and wore grey cloaks. They were taller and mean looking as if used to some place inhospitable.

Orthos responded with a casual lie, "we are hunters sir, our lands have been having bad luck with animals to hunt, and was hoping to find food over here... I must say, I've never seen your type before, perhaps you are new here?"

Orthos didn't know who exactly he was talking to, but he expected this was the Imperium Ted had mentioned to them. Orthos silently nodded to the other scouts to ensure them that the inspection was ok. They had nothing to offer that would reveal Teds plans, and doubted the strange men would conclude that theory. All they had was their spears, bows, and arrows. They word hunter cloths from their villiages. Orthos prayed for a safe outcome. He didn't want to be one of the first casualties in this war.

[Oudland]

Dedan, Gilead
Village Square

"...and for grievous trespasses under the covenant of althaluth, you shall be hanged until you are dead."

The nearly naked man began to shudder, his knees knocking together like a cartoon. Finally, he began to weep. Beneath his shining copper mask, Donovan was stone faced. The speaker, who was also the executioner, looked back at him. He too wore the jackal's visage, draped in long black robes. Donovan nodded and turned his gaze upon the crowd. Some looked intrigued, some looked disgusted, and all seemed to be holding their breath.

None of them had ever seen such a thing, he was sure. The soon to be dead man in question had... taken advantage of a young woman. According to his men, he had been brought before them by a mob of angry villagers. Donovan had acted as a judge, and after hearing testimony from the men who had found the two in their struggle, he then let the accused speak for himself.

The shame had been written clearly upon his face. There was fear, too. His pleas for mercy turned to wails as three masked men restrained him and forced the noose around his neck. The other end of the rope was thrown over a thick, high branch of a tree. His soldiers heaved upon it, lifting the man into the air and cutting his cries short. A sign nailed into the trunk proclaimed his crime.

Donovan stepped forward to better observe the dangling man's frantic dance. Eyes bulging, he grapsed frantically at the strangling rope. Donovan began a loud prayer for the man's putrid soul.

He finished, "May Azazl cleanse you, and Nokta keep you." His warriors repeated the refrain. The crowd lingered until the hanging man died and then slowly dispersed.

The sun was high in the sky and the day was very humid. He had a meeting with the council, who had made their seat within the newly erected temple at Dedan. One of the masked soldiers broke away from the rest, walking alongside Donovan. He was young, much shorter than Donovan, below average even by native standards. He was intelligent, though, as well as a fair warrior and loyal disciple.

"Today is yours, brother Jaih."

"Today is yours, Melikh Shahib."

Donovan smiled and said, "You wish to accompany me to the House of Nokta?"

"Into the House of Nokta, Mukarrib."

This elicited a laugh from Donovan.

 "Of course."

The pair entered the large, squat stone structure. Within, all was dark save for a few dimly burning candles. Robed priests scurried about in the gloom. They proceeded through the initial corridor and into a hallway that led them into a chamber lit with a pair of torches on either side. Seated at a stone table were twelve frowning old men. This was the Council of Gilead, chosen by the people, and comprised of four well respected elders from each of the three towns.

They stood at the Mukarrib's entrance. Donovan greeted them, and bid them to sit. One of the elders from New Sheba cleared his throat, then spoke up.

"There have been more attacks on the Blue Road, Melikh, between Tarut and New Sheba. Men are afraid."

Donovan gazed at them all in turn. "You are sure it is the same men?"

"They follow Moloch."

"But are they brigands or soldiers?"

The council exchanged troubled looks amongst themselves. An elder from Tarut replied hesitantly.

"There have been survivors who were returned to us last night. They bore a message... for you."

Donovan was alarmed. He waited for the elder to continue.

"'For the false prophet called Yamat. We name you, in front of the true gods of this land, as a pretender and a foreign invader. It has been laid upon us, by divine command, that you shall be condemned to death, and that your priests shall be put to death, and that the sons and daughters of New Sheba shall be given to Him.' This is the message they bore for you, Melikh."

[The Grim Reaper]

Djedset

"And this is chess."

Vijaya was a keen player of chess, having been competitive in his youth. He'd done a little bit of amateur commentary, even, as part of a little joke with a circle of friends. He was not one for a chess dictionary, and so he had never gotten much past a strong high school player. However, chess had a unique place in world history, and it was one that Vijaya wished to preserve while still formed a part of his memory. This was an adventure that, by now, the adults of the village were keen to assist him with. It had taken just a few hours for the entire village to explode into excited chattering about the advent of both the pack of cards, and of Go. Whilst cards were still somewhat unwieldy and messy the use, Vijaya expected that if a better material for the task were available, he would find out about it soon. But Go had proven to be exceptionally easy to implement - the kids had collected enough pebbles to run multiple games simultaneously, and from there it was simple enough to affect play.

However, Vijaya was of the opinion that to become a cultural artefact, it would be necessary to formalize the game somewhat. Chess was his big step forward in that matter - he envisioned an eight-by-eight chessboard, with divets at the intersections of the squares for the play of Go. This would, by accident, bring his newly created game in line with the nine by nine board of modern Go. His intention, not just to instill whatever cachet chess had as a game of the military scientific literate in his world, was to instill an understanding of Cartesian coordinates.

It was not yet time to introduce his flock to the idea of negative numbers, Vijaya reckoned. That would be a horrific undertaking he intended to put off. But this was the design that he recounted to the potter - an eight by eight grid, with little divets in the intersections numbering a total of nine by nine. The numbers one to eight would number the columns, whilst the letters A to H would label the rows, to create a coordinate system of "row, column" - a letter, followed by a number. The pieces for his chess game were to be exceptionally simple - little fingerbowls for the pawns, and decorated blocks for the remaining pieces. The squares of the board would also be coloured in alternating diagonals, to assist in the visual movement of the bishops.

The potter grunted, approvingly. Chess was a complex game, in terms of both ruleset and material, and far outmatched the horse-race style boardgames that were typical of the period. The amount of time Vijaya was spending on building up a gaming culture was rather odd, but it would help establish him as, if nothing else, a unique figure in the village's society. And, he hoped, to its neighbours. Trade that flowed up and down the Nile inevitably passed by Djedset on its way to and from the Mediterranean, and he expected that the sudden gaming renaissance would at least establish him as something of a mythic figure. If nothing else, he'd at least be able to start a nice casino.

Ah well, it was time to introduce his little class to philosophy. Or, well, the bemusingly hacked together interpretation he had gotten indirectly, via game theory and political science.

"A logical statement. There is an observation, a causation, and a conclusion. Three sentences - you can write them as such, kids.

I have observed x.
x means y is true.
Therefore, y is true.

That's a valid logical statement. An invalid one is where that second sentence isn't right. Observe.

I have observed that people get sick.
People getting sick means that evil spirits are causing it.
Therefore, evil spirits cause sickness.

That's not true, and it isn't valid. The following is true, but invalid.

I have observed that Mr. Vijaya says little creatures cause sickness.
Mr. Vijaya saying something means that it is true.
Therefore, little creatures cause sickness.

It is true, because the conclusion is correct. But the logic is invalid, because the fact that I say something does not make it true."

"So just because you tell us the rules to Go, doesn't make them the rules?"

"They're how I play Go. You can play Go however you want, as long as your opponent is still going to play with you. Now, a little homework task. I want you to try and make the most interesting conclusions with the following tools: a straight edge, and a compass - use two pegs tied by string, and tighten the string every time you move a peg. See if you can translate your findings into logical statements."

Probably a bit of a difficult task for children who had only just been introduced to writing - who likely had not even spotted the irony in Vijaya's second logical statement, but it'd keep them busy while Vijaya dealt with the more pressing concern - finding out the lay of the land.

He'd been told that there were merchants spotted on the way, and he fully intended to chat with them.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Part 3, Chapter 16: Behind the Eyes of the Beyond

June 20th, 63 AG

Southward the train clacked, the rumble of wheels on rails a comforting whir-clunk that repeated with a steady staccato which could almost lull a man to sleep. I sat alone in my cabin, alone save for the two guards who stood just outside the door, mentally reviewing the border as I looked at the rough maps the Explorator College had produced within the last decade, and siting now Cansivar and her possessions within the deep scarlet ink that delineated the boundaries of the Imperium. That Crown-Prince, that Magnus, I thought for certain must be a man of my own time. It saddened my heart to see someone who knew much of reason and order be so wayward in his belief system, in the promotion of a dead religion of our own time as a new birth for the people of the north. Denmark and Sweden they held, to my knowledge, and the Norscans had not shown much interest in coming south.

A weary hand I passed before my face, turning my head aside from the maps to watch the coming of night. Writing the missives necessary to formally integrate those regions into the levy system, the provinces, and so on had taken many hours even with the slowly-remembered of my fingers’ speed upon the typewriter. It was a bit of a legal shenanigan, incorporating such a vast swathe of both men and land into the borders of the growing polity that the Imperium of Man had become, but as Hegemon I was better placed to expedite the process than most. The calling up of new Outrider detachments, the authorization for infrastructure work to be expanded, the call for the creation of new provinces pursuant to seats in the Landsmeet being made available; ah, yes, the nation I had created floated like a ship upon a sea of paperwork and bureaucracy, the blood within her veins ink and information. It was necessary, to create the structures and frameworks upon which good governance and proper living could be built. Still, I knew how far bureaucracy had gotten my own world, and thus I battled day and night to forge a better system than those I had known.

“My lord?”

Muttered words, voiced with diffidence, roused me from my reverie. I looked up and gestured for the messenger to come in, the guards allowing him past at my motion. He bowed slightly at the waist, an action I only allowed when folk addressed myself or the Emperor and his offspring- respect for authority was well and good, but this was an Imperium for the people, not to create some hidebound social strata of ineptitude and squalor in equal measure.

I took the missive from the messenger’s hands, noting the red cast of his hair which bespoke a lineage from the northern reaches beyond the Mountains of First Light, and dismissed him with a nod of my head and a smile. Breaking the thick obsidian wax seal of the cylinder, I drew out the parchment, pleased to receive a communique from the Institute. Many years had the good doctors and surgeons of that body worked to increase our understanding of the natural world, guided by the principles I had laid out in the Annals of the Ages to Come, but the Chancellor rarely wrote to me save with news of great importance.
After the usual pleasantries and formalities, Vancir got down to business. I put some more oil in the lamp behind me, trimming the wick for brighter light, and devoured the letter. Most of it was concerned with the usual; the graduation rates for midwives and physicians, recent work in surgical techniques, but about halfway through the sheaf of paper I came upon what I was looking for. Recent testing to ameliorate the effects of the plague that occasionally touched the urban centers of the inner Imperium had been proceeding well. Guidance from the Annals was cited in the usage of a distillate of cowpox sores, injected by sterile needle into those at risk of plague, was showing promising results. Inoculation, as the Institute had named the technique based on my writings, had proven successful in several recent outbreaks in preventing infection in healthcare workers in afflicted urban centers, and with time and funding could be extended to the general populace.

It was what I had hoped for. Nearly a generation ago I had set us on this path, when a black fugue carried off nearly five hundreds from one of the towns in Rulons and I could do nothing save order the locals to bury the dead. Disease was something that all men of this age knew all too well, but with my guiding hand, despite my lack of complete knowledge, slowly we peeled back the layers of ignorance that surrounded the treatment of disease and illness to create a genuine medical community concerned with bacteria and infection and airborne viruses, not ghosts and goblins and witchcraft. Though finely ground lenses of the clearest glass men could see with greater acuity than any before them, using tools of cunning make to treat even grave illness.

Progress and prosperity. That was the world I slowly forged.

Hunters from the West
The Village of Kal, Near the Sasso Forests, Promina Province
July 5th, 63 AG

The outriders looked over these so-called hunters with eyes filled with skepticism. A few words in the local dialect they couldn’t follow, but what these men spoke was nigh to incomprehensible to those who spoke only the language along the eastern coast and proper Imperial. Most of the squad, of course, couldn’t understand a single word the barbarians babbled forth as the scouts rode down upon them, but Orisas looked at his companions, and his hand flickered in quick battle-signs.

With a quick leveling of shortspears and the nocking of bows, hard men looked at the ‘hunters’ with their weapons at the ready, ready to kill them if necessary. Orisas spoke slowly and carefully in the East Italic that he knew, trying to make sure the men understood him.

“Your words are strange, and mark you as strangers to these lands. I also see you do not yet bear the ink. By order of my master, Lord-Commander Vertisan of the Fourth Great Company, and Governor-General Erasmus of fair Promina, you are now placed under arrest to be inspected by the Emperor’s Eyes. You will surrender your weapons, or they will be taken from you by force.”

Next to Orisas his companion, Aton, mimed putting down his weapons and putting his hands on his head. Wild brigands still infested much of this region, and taking more of them out of circulation was exactly what these patrols existed to accomplish.

---

Orthos’s men became agitated, but once Orthos lifts his left hand as a sign to calm down.

Orthos then spoke, “I didn’t know we were ‘trespassing’. If you want us to we can turn back if you want to, but if this ‘arrest’ is necessary we will relinquish our weapons, however we ask after this ‘arrest’ is finished that have them returned to us. We come from mountain villages, and our families expect us home. Say you seem like powerful people perhaps we can lead you to our village to ‘inspect’. I bet you'll find it useful and a great village for this ‘imperium’.”

Orthos didn't exactly know how this word ‘arrest’ meant, but he intended to show a sign of faith. He wanted to survive and he didn’t want to piss of these men of power. He didn't understand most words, but he did assume that it was some form of weapons check or something.

---

From behind the Imperial scout a man chuckled, and Orisas directed a severe look in his general direction, though he didn’t know which of the soldiers had made the sound. The overall cut of the barbarian words he didn’t exactly follow, but the intent came through clearly enough. Something about not minding being arrested, but wanting their weapons back after the arrest, and something about a village. Well, that was fine enough.

“Yes, yes, if you prove men of honor you shall have your weapons returned. The Governor-General has decreed as much for all of eastern Italia, by permission of the Emperor of Mankind. I cannot simply let you turn back though- I have not the authority for such a deviation from our protocols, and you stand now many leagues within the lands that answer to the Governor at Marion.”

Aton gestured again, pantomiming that the strange gibberish-speaking hunters should lay down their arms, making Orisas gesture at him in impatience.

“My companion is not as trusting as I. No man is allowed to carry weapons within the boundaries of the Imperium, save that he be accredited merchant guard or bear the ink. I must ask you again to place your weapons on the ground and surrender them until such a time as you have been inspected as is the law.”

---

Orthos gave the men the word to drop their weapons and act according to their demands. When all had dropped their weapons, but one had been a little hesitant, however a serious glare from Orthos made the man drop his weapons.

Orthos began, “I expect my men and I to be treated with respect during this ‘arrest’. If we are not harmed in anyway, we will happily lead you to our village.”

---

Three of the scouts dismounted, gathering together the spears and bows in neat bundles, making sure not to unduly harass these hunters while they did so. After all, this was still a newly-conquered part of the Imperium. There might be folks who simply didn’t know about the change in rulership, and it wasn’t worth raising a rebellion because of honest ignorance. Once the weapons were collected, they were tied together using tough ropes, and placed on the backs of the horses of the men who had taken them.

Orisas dismounted, and inclined slightly forward at the waist towards the man who appeared to be the leader of the hunters.

“Now that we can speak on more civil terms, allow me to introduce myself. I am Orisas, commander of this squad. I apologize for all this inconvenience, but as my superior have mandated, so it must be. Our camp is but two hours ride from here, though perhaps three on foot, and there you may go before our Fatebinder to swear the oaths required of all men, and then you will be free to go. If you will follow me…?”

The squadleader took his roan’s bridle, and led the horse east, the rest of the outriders following. They made a ring around the hunters, far enough away to prevent a quick grab for the reigns or a man in the saddle, but tight enough to prevent easy escape between the captors. At a steady walk the party set off through the light woods of Sassos, towards the village of Kal where the nearest outpost lay.

---

“Osiras, names Orthos by the way, so these ‘oaths’ what are they exactly?” Orthos asked worryingly.

He hadn't understood the term, but he knew it required him to do something. As they walked he wanted to know what he was expecting.

---

The squadleader frowned at hearing the inquiry. “Your village is nearby? Surely you must have received a crier, speaking of Oath of the Outsider, at the very least?” Up on his horse, Aton grumbled something to himself in Imperial, and Orisas explained.

“All men who live within the confines of the Imperium must take the Three Oaths- to not raise arms against the Emperor or his representatives, save in true need, to obey
the strictures of the laws of the Imperium, save where greater moral import may be required, and to serve the Imperial will at need, so far as it is revealed to them. As an Outlander you must take only the former and the second, for you are not bound to the Imperial Will, but if you wish to walk within the borders of civilization they are required. Else men are given to iniquity and evil, and chaos reigns.”

Perhaps it wouldn’t all make it through the language barrier. Perhaps it would. Some of the words these hunters spoke were very strange compared to the Italian which Orisas knew, some of them much more familiar. Either way, it would have to do, for to learn a new tongue, even a new dialect, would take time. And the squadleader wasn’t exactly a scholar, to divert his attentions to the peculiarities of grammar and nuance.

---

Orthos didn't understand some of it, but he got the idea. His men were a bit disgruntled after hearing this, but Orthos made sure they didn't cause trouble. Besides a fight against them will obviously be a loss.

Orthos began, “I apologize for not understanding these words, but it's basically don't fight the Imperium and don't break their ‘laws’? Seems to me like that's fine. I think we’ll be fine with that. Anyways your words are strange, and you speak this amusing accent. Have we traveled that far from our village? Perhaps we're just more secluded than the rest of the region…”

Orthos didn't intend to honor this oath, but if it would make these strangers happy then they will follow through with this oath thing, whatever the hell it was.

---

The words of the leader of the hunters, Orthos, reassured the sentry captain. After a few minutes of riding they passed another patrol, and he explained the encounter to their squadleader, making sure other men were moved up to man his post while the patrol took these outlanders back to the Fatebinder. Duty satisfied, the slow ride of the next three hours passed quickly enough, the pace languid to prevent rushing the hunters on foot along at an unpleasant tempo. Ere the sun descended towards the horizon, the small village of Kal swelled on the horizon, the burbling music of the stream that played about her humble wooden dwellings adding its symphony to the cooling evening air.

No gate barred the passages of this village, for it was not built in the Northern style- indeed, mere months ago it had never heard a word of Imperial speech, or seen a single pennant of white and black. Now, though, it bustled with soldiers in marching columns, a detachment of the main campaign host that had ventured further west to secure the inland forests and plains on the flank of the Fourth Great Company’s path southward.

Between two low dwellings, thatched with straw and heavy branches and cut from rough timbers, the party from the west passed. Many eyes followed them in curiosity as they walked through the main village square, locals wondering at the strange men from the west, soldiers equally intrigued. It had been many weeks since any had come to take the Oaths, for the border had been stagnant here for some time. But the Fatebinder was as alert as ever. Almost before the hunters had a chance to take stock of their surroundings, a tall man in a long crimson greatcoat trimmed in sable burst from one of the low log houses, his silver beard long and carefully trimmed, tucked into the front of his jacket above trousers of deep gray which were finalized with black boots that almost shone in the dying light, so well-polished were they.

“Orisas!” boomed the voice of the Fatebinder, his deep gray eyes twinkling above his aged beard, recognizing the squadleader. “I see you’ve brought me a surprise, and almost in time for my birthday too. Be they citizens, or Outlanders?”

The squadleader swung down from his saddle, waving an expansive hand towards the nearly half-dozen scruffy frontiersmen in borrowed hides that the detachment had brought in from their post.

“Master Fangir, these men are Outlanders. They say they come from a village some distance from here, I think, and speak a tongue very much like that of the local Italics, though somewhat sundered. I have not heard the dialect afore, though, I confess, I learned little save Eastern.”

The Fatebinder nodded sagely, and addressed the company of hunters three times, each with a slightly different inflection on the general Italian language, but their puzzled looks soon gave rise to a look of puzzlement on his own face, for none sounded much like that language which they spoke.

“Hmm” Fangir mused in his native Imperial, speaking to the squadleader. “I would warrant they hail from the far side of the Apennines, or beyond. They seem not familiar with the tongues of the northerners, or the southerners, or even the lines of the Venetian coast. But that matters little. If they are good men and true, they may take the Oaths.”

The Fatebinder then switched back to Eastern Italian to speak to the hunters, his accent guttural, but comprehensible. “What Squadleader Orisas was not at leave to disclose to you, I may make plain. Neither he nor I hail from this peninsula, this landmass of Italy. Both of us are children of the Great City, Mara, who lies over two thousand leagues hence, as the crow flies, and are servants of the Emperor of Man who sits there upon her throne and that of the civilized world. I am his representative, the servant of the law which he has graven in stone so that no man may contest its virtue, a Fatebinder of the Order of Justice.”

The Fatebinder said several words in Imperial to a man who stood near at hand, and the second man hurried into the hut from which the crimson-coated functionary had emerged, returning swiftly with great tomes bound in what appeared to be boiled leather and with pages of dipped oilcloth.

“Orisas tells me he found you nearly ten kilometers within the boundaries of the Imperium. As such, there are two choices you must choose between; first, you may swear the two Oaths, as is required of Outlanders who walk the lands of the Emperor’s Will. Then you shall be free to go at your leisure, to return to whence you came, or walk as you wish within those lands that are held by his chosen. Otherwise, you may refuse the Oaths, in which case I shall be forced to give you into the custody of the Civil Service, to be held until your mind is changed.”

The third option was unspoken, of course.

From the old man’s eyes a piercing gaze swept over each of the hunters, judging their emotions, trying to divine their thoughts.

“I ask each of you now, in turn, will you swear the Oaths?”

---

Orthos nodded to his men to make sure they take the oaths. If one of them refused it may lead to distrust between the hunters and these people. He didn't want to do these oaths, but the Imperium seem to insist on making this happen. Yesterday, Orthos didn't even know what an ‘oath’ was, but these people made a big deal about it.

Orthos began, “we’ll do this, but you'll have to guide us through these oaths.”

---

The men chorused their agreement in their barbaric tongue, but the Fatebinder nodded, apparently taking that as enough affirmation to proceed.

“Then repeat after me, men of the west.”

“I do solemnly swear to keep the peace of the Imperium, to bear no weapon against man or woman who serves the Will of the Emperor, save in greatest need; if in greatest need, I submit myself to the judgement of the Hegemon and, beneath him, the Law, for redemption of my need.”

Walking through the words had a few false starts, as the words Fangir recited were in Eastern Italic, but eventually all the hunters had garbled them out. The elder functionary then continued.

“I further swear that I shall not be found wanting if set against the precepts of the Law; I shall commit no murder or injustice against my fellow man, nor be ignorant of the Law, but hold myself to her strictures as a man of reason and integrity, so help me God.”

The concept of “God” was one that the hunters did not seem overly familiar with, but they said the words, so technically they were in accordance with the ceremony. As each man finished his recitation his name was taken down in the great tomes the Fatebinder’s assistant held in his arms, and a bit of charcoal and clarified ink was applied to the tip of the man’s thumb, and his print taken next to his name, beside which the date of the swearing was scratched by quill and pen.

Then the Fatebinder drew a small needle from a recess of his greatcoat, and advanced on the Outlanders. He spoke in solemn tones.

“As receipt of your oath, so that all good men may know you have committed yourself to good conduct within the boundaries of the Imperium, it is customary that each of you shall receive a inscription in his flesh, to make visible that which has been bound invisibly.”

Some of the savages grumbled as the hot little needle applied pinpricks of indelible ink below the skin inside their wrist, but the needle was sharp, and the wielder skilled, so barely any pain was felt. In a matter of a few minutes each Outlander bore a tiny triangle on his skin, marking him for all inhabitants of the Imperium to know his adherence to the Oaths, and thus that they were allowed to walk freely within the confines of the Imperium and trade.

With that the ceremony was concluded. Orisas gestured to his men, and down came the bundles of weapons and ammunition that the hunters had carried, which were distributed by the outriders who now bore more friendly expression.

“Glad to have you properly documented and everything Orthos. You said your folk are looking for game? If you have anything to trade, there are merchants farther east who would probably have plenty of salt pork, beef, and other goods which a hungry village would value highly indeed.”

---

Orthos considered the idea of buying something, but since he didn't know how their trade worked or it would create a good excuse to disappear. Orthos did like to return to ‘hunting’ though.

Orthos began, “Orisas, my people will continue hunting, since we don't know how you do trading and that we are a poor village. Orisas before me and my men return to hunting I wanted to give you a fair warning. There is a group from the west trying to recruit people from the west to the mountains they claimed. They call themselves the ‘Italia Legion’ whatever that means. The leader of this group is calls himself, ‘Tzeentch’, he is trying to rally tribes against you and your people. Last I heard he and his ‘army’ was in a forest on the east side of Italy that I know not the name of, but I figured you could use the information.”

Orthos considered not telling them, but this was exactly what Ted wanted, a fight to happen. How he would turn it to his favor Orthos did not know, but perhaps this was the event Ted needed all along.

---

The squadleader frowned and rubbed his chin with a closed fist for several moments before speaking.

“I appreciate you telling me this, Orthos. You are a good man. This is above my pay-grade though- there is little I can do about it save pass it on to my superiors. At any rate, I doubt any man with such a bizarre name is exactly right in the head. I’m sure whatever he is up to, the Lord-Commander will deal with it.”

With the crunch of dirt under boot, the Fatebinder walked over and took a position next to Orisas, his mein dour. “Forgive me for eavesdropping, master Orthos, but you mentioned a leader of a tribe rallying against the Imperium? Do you know why this, erm, Tzant, is trying to do such a thing?”

---

Orthos decided his answer, and was able resist laughing when the Fatebinder said, “Tzant.”

“The recruiters came to my village a few weeks ago saying that the land, ‘Italia’ shall not be taken by foreigners and this land is for the tribes and stuff like that. He's rallied several tribes to make a threat, but you'll likely take him out and his tribes.”

Orthos made sure he didn't offend the Fatebinder and tried to be respectful.

---

Fangir nodded slowly. “Ah, good old provincialism. I wouldn’t worry too much about that, master Orthos, unless your village is in need of protection from this brigand. There have been many tribal chiefs over the years that have tried to stand before the purpose of the Imperium, before the light of civilization, fiends who had wished to turn back the march of the years. They have all, to a man, failed. Many men fear what they do not understand, or cling to their own petty authority instead of embracing the enlightenment that we, and the Imperium through us, represent. Tribalism is but the last vestige of the time that was, not the time that is, gasping for air as we stamp it out.” At the Fatebinder’s side the squadleader nodded, and then spoke aloud.

“I shall leave you to your journies, Orthos, though it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My men and I must return to your posts- I wish you safe travels, in the Light, and may God grant you keen eyes and clean kills.”

The squadleader turned away, speaking with his soldiers for a brief time before mounting his horse. In a matter of moments the outriders were away, their grey cloaks fading to near invisibility in to the gathering gloom of evening.

---

Once Orisas and his men were out of view the men made their long way back to the Italia Legions campsite. They looked at their arms with curiosity, but they concluded that they’d deal with it back at the camp. At least this would quicken the combat that Ted was hoping for.

[Ulls]

Town of Ego

Jeb was in the middle of the village. He was teaching the people of his tribe the form of writing by drawing them what he remembered of the Sioux writing but he put a significant amount of English to try add familiarity to the nomad. He called this Tradespeak, he thought it would be also known as Commonspeak but most language was formed on trade and warfare. Among this, he decided to make it simple out first and then add more complex but Jeb wasn't a wordsmith by any stretch of the meaning.

Jeb was surprised that some took this up to study it. Most of them were those who formed the craftsmen and traders in Ego despite their economy was still structured around barter as food, hides, and copper goods are considered money for the people. Jeb believed that writing was a big step within crafting a powerful culture for Ego. The next to Jeb was to cement the Night Owl Teachings and the shamanism he crafted. Incidentally, Paranhutan had started to ask many questions about Jeb's shamanistic religion and of the his patron spirit the Night Owl. Jeb told the same stories that he said to the people before he took over the tribe.

Her questions were more defined that anyone who ever asked him. He had to make up more of the religion and she seem mostly mixed but she understood what the religion was. She left to her former home one three nights ago and came back.

" Warlord, I think I have an idea." She said to Jeb

Jeb turned around and saw her holding dye within a bowl. Each one was of three different colors; blue, green, and black. She put the bows on the ground and he gave his adviser with a questionable look.

" What's with the dye Paranhutan?" Jeb asked her.

" Your people, the people of the tribe of Ego have no images of the spirits you speak of. You speak of these spirits like you don't respect them, like you made them up." She said to him.

Jeb's demeanor changed to a more surprised look.

" What do you mean by that?"

She gave a smirk as she spoke.

" It seems I was right."

Jeb shook his head in defeat and he saw the adviser get closer.

" Every tribe gives praise to their gods, spirits, and ancestors. They paint their colors as a symbol for respect, build totems to respect our spiritual guides, even our shamans know the stories of their tribes and accept the changes as their tribe gets conquered or conquers." The adviser said as she puts her hand on Jeb's shoulder.

The warlord turns to her and asked," you're saying Ego has no true identity?"

Paranhutan nods," before the tribe you conquered became known as Ego, it was called Inikiwe."

She motions him to follow her to walk outside of the village as she continues;

" This tribe was know as farmers and the occasional craftsmen. The former chieftain's father asked us for protection. Green Mountain wasn't an honorable chieftain, but he was fair and the goods of this village were good for my husband and I told him to enforce our guides and immortalized our ancestors."

Jeb went to the center of the town and wondered about how he once saw the village months ago.

" I'm guessing that the Inikiwe were too poor to build a totem?" Jeb asked.

" I have came to this village many times before you turn this into your "empire". Now I believe that Ego is wealthy enough to do something like that, we can start with the esteem warlord to start making his body a living "presence" for the Night Owl and the spirits that he represents in his life." She said.

Jeb gave a nod and they went back to his home. The home was actually the form of a longhouse. It was more earthen and wood as many of the homes in Ego took the presence instead of pure wood, straw, or teepee. Though the idea of the longhouse wouldn't be seen for another few thousand years. Still, with Jeb's growing nation of Ego becoming more advance, he will need to make the accommodations. He open the door made out of bark and copper hinges to the bowls of dye.

" Now," Paranhutan said to him," strip to your undergarments so I may apply the markings."

Jeb turned around quickly and chuckled.

" Uh, we're not even married to start doing something like this. I mean if you..." He stopped as he saw Paranhutan's deadpan face.

" Never mind, I'll get undressed."

He started to undress and she noticed that his body had scars. Most were old put some were fresh as they were stab wounds from copper spears. The rest of the scars were small slashes to the wrist, small incursions on the forearms, and a lot others. She examined each and one of them with a curiosity but she didn't know just what they were.

" Are all these scars of war?" She asked as she was feeling them.

Jeb gave a deep sigh," wars of both the mind, body, and spirit."

" Are they tests of the Night Owl?" Paranhutan asked.

" Most of them were before I became a servant with Night Owl. Let's just put that aside and put the markings on me?" Jeb asked.

She started to draw markings with each color. Jeb felt the cold dye on his body as he felt Paranhutan's fingers work in a mysterious moves on his back. Apparently she moved on her chest and arms. It was where he saw some of the markings that she was working on. They were images of swirls, a lynx, and even tattoos of the very spirits he made up. As he tried to look around his body more, Paranhutan grabbed his face and called upon two slaves.

" Bring me darker colors of oakflesh and star willow." She said.

The slaves brought what looks like light brown and some darker extract of blue. She put her hands on his face as she examined Jeb's face and saw that he had a more pale face than anyone she ever knew. Jeb would never tell them why but they still believe him to be from another world sent by his spiritual patron of the night.

" Hold still, this will be your "crown" to your spirits. With these markings you shall honor the very religion you preach. This shall help you gain more respect by your people." She explained.

But before she got a chance to apply it Jeb put his hand up to her.

" Why are you helping me? I killed your husband, conquered your tribe, and turned you into my adviser. If anything, you should try to assassinate me, be vengeful, even this dye colors could be poisonous for all I know." He asked worryingly.

She stared at him for a second before she spoke.

" I was a spoil of war by my husband. I was a wise woman and an adviser to my own tribe before Green Mountain destroyed them and took the women as his spoils. I became his wife and adviser, it is one of the reasons why I decided to surrender to you."

" So I'm similar like him that made you become my adviser?" Jeb asked.

" In some ways yes," she says as she starts to apply on the colors.

" You are both warriors. My former husband was one that only cared about victory. You cared about proving something. He woke up at the day and worshiped his ancestors. The moon and wayward spirits are your guidance. However, I see a future that you're trying to steer Ego. This is something that makes you different." She explains as she's halfway done with the colors.

She finish the primary colors and started to add the darker colors around the outer coat of the marking on Jeb's face and finally finished after an hour of carefully applying it.

" There, the markings are done. These are the images of your stories, your scars, and the spirits that will make up the tribe. This is usually made for the passing of youth to adulthood or the markings of a victorious warrior. You have the victories and you have claimed yourself the title of warlord unto the various tribes you conquered. Now you need a name."

" Why would I need a new name?" Jeb asked.

"Because your old name doesn't reflect what you have done. You are the leader of this tribe, its shaper and it creator. Like the tribe, it comes from a new place of nature and so you must change with it." Paranthutan said.

Jeb gave it a thought. He always thought that just being Jeb would be good enough but since he knew that it was by his hand that the tribe became what they are now. He never saw himself as a warrior and warlord until now. He didn't know what was on his face but it feels cold, like it does all over his body. He only knew that the colors were those of certain wolves and owls in the region.

Despite the beliefs that he is trying to spread, he didn't feel much like an owl. He wasn't all that much like an owl. If anything, he felt like the wolf. He was someone who felt the need to wander around and be one with nature. He never had a "pack" but it didn't matter, he always followed his own path.

" My name is Mutawotu, Wild Wolf. I know it may sound strange but its something that I have considered in my life." He said.

" How does Wild Wolf come to you Jeb?" Paranthutan asked.

" It goes with my nomadic nature." Jeb got up and looked at his markings as he continued;

" I always embraced nature. It's something my sister taught me but I never had anyone as family until now. I only thrust myself into leadership because I wanted vengeance, to prove Green Mountain that he shouldn't be so high and mighty when surprises happen."

He grabs his clothes and looks at Paranthutan.

" I don't know how to craft Ego without help. The culture is going to be new, built on the bodies of warriors and shamans. These markings will help in making the culture grow and I will like you to be the leader to help bring the people together."

She walked up to him and touch his chest put he pushes it away.

" I don't want you as a wife or anything intimate. I want you as something more. You are already one of my advisers but I want you to be my leading wise women. I want you to help reinforce the teachings and make new traditions to establish a tribal identity for Ego. This will help us when we march up north and go to the land across the sea."

She moves away from him as she gives him a puzzling look," what is land like?"

" Its a place that have things that will guarantee the future of Ego. It is a place that will have its troubles, its torment, and its spoils. The things there will be will have an impact on all of Ego and those who we meet." Jeb explained with some seriousness in his voice.

" Then that means you will have to replace the shaman."

" Already had plans to do that. If I can centralize the power then it will make the conquest up north to that much more efficient. We have a lot of things to do and building a empire from a tribe will be a very difficult task. However, with the dock nearly finish and I have plans for things like ships, a totem, and a flag to represent us."

Paranhutan gives a nod from her orders. She didn't know what truly lie north but to the warlord, it laid the foundation of something that will change the world forever. Jeb didn't know if Ego can make it but he will be damn sure to make it a reality.

[Oudland]

Gilead, South Arabia
Investigating the Blue Road

Donovan rode atop a pale grey mare. She was a beautiful steed, a gift from the master of a village that resided within the borders of Gilead (of which there were many he had yet to visit). She was fast, too, and gentle in her temperament. It had taken many months for the wild mare to warm to him, but a friendship had blossomed. Donovan had named her Ziyadah.

A few of his sergeants rode mares as well dark in coat but similiar in their disposition. The stallions themselves who had been wrangled were full of wrath, wild and strong. It would take much more work before they were rideable.

The rest of his soldiers walked in three columns of twenty, brought up from behind by a smaller contingent of fifteen men overseen by one of his favorite lieutenants, Jaih. The young warrior was proving to be a capable leader. They carried an assortment of studded clubs, mauls, and spears. Each soldier carried a knife and sling as well, equipped with a supply of oval lead weights for ammunition.

Donovan was hunting rebels. His people, innocent traders for the most part, were being assaulted by followers of a God called Moloch. Along the road, they had left evidence of their evil: Men staked into the ground and left to die in the withering sun. Vultures lined the roads from Tarut to New Sheba, and the buzzing of flies was maddening.

"Halt!" Donovan cried out suddenly, and the order was echoed by his sergeants. Before them stretched a shallow valley. Passage through would be cramped, and they would be vulnerable. Jaih trotted up alongside him atop his brown bare, and surveyed the cliffside.

"Something here is not right, Mukarrib."

Donovan nodded, gritting his teeth beneath his mask. He turned back to study his men. They were alert, but tired. The trek up the blue road, through the was no easy task. He turned back to Jaih and said, "We'll go on foot. You, five warriors, and I. Along the top--", he pointed to the top of the cliffs, following their slope with his finger, "--and further down. From there, we should be able to spot an ambush."

Jaih grunted his approval and wheeled his horse around, shouting commands and selecting five soldiers before dismounting. Donovan leaned down to whisper in Ziyadah's ear, "I'll be back, old girl," and jumped down from his saddle Then, he hefted his banded club and led his men on their ascent. When they reached the clifftop, all of them were sweating and breathing heavily.

"A bit of excercise for you, Mukarrib." Jaih was grinning. He himself wasn't as winded as the rest of them. He was the youngest of the warriors at seventeen years, and the smallest. Donovan waved a hand at him. He had never been in the best of shape, but since arriving in the desert, he had improved greatly.

Then, they all heard it.

 But it was too late.

The humungous boulder smashed into Jaih and sent him careening off of the cliff face. Donovan whipped his gaze towards the direction it had came, a low sloping hill, from which a large, disorganized group of warriors were sprinting towards them, screaming curses.

His men panicked and tried to scramble back down the cliffs, ignoring Donovan as he bellowed for them to instead run alongside the top for a chance at a defensible position.

They fell upon him.

Donovan roared in defiance, swinging his club in a fury. He cuaght one of them in the jaw, then connected with another's shoulder, eliciting a satisfying crunch. Before he could maneuver away from the cliffside, one of the ambushers kicked him square in the chest.

Arms pinwheeling, Donovan tried and failed to keep his balance. As he plumetted from the cliff, his leg caught a root and sent him into a spin, his robes billowing out around him. Then, all was darkness as he connected with hard stone. 

Sometime later...

Donovan awoke, ears ringing. The concept of up and down, left and right eluded him for several minutes before he realized that he was being carried upon a makeshift stretcher. He tried to groan, but ended up choking and gagging. The pain in his head was too much to bare. His throat felt dry and cracked. Through his one good eye, he watched a masked man press close. The face of a jackal.

"Mukariib?" 

Donovan wheezed and coughed until the man pressed a wineskin to his lips. Water trickled into his parched mouth for a moment, and he worked to move it around as much as possible before swallowing.

"You survived the fall."

Donovan faintly remembered a foot planting squarely in his chest, forcing him over the cliffside.

Did I?

His ribs were throbbing. He tried to feel the tender spots with his hand, but the pain was too much. His entire body was sore, and he was nauseous.

Cracked rib? Probably a concussion... Holy shit, Jaih!

"Jaih?"

The warrior shook his head.

"Did anyone else fall?"

"The men who left you up there were pelted with stones from above. They, too, are with Mother Nokta, but Azazl shall judge their hearts."

Donovan growled, "And find them wanting."

The warrior nodded solemnly and went on.

"You are in no position to fight, Mukariib. You are hurt badly. The height you fell... was impressive. We are almost back to Tarut."

Oh, good to hear.

He turned his head and watched the landscape drift by. He was drowsy, but fought against the sleep that threatened to overtake him. In his mind, he saw the face of the man who had kicked him over the edge. He had been smiling.

In his mind, Donovan imagined the man dancing on the end of a rope in New Sheba.

[Conwy-Shire]

Amadeus Mulcahy | Part 1, Chapter 11
July 9th, 63 A.G.
July 9th, 1 C.R. (Colchian Reckoning)

A searing pain erupted along my side as the igneous rock rolled out of the cart and dropped to the earth with a satisfying thwump. I stood there, arms shaking, chest heaving as my lungs snatched in the stuffy July air. Job complete. One more hewn marker for more competent men to stand up and chisel out, an eternal monument to stand watch over the planned road. As I straightened my left side, uncurling from a pained position like a blooming petal in spring, the process of digging and uprighting began, and the small menhir began to take shape. I watched in a state of near-nausea, ragged breaths and swimming thoughts barely processing the work-gangs progress. Not for lack of desire to help, but because of the imperfections of my body I was forced to watch, receiving sympathetic grins from the men doing the real work, and I was thankful for their understanding. Though we had been working for scant hours demarcating the route of a new arterial road, a highway in the modern parlance, I felt the months tugging at my consciousness.

I had not yet returned from Kutaizsur to Ashtur in the month since violence had engulfed the streets of the former - unintentionally swelling the size of the League of Helios. Unintentionally - I frowned at that - for there was no reason behind the virtual annexation of the town, no legal basis for its integration. In fact there was no law in this land. That had always rubbed against the edge of my thoughts, this was a virgin land in the Western sense, iuris terra nullius. Oral customary law held sway of course, a patchwork of malleable norms few dared violate for fear of possible retribution, but that was the same as no law in any modern sense. No active enforcement, no codification; worthless. I mulled that over for a few minutes, before the road marker was deemed complete by the teamsters located with me in the cart, and our procession moved on.

Another stone was rolled out of the back of the cart, another sharp pain in my side - I must have pulled a muscle group whilst loading the cart back in Kutaizsur - and the work began anew. It was fortunate enough that that town was of a decent size, with enough hands to specialise and provide advanced services, but it was in the town's location that it had struck gold, on multiple levels of meaning. Not only was the town furnished with a shallow mining operation nearby, the source of our mini-menhirs, but it was from this area that the gold placer-mining operations downstream were sourced. Coupled with trade through the few northern passes which reportedly opened out into the lands of some Bhumidol culture, the area was wealthy enough, and (bolstered by some Kutaizsuri sympathetic to our intentions of order) a garrison - perhaps larger than most in the League - had been established. That brought the official count of membership up to four: Ashtur, Uruzriam, Lanchkhutam and Kutaizsur, though countless subsidiary villages and nomads also pledged support in exchange for trade.

It was all the more reason for the rule of law to be established, for as the League grew it subsumed different norms, unspoken rules which would clash between the towns and villages tied together by trade alone. That would require paper, a mill for which would have to be built, whilst the writing implements would take less effort or manpower to gather. It was the mill that featured front and centre however, and its' design would require the impeccable oversight only I could provide - in person.

A polite grunt from one of the teamsters pierced through the fog of thought, and it was time to go again. With raised legs and shifted weight I quickly pulled myself back into the tray of the cart, and the team moved further south-and-west, following the lazy course of the river beside us towards Ashtur, towards home.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Part 3, Chapter 17: The Steel Fist

July 8th, 63 AG

Outside the walls of the Ivory Palace, the summer sun beat down without relent, making men seek the shelter of shade trees and the indoors, even in the capital of the Imperium. No such heat touched the council chamber of the Lords-Militant, where I sat upon my chair of polished black pine listening to the oaths sworn by Alexander, the newest addition to that council. He stood at the center of the dais in the granite council chamber, his garb the slate gray greatcoat that many men of the Imperial Armies chose to wear in the heights of summer, indistinguishable from a common footsoldier save by the brass tabs that marked his shoulders.

It was not to me he spoke today, but to the Emperor, my grandson sitting in silent reverie at his chair set only slightly above those of the others that wreathed the table. Oaths, promises, vows, they meant one and the same to barbarians beyond our borders, but the virtues of a man's word and bond were many that I had introduced steadily to the Germanic folk that now composed the lion's share of the Imperium. Words written in wind, to be sure, but oaths taken and remembered before God and men were not easily cast aside by those who knew they were watched by a higher power. The contract of syllables now concluded by the newest Lord-Commander was more extravagant than that which was imprinted upon the hearts of most citizens of the fair nation beyond the cool walls of marble, but he was now to hold as much power as any other man in this room, to lead over five thousand souls in time of peace and war. The Great Companies together represented a more powerful military force than any this world had yet known, and even the command of a single unit was enough to lay low many lesser kingdoms and peoples.

And so Alexander had earned his command, rising through the ranks from his position as commandant of one of the lancer squadrons of the Third, his mettle tested in battle and his loyalty forged in both the furnace of the Schola and in the crucible of war which burnt away chaff from the weak in our midst. No, the dour young commander that now seated himself around the table that was the primary features of the Citadel of Swords was no upstart, no political appointee. That was the way of the Imperium; merit, and proven skill, those were the ways to the reins of power. Every man from the oldest in the form of Lord-Commander Vertisan, returned for a time to Mara from his campaign in Italy for the investiture of the newest Lord-Commander, and now Alexander, had been chosen by myself and Vladimir from the thousands of men that served the Obsidian Throne. I knew the dangers of one man leading a better part of the military might of our vast nation, and had taught my son and his progeny of just such risks. To become a Lord-Commander was to be adjudged beyond reproach, and to have committed oneself utterly to the ideals upon which the Imperium had been founded.

Vladimir spoke first, my grandson's voice now somewhat touched with age, for the better I adjudged it, ambition tempered with pragmatism and wisdom.

"We now formally greet you, Alexander, as Lord-Commander of the Sixth Great Company. May you wear your title in such a manner that men call you worthy of it, and may your men acquit themselves with honor at all times under your command."

Around the table the Emperor's gaze swept. Though I remained silent, my position as Hegemon both inextricably inside the military chain of command and isolated from it, each of the other commanders added their own blessings for the newly appointed leader of men. Vertisan wished the youth wisdom in both peace and war, Merisos that the new commander would know when to draw his sword, and when to leave it sheathed, and so on. It was an interesting experience, as I found many with the foremost men of the Imperium, seeing how the seeds I had set to root so many long years ago bore their fruit. In the words of those men who commanded the military might of Europe I found echoes of myself, of my own desire to do justice fairly but not harshly, to push forward the bounds of civilization but not bind barbarians to a way of life which they had yet to perceive of as their own.

As the last warrior spoke, silence returned again to the chamber for some brief moments, each man in contemplation. Then I spoke aloud, my voice returning our minds to the more regular function of the Citadel, which was to discuss the ways and means that the armed forces of the Imperium may triumph in their aims of furthering the Imperial Will that touched upon every aspect of Europe at present.

"Vertisan, your reports have been most enlightening as to the situation in the west, in Fenis and the Italian Peninsula. Your own words, though, may give us insight that such writings have missed. Tell us, how fare the Fourth and the Third?"

The report was longwinded, which was Vertisan's style, but no less interesting for its length. He, and Merisos separately, were upbeat about the progress of the campaigns, especially the Fourth's passage along Italy's Adriatic coastline. They had passed onward from where the squabbling remnants of Fenis had held sway, and the rolling upcountry of Italy was proving more than receptive to strong, stable governance, and the Explorators reported great passion from the locals when the riches of trade and the word of God were mentioned and shared. That was all to the best. There were some hiccups, of course. Brigandry on the rise in the lands slowly being absorbed by the Third in northern Italy, continued resistance from the fractured city-states of what Fenis had been. Indeed, even in the south, where logic would dictate little to no resistance, Vertisan had recently been confronted with isolated reports of some strange bandit-lord raising men specifically against our expansion, some savage who the locals named Tzant.

But it was nothing of major note. The Fourth's campaign was more of a consolidating action than a war, while the Third's continued rumbling through the foothills of the southern Alps was reaping a treasure in vaguely educated citizens and marginally developed infrastructure. The death of that Sojourner, as I mentally called other men sundered from my time and returned to that which was now, had sent their old holdings in to disarray, fertile ground for the stabilizing influence of the Imperium, though there were as yet those who resisted on the, well, partially legitimate grounds that their current chaos would not have occurred save for the actions of the Fourth. It was a fair complaint, but one I had to overlook for the greater good of the inhabitants of those lands.

Merisos' report held more detail than that of the campaign wending south in to Italy, but for all that detail it was the very soul of brevity. There was little of import, after all, except the nuance of conquest. Villages taken, resistors put to the sword or shipped eastward for resettlement, the establishment of garrisons and Outlooker outposts throughout the rugged border regions. Much had been made of the fact that the folk of Fenis used iron and some amount of steel in their weapons, but the quantities had proven limited and unindustrialized; though less than optimal in terms of casualties, the seizures over the winter and spring of the means of production of such armaments had drastically decreased the risks to the soldiers of the Third, and Merisos cautiously estimated that the entirety of the warring Fenis sub-states could be brought to heel within five years or less of continued campaigning.

I called for a light white wine from one of the servants as Merisos spoke. I adjudged his assessment overly cautious, given how in time the fragmented states would see the writing on the wall and begin bending the knee to their new masters, but there was also wisdom to be seen in avoiding rampant optimism. These people of northern Italy and the Alps were, after all, the first major polity of significant organization that the Imperial Armies had faced. The process of integrating them would be one much longer than any previously undertaken, for they had their own established sense of national identity, as tenuous as it was with the death of their lord, and identities were not something the Imperium had much practice eroding. Deportations were already ticking up in to ratios that were putting stress on the Brothers of Man and their communities, which was a problem that would need to be addressed before many years passed indeed.

But that was a problem of scale more than anything. As our lands expanded in the north and the east, more wild country beyond man's cultivation were added to the leagues that the Imperium called her own, more places where dissidents could be settled alongside loyal men and thereby removed from the communities which had birthed their reticence. Good men had come out of such places, even exiled slaver kindreds from generations ago now produced soldiers of repute in southern Presna; Merisos himself hailed from such a lineage, and acutely appreciated the need to convert and reform those who would not, or could not at a given point in time, accept the higher order that the Imperium for all men promised and preached.

As Merisos concluded his report the Citadel fell quiet, the Lord-Commanders and the Emperor assimilating the information that now teemed within the walls of their minds. Much had already been known, but as Vladimir had said, to gain via missive and to hear from the lips of those who had seen were two different matters altogether. Fenis was a knotty problem that had thankfully been provided with a solution for its unraveling. These civilizations headed by other Sojourners bothered me greatly, though I spoke of my concerns to few save Tanya and my grandson. No force of antiquity could oppose our vision, our civilizing mission to the darkest corners of the world, for we were in many ways a kingdom brought from out of another time. Steam engines whistled in the factories of Kniepper, stamped parts of fine-cast steel machined in the workshops of cities- true cities- across Malfes and other provinces arming the soldiers of a power which had yet to see its like in the world. No tribal confederation who strung their bows with the gut of a deer, or used chariots of wood driven by asses, could hope to stand against the tide that now gathered.

These Sojourners, though, they were indeed the problem. Two we knew of, my grandson and I, one in obvious evidence somewhere in Norsca, in the person of the Crown-Prince I suspected, though precisely how he ruled the tribes and warbands was hidden to me. The other was a priest-king to the far east, where Scythia would have been in times to come, and where 'Scythia' now lay under auspices of Christian rule. Both showed levels of organization and sophistication, technologically and socially, which would prove restrictive to assimilation. Oh, it could happen, but the butcher's bill and seeds of disorder sown in such efforts were indeterminate, and not matters I wished to contemplate in too great of detail, for that way lay much guesswork which weighed heavily upon my desire for logical decision-making. My purpose here was clear, but theirs was hidden from me still.

"And you grandfather? Do you have plans here in the capital?"

I was recalled from my reverie by the words of my son, the Emperor, and I flashed a smile around the table. The commanders knew I had been woolgathering, but had come to accept that my mind often ran in channels that were strange to their ways of thinking, and so largely tolerated by inattention in good grace. I nodded towards Vladimir, and then gestured towards Hadrian, who nodded in turn.

"Indeed I do. The Imperial Arsenal will, no doubt, be very interested in the reports from my campaign north alongside the Fifth, and Hadrian and I have worked long in our journey south to compose refinements and accounts of the operation of the bombards."

Casting my gaze around the table, I could tell the other commanders were eager to hear of the performance of the new weapons, but perhaps too polite to say as much out loud. Nonetheless, they all deserved to know as much as I could provide them with- these weapons, after all, gave a new lease to the power of our armies. Even as the petty kingdoms and tribes about the Imperium were just beginning to complete their first true static defenses, at great cost in treasure and labor, here we had the perfect weapons to bring all that posturing and vainglorious arrogance crashing to earth once more.

"They performed as I expected, and outlined in my missive on the subject." I held up a hand to forestall debate. "Yes, many of you thought myself optimistic on this matter, but Hadrian saw with his own eyes the effect they had on many small castles between here and Cansivar." The Lord-Commander of the Fifth spoke up at that reference. "Indeed, the Hegemon is right. We leveled thirteen fortresses in a month of no inconsiderable size, most made of at the least worked stone, some secured with true brick and mortar, after the fashion of our own fortifications. Where struck by the energies of the bombards, the stones shattered as a man strikes a piece of cheap pottery, overthrowing those defenders upon the ramparts in short order. Sustained volleys caved in entire defensive works in a handful of hours."

"Even so. My own misgivings were borne out in their accuracy, and the time it took to reload the great devices. They are also desperately slow to move over wooded country and hills due to their weight. The foreman at the Arsenal has been machining new weapons though, weapons designed to overcome those limitations. These cannons, as I call them, should prove more mobile and accurate, if I have any knowledge of the art of their fabrication; with them I look forward to being able to discomfit entire enemy formations with lethal intent, a luckily cast stone from a trebuchet might roll through lines of foes, but with reproducable application. The full report will be disseminated by my secretary to your offices."

The Lord-Commanders and my grandson seemed favorably impressed with my report. True cannons, the like of which the Arsenal was at work casting the parts for, would make these heavy bombards seem like the unwieldy prototypes they were. More expensive to manufacture, to be sure, but the Imperium did not lack for material wealth, or indeed for the metals to use for the creation of both the bronze and steel creations I wished to test. That was the crux of why I returned to Mara. Cannon would, paradoxically, enhance the stability of the internal state, for their utility could lay low even the strongest of fortifications, but their creation was expensive enough to prevent our enemies from adopting them. It was a good place to be.

[Achidyemay]

"You can not be serious!" Sirena exclaimed. The three of them were leaving a theater, a squat but expansive building North of Seoul. They had slowed a bit as the walked and the other people leaving the theater began to go around them.
"Why do you always wait so long to tell me these things? Why do I have to ask, can't you just tell me?"
Everett looked sheepish, but was also smiling, he had known Sirena for a long time know and had never actually seen her angry. The exasperation in her voice was evident, however, and for this Everett apologized.
"You had better be sorry, telling me you're leaving only a day before you go, who even does that?" She punched him in his arm. They had gotten onto the street proper and turned left, heading back into the city. It would be a long walk, but Everett wasn't one to complain and Jay, the Koreaphile who had convinced them to study abroad this semester, was never one to complain about walking through Korea. He did complain, actually a lot, but he was never serious.
"What the man does and doesn't tell you is his own business." Jay had pulled his Rubik's cube out of his pocket and was fiddling with it idly. He was just being antagonistic to Sirena, not actually on Everett's side, and, unsurprisingly, Everett came to Sirena's defense.
"I should've told you sooner, but I only booked the flight a few days ago and I didn't really remember to tell you." Sirena believed him, of course, she had been experiencing his forgetful nature firsthand since orientation week freshman year.
Jaylyn had originally brought up the plan to spend one of their Sophomore semester's at one of the "sister schools" or whatever they're called in Korea almost immediately and Sirena, one of the other Korean fans in their group also decided to go. Everett, who happened to be in the right place at the right time, saw them practicing hangul one day and thought that it'd be an interesting thing to learn and do, and was on-board with the idea. They had flown over together (Sirena had booked the tickets for them well in advance and planned everything out well) and, aside from the college provided food, they ate barbecue for a week. They met up with some of their friends who had exchanged over in the year prior and generally had a great semester. The classes were in English, to Everett's relief. He knew a good amount of Korean, by now, but he found himself wishing that he could just understand all languages on more than one occasion. And now it was time for them to leave, Jay had gone ahead and ordered his own ticket back (some re-hashed argument/complaint about the seats Sirena had gotten them) and now they were all fending for themselves.

The next morning was a good one, Everett had offered to stay up late and they could have a bit of a parting celebration, but it fell through. They were pretty exhausted and had ended up taking a cab back after walking half the distance. So they got to bed at a reasonable time and they all got up early enough to catch breakfast in the cafeteria. Ha-Yun and Seong where also there this morning. They talked a bit, mostly about the good times they had, and how they had had a great time together. The two promised that if they were ever in Milwaukee again, they'd come and visit.
Everett drained the last of his orange juice and hugged them all goodbye before going back up to get his luggage. It wasn't a whole lot to pack, since he tended to travel light, and he was done with plenty of time to spare getting to the airport. He called a cab and then went downstairs. Sirena and Jay were both there, waiting in surprise. They hugged again.
"See you in the States." Everett said.
"Have a safe flight," Sirena said.
"Don't crash the plane." Added Jay.

It took a surprising amount of time to get to Incheon and also a surprising amount of time for him to find his way around. Public transportation had never agreed with Everett, having been raised almost entirely without it (His first train, bus, cab and uber ride would all happen when he got to Milwaukee to start college, he had been in a plane before, oddly, since his family would vacation at the EAA fair). When he did board his plane, it was smaller than he expected, but he remembered he was just flying to Suvarnabhumi Airport in Bangkok, where he would face a layover, and then to a Portugese airport, then to Maryland, and then, finally, he would arrive in MKE. It was more than he wanted, but he wasn't about to complain, this way, at least, he get's to finally go to Europe. If only for an hour or two.
Arriving in Bangkok was intense, he had never been to a city quite like it before. He was used to the tall cities of Korea, but Bangkok wasn't really tall, it was just... everywhere. There was a long while before his next flight and he took a cab to Phra Nakhon. His plan wast to see the Wats. Angkor Wat would be the big score, of course, he had always had a thing for large stone temples. But sadly, it was tantalizingly out of range. Instead he would regale himself with that rich Buddhist culture. By the time he got to the temple, however, the sky had darkened considerably. The wind was starting to whip between the buildings and the sky looked darker every minute. Everett quickly moved into the cover of the temple, just as fat drops of rain began to hit his head.
He pulled out his cellphone and looked up the weather, he was alarmed when he saw the 15 minute explanation, going from light green cloud cover to a dark and angry looking red. Well this was unexpected. As he pulled up the airports website to see if his flight was cancelled, he idly wondered what could be up. Could a hurricane form in between the Philippines? Cyclone, he corrected himself. Or was it a typhoon? He debated the pedantry of the situation he was in before the web page finally loaded revealing that his flight hadn't been cancelled. Going back to the weather app proved that this bad whether was only going to be a brief pass. That being said, the wind was howling louder than the traffic. Ever curious, and confident that the surrounding structures would protect him, he left the inside of the temple and stood beside it. He was nearly knocked over from the ever changing wind. He looked up at the swirling clouds. In that moment he thought of the time a weatherman had gotten a chance to talk to his fifth grade class. "While a tornado could theoretically form anywhere, the conditions are really only favorable in the American Midwest. We call this area Tornado Alley."
"'Please don't be a tornado." Everett found himself whispering at the sky. He wouldn't have to worry about the clouds for much longer, however.

Being struck by lightning is an odd thing. It's hard to see it coming, since by the time you see it it's already there. Lightning is a thing you see and experience in one motion.

---

"Baaaaallllllllllssss" Groaned Everett. He tried to sit up, but his head swooned and he ended up falling back over, onto his side with a faint squish. He was wet. This was not good. Lord knows he probably pissed himself or something. He tried to sit up again, trying to channel his inner Roy Sullivan. This didn't work well, but his third try he found that if he focused on squeezing his eyes shut and then went through the motion of sitting up, instead of trying to tell which way to sit up, he succeeded somewhat and could move into a sitting position. Water continued to lap around his body, and Everett was concerned with how it was moving. When he finally managed to open his eyes, his suspisions were only confirmed. He was naked.
Plus he was in a small pool of water, which wasn't all that great.
Plus he was in a jungle, of some sort.
"Well great, I'm hallucinating." Was the conclusion that Everett came up with. His everything was stiff and sore, but oddly, when he looked for burn marks from the lightning, he didn't find anything.
"One helluva hallucination, are you even allowed to hallucinate flora you haven't seen before, or is that like, the rule?" Everett wasn't a fan of being alone, and tended to talk out loud whenever he was. He stood up, his faculties were returning to him pretty quickly now and he managed to stumble over to a tree. The ground was covered in dead leaves.
"I'm gonna get bitten by a spider, and then I'll be double hallucinating." He knew that all parts of that sentence were stupid, it was a joke. He thinks he's funny.
"Just gotta find a fig leaf, then I can really start to enjoy this garden of eden." Reeaaal funny. Clearly he was making jokes to distract himself from the obviously stressful situation of waking up naked in a forest alone. Distantly, he heard moving water.
"There we go, just gotta get to that stream and follow it down. It'll be fun. Might even go for a swim, it's kind of muggy." He didn't intend to swim. Swimming is not a thing he's good at. He's also referencing that adage that if you're lost in a woods, follow the stream down and you'll find civilization. He's been lost in the woods before. When he was younger him and his best friend were lost in the woods for nearly a full night. They had gotten lost in a swamp and couldn't find the trail off the sorta island they were on. Things weren't easier when the dusk fell. If only he had had a phone with a screen so he could google maps his way out, which reminds him...
"Wait a minute, where's my phone!" When you're naked and alone in the woods, it's important to focus on the little things. Everett shook his head and moved on. He could ask questions when he had someone who could answer them and for now his survival skills were taking over. He reached the river, it was a wide mass of slowly meandering water flowing to his left. Using the sun and going off the assumption that is was later in the day, he determined the water was flowing roughly south, although he was at a bend in the river. Now that he had a direction, he took off down it. Being totally naked has a sort of freeing effect and the jungle was not at all dense at the bottom leading him to believe that he was in more of a tropical deciduous forest, which means he's likely still in Thailand. Which is a good sign.

The bad sign was when he reached the mouth of the river and there was still nobody around. He waded into the ocean a bit, dipping a hand into the water for a quick taste. It was salty. This was the ocean, the estuary of a huge river, and he had yet to see anyone. Perplexing, and Everett was definitely confused. Nevertheless, he had a plan. He would build himself a hut and wait. Easier said than done, it would seem.

[Holy Tedalonia]

Chapter 6: They readied themselves to poke the bear

Italia Legion Encampment
Ted had received a report that the scouts had returned, but what intrigued Ted was the scout group that was led by Orthos. Orthos encounter with the Imperium made Ted ponder heavily and enthusiastically about his next decision to stopping the imperiums advance. After Ted finishes pondering his decision he faces the messenger.

"That was one heck of a encounter for Orthos... send him to me after your done relaying the message. I want teams of 10 to ambush and attack Imperium scouts. Steal their weapons and armor, but also try and capture them as prisoners. After this is finished send a diplomat to them, and demand them to stop their advance upon Italy, but also return their troops back. I want to be on good terms with this Imperium, but we must condemn their expansion into Italy. I also want the men to unpack the straws and attach the straw upon them. This will allow camouflage within the wheat fields, and also remind them to stay in the wheat fields. Now go relay the message and send Orthos."

The messenger rush off to converse the message with the squad leaders and soldiers.

Later Orthos approached Ted who was laying against trees and said, "the place was impressive, but they gave me the impression of unfriendlyness and they seem to act like they own the place."

"Well, you're going back and joining their military. I want you and your men to be a spy, and if the diplomacy fails. I want you to gain a high up position within their military, and if possible lure their troops in a vulnerable position. You are the best hope if diplomacy fails."

"I'll tolerate them if it means victory, so you can count on me."

"Good, leave when you're ready. I need to manage the rebellion, and I expect to not hear much from you. This is a sensitive mission and I'm putting a lot of trust in you. If you betray us then I'd be very disappointed and it would make this rebellion weaker, but inorder for a rebellion to succeed then you must trust your comrades."

"Well, let me get ready, and I'll be off."

As Orthos left, Ted couldn't help but wonder who was leading the Imperium. If this man was truly a person from Teds universe, then he would likely be a nerd or geek, since his nations name is similar to a nerdy franchise Ted knew. Recalling the universe Ted was from saddened him. Even if he were to return he doubted he could even get home, since his home was in America, and a ocean blocks his way home. He didn't dislike the stuff he heard from the Imperium, but he felt that their ways on handling non-conforming citizens was being a bit ruff. He didn't even want to be an enemy, but they're moving into the region, and he didn't want to be a citizen.

A Wheatfield not far from the Italia Legions encampment, a day later
The troop stalked the field slowly, and made their approach slowly. They were covered in wheat, and kept their faces hidden. They prepared their bows and spears for the inevitable ambush to come. The men slowly approached the Imperium patrol. The men were silent, and ready to attack. The air reeked with silence and danger.

[Achidyemay]

Little known fact, cream cheese goes well with most sushi rolls. Everett had discovered this not long ago and right about now, he would kill for some cream cheese. For the first few days his diet had consisted of Palmyra fruits (which had actually been easier to retrieve than he had originally expected), but he has since built a fish coral and has begun incorporating the river's freshwater fish into his diet. He's also moved back up stream a ways.
God, this man needs some company.
He thought it's be funny, at first, if he put a muddy hand-print on a coconut and then drew a face on it. But after a few days, Spalding became an invaluable addition to team Everett.
"I have an idea!" Everett announced to Spalding, one evening, coming back from fixing part of the fence in the coral. Spalding gave him his most incredulous look.
"Don't give me that, most of my ideas so far have been good ones!" Everett argued. If Spalding could roll his eyes, they'd be rolling.
"Oh, come on, are you going to lord the fire thing over me forever?" On the third day or so, Everett had tried to start a fire with his glasses a la Lord of the Flies. After several hours sitting in the sun, he ended up giving up and kicking the wood into the river. And, to make matters worse, he ended up cutting his toe in the process. That day had not been a good day.
"Just here me out, okay." The coconut was silent, Everett continued, "if we go further up-river, we may find civilization, clearly there's no one down here, but there has to be someone. This river is huge and all of the big rivers have people." The coconut was about to say something cocky, but Everett shut it up, "I just know there has to be someone else that I can talk to, and, no offense, but I could do without your sass here. Either way we'll be getting out of the rain forest and into more temperate zones, which I'm more used to."
Spalding was giving his patented look of skepticism.
"It's going to work." Everett said, more to himself than to the nut.

Moving North was an easy task, there was nothing to pack, just Spalding and some fruits. There was also nothing to pack the things in. As he passed the coral he broke a few of the fences so that the fish wouldn't get caught, and then went on his way, up with the river. Everett was very antsy as they traveled and jumped at a lot of the animals as they moved through the trees. He was beginning to wonder if this was a good idea.
It started to get dark out and Everett was beginning to worry again. The jungle had thinned out and was starting to become more of a grassland. His feet were caked with mud well up to his shins from the walking, while it hadn't rained for as long as Everett had been there, everything was wet, as though it had been raining before. Everett figured that it was the end of the rainy season.
He crested a small bluff and looked around, sweeping his eyes over what he could see. When he turned east he noticed the tiny lights in the distance. Campfires, it seemed, not a half mile off.
"Finally, Spalding, I've found people!" Everett dropped the coconut and sprinted off towards the flames, his original exhaustion being shelved for now. Spalding just sort of rolled its eyes.
Sprinting in the long grass is pretty hard to do, and the blades kept cutting at his body, but Everett didn't want to slow down. It wasn't until he could make out the figures mingling around the campsite that he realized that simply running naked into their camp, covered in mud and bleeding, was probably not the best approach. So instead he dropped down and tried to formulate a plan. He could try to steal some clothes, but they'd probably recognize their clothes and he doubted he'd fit into there pants. He could try talking to them, they looked asian, but not Korean, which means that was probably a bad idea too. He could scream out and then pretend to be dead and hope they call 911. That actually didn't seem like a bad idea, but what if one of them tried to resuscitate him?
In the end, Everett decided that he was just going to walk up to them, calmly, and explain his situation, calmly, and then ask for some help, calmly. No possible way to escalate the situation. He approached the camp and walked into the area of light of the fire, the sun had set completely behind him and the sky was in gloaming. "Hello," he said, hands covering himself as best he could.
The people were startled.
One exclaimed, wondering what he was, another answered that he must be a banshee. Everett was surprised he knew what they were saying, because he recognized it as sounding vaguely Chinese
and Chinese was not a language he knew.
"I'm not a banshee, I'm just a naked man, I don't know where I am, can you please help me?" One of the natives, that's what Everett figured on calling them, whispered to the others that he must be some sort of lost spirit. There were some nods of ascension, but then there seemed to be a bit of debate over how to proceed.
"Do you know where I am? Could you give me some clothes?" Everett asked. The natives were still whispering to themselves what to do. If they gave him clothing, then that clothing would be touched by death and you could never where it again. But was this a test? Didn't they need to help the spirits and their ancestors? Could they even help him? He was a lost spirit!
"I can here you talking about me, I'm not a spirit..." Everett was starting to get confused, "I'm just white... and I've actually gotten much tanner lately, so..."
He doesn't even realize he's Dead! Look at his hair, it's on fire!
Everett was beginning to have enough of this nonsense and was starting to think this was a joke or something they did. Getting real tired, he walked up to them only for the superstitious folks to back away from him, avoiding his "touch of death". They slowly chased each other around the campfire. Everett really didn't have the energy to deal with this, so he broke off his chase and went into their tent, which he noticed was made of hide. Very cool, in Everett's opinion. He rummaged around for a bit, finding a poncho-like covering he could use, he draped it over him. Outside he heard someone say "But he's taking my stuff!" and then there was more murmured discussion.
He glanced once more about the small tent, but it was difficult to see in the low light, so he stepped back outside.
"Please stop saying I'm dead, I'm not dead." He said, as he closed the flap behind him. "You can have your coat- shirt- thing back when I get home, along with money, proper American Dollars."
Apparently, Everett grossly misjudged the extent and reach of America's authority, because this just seemed to confuse them more. All-in-all, this meeting was not going the way that Everett had hoped. He kinda wanted Spalding back. He sat down by the fire. The natives tittered for a while longer, and it was eventually suggested that he'll be gone with the sunrise and that they should leave him be. Everett was curious where they were getting this dogma from, otherwise they were really good at ad-libing. Where they okay with him just staying in their camp all night? They must be. In the past Everett had met hikers in the trails and they ended up camping together, it was usually a good time ad he never cared, so maybe they don't either. Maybe their assholes who want to keep this running joke going as long as possible.
It was sunrise and Everett rose with the sun. His circadian rhythm had never been better since waking up in wherever he was. The natives were all beginning to get up to. Everett decided it might be funny if he got back at them, and so he left the fire side where he had slept and hid behind one of the tents. When they did get up and move outside, many of them were relieved to find him gone, although the one lamented the loss of his coat. They were fairly pragmatic about the whole thing, they had helped the spirit, no one had died, now it was time to tear down camp and move on. This didn't sit well with Everett, he had expected them to drop the charade when he wasn't around. He walked back around the tent and straight into a man carrying pelts. They fell down and Everett fell on top of him. Pelts went flying. Everett immediately got up and apologized, offering the man his hand to help him up. The man was frozen in shock for a moment and then a look of contemplation and then a look of determination crossed over his face as he clutched Everett's hand and was helped up.
When he didn't immediately die, the man asked, "who are you?"
"Everett, who are you?"
"Hai," the man said, simply. Once again Everett marveled at his ability to hold a conversation with the man. This was easily the third weirdest thing that was going on.
"What are you doing?" Everett asked.
"We're going south to start a rice farm."
"South to where exactly?" Everett inquired.
"I'm not sure yet, but we'll know it when we see it."
"Uhh, okay, do you have a phone or..." he glanced at their tents "a pigeon maybe, that I could send a message with."
Hai looked confused, Everett could tell that the others were listening to their conversation, but trying to look busy. Everett wanted to get home, but he also didn't want to be alone again. Then an idea dawned on him.
"I'd like to help you build your farm."

[The Grim Reaper]

Djedset (Inbuhedj), Egypt

"This is a Cartesian plane, and this is how you draw a map."

Vijaya had made good time, teaching the kids the basics for his grand plan. The advent of algebra had already set Egyptian mathematics ahead by centuries, and he had taught the children some basic algebraic concepts in order to solve equations. Well, introduced. Made aware of. Fine - he'd named algebra, and the children seemed to remember the name more often than not. He had started to vaguely shape an idea for himself in this world, as a philosopher-king of sorts. Perhaps not even a king, for that matter. Vijaya was not altogether fond of nationalistic furore, and to tell the truth, he had always been something of a global citizen. No, he intended for Egypt to be left to its own devices - instead, he wished to establish himself as a man in his own right, as he had planned so many hours ago in the Once Was Future. To that end, he had started to gather that Djedset was something of a trade hub for Egypt - at the mouth of the Nile Delta, it captured virtually all of the traffic from further into the continent towards the Mediterranean. He had also gathered that Egypt was rather an early entry into the game of civilization - the city-states of Egypt had already become rather entrenched. What he knew as the village of Djedset was actually just a small collection of houses in the major city of Inbuhedj, one of the great regional powers of Lower Egypt. To the south, Upper Egypt formed a distinct cultural diaspora of its own, occasionally waging war against, and having war waged upon it by, the people of Lower Egypt.

Vijaya's curriculum was somewhat hacked together, but a bit of it stuck, at the very least. He had slowly begun to gather that Inbuhedj was a city at the brink, seeking to establish itself against the warlords of the south whom had started to more consistently gain the upper hand in the various border skirmishes. He was not one particularly taken with martial arts, but it was starting to become apparent he would need to be at least somewhat literal in such military affairs. He did not have much to offer in terms of technology, but he knew a bit about organizing man and beast, and he intended to prepare a capable corps of logistical officers. A veritable Nilotic merchant marine. To this end, he intended to drill his students in the mathematics and language, hoping that the very oldest amongst them would be able to impress upon their elders the skills they could bring to the battlefield.

Egyptian writing, and indeed all writing, of the era was logographic at best, and would over the years be intentionally obfuscated to protect the importance of a scribe class. Vijaya was not particularly fussed with such long-term, societally harmful goals, facing the prospect of a southern military campaign that could prove terminally decisive within just years. No, he would introduce his flock to the glories of the alphabet with which he was well-acquainted. He toyed with teaching them Korean, a language whose characters had been intentionally designed to be easily taught to the illiterate as meaningful representations of phonemes, but there was a part of him that felt more natural writing the one language he had genuinely understood at home. Mind, he did not plan on teaching them English, but simply to transliterate their native language into the English alphabet.

This task was surprisingly simple, given that Vijaya was fluent in ancient Egyptian. The English alphabet was by no means perfect, nor even good, but it would suffice for representing the ancient Egyptian language, with a native script numbering in the high triple digits of characters. For that matter, it did not face stiff competition - hieroglyphs had developed only recently.

By teaching his students to write, and to do so with a phonetic alphabet, Vijaya hoped that they would be able to develop the skills to quickly ascend into military leadership roles, using written language to quickly exchange orders and allowing them to teach scribes to dictate orders from tablet to the troops. With Vijaya's constant rejoinder to understand the world in terms of logical axioms and numbers, he hoped they would begin to apply their knowledges to reduce complex military logistical questions into algebraic questions, to be prepared and solved by underlings, creating a clear career path (grounded, of course, by Vijaya's own students). Finally, he was slowly developing an understanding of military matters as more than just a game of casualties - with Go, he hoped he could instill an understanding of long-term strategy's relationship with short-term tactics. More importantly, he wished for them to understand the relationship between controlling territory and controlling your enemy.

If, however, he was to put together his proto-cadets corp, he would require funding. He needed to attempt to arm his students, to train them into a genuine fighting force - at least, one able to quickly prove themselves in combat to the extent necessary to secure the chance to prove themselves intellectually.

He set them a drill exercise, a little game of sorts. He did not know enough to elevate them as a technological force, but if there was anything he knew, it was the essence of rhythm. Every good orchestral musician knows that you can hide all the mistakes in the world as long as you all make the same mistake at the same time. Not great musicians, mind, but good will do, for now. He had the children obtain what instruments they could find, intending that they would be able to keep rhythm with them, and set them to task on the march. They were to march in three ranks, the middle offset. It was a simplistic game, but he opined that by allowing the oldest children to distract themselves with the instruments, the youngest would follow their lead in the more monotonous march. He gave the oldest children, additionally, the task of covering as much distance as possible without varying their rhythm. Vijaya was distinctly reminded of the European colonial defeats against the technologically limited Zulu and Maori (or, for that matter, the Vietcong), whose deep understanding of the terrain gave them seemingly supernatural speed by foot against the more heavily weighed-down formations of the Europeans. He hoped that with a strictly drilled march, his little cadre would build for themselves the capacity to tactically outmaneuvere enemies with ease, maximising the effectiveness of a capable, independent officer corps - and, potentially, maximising their ability to stand out from the ranks, becoming both visible and more able to capitalize on enemy weaknesses.

Having set his most important resource to work, this would give him precious time to see about Inbuhedj's secondary resource of note - its geography, as a trade capital.

Vijaya had been informed that, whilst entrenched, the religious beliefs of Egypt were rather fluid and largely preempted by local trends. Although Vijaya was, himself, religious - and, for that matter, monotheistic - he was also keenly respectful of other religious traditions. Genuine respect, of course, required being more than willing to engage with them for...mutual benefit. He had a deck of cards, a few sets of Go pebbles, and a chess set, and, so he had been told, shipments of food coming from the fertile delta to trade for pottery. And, with them, traders who would love to unwind and share stories with a diverse crowd over a spot of gaming - for a price, and just a bit of their attention.

---

"Even a child can play it! It's called Go."

"And even the children can play it? I was not born yesterday; you wish to pit me against someone who knows the rules of the game, and embarass me into gambling away my profits on myself."

"No, I think highly of you, my good sir. No, I wish to pit you against your compatriots. It is simple to play on the sands, we can have many games running at once. When we have established a few for whom the game clicks, then we can begin to consider betting. You shall never need to beat a child! All you need to beat are you friends."

"And what motives do you have for doing this?"

"I can keep you here through the night; you shall gamble, and buy drink, will you not? You will make merry. The brewer has promised to speak for me to the value of my work in bringing you together to purchase our alcohol. And, of course, when you are all ready to start placing money on each other, I would of course take a small amount in exchange for keeping records of the betting."

"You intend to handle the bets of a port by yourself?"

"Of course. Even a child could do it."

A child with over five thousand years head-start on literacy and numeracy, perhaps.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Western Reaches of Promina Province
July 17th, 63 AG

Along one of the few paths of the region the band of guardsmen marched, their mien carefree but their eyes and ears alert. Sabrino walked at the head of the column, hobnailed boots of hardened leather stamping down the dust of the summer in this strange warm land as if he had been born to it. They had not moved south for a time- with the Lord-Commander returned to Mara for a conference with those men greatest in the Imperium, the Fourth had settled in to a slower pace than the driving activity Vertisan had instilled in them. Oh, they advanced, here and there, but only where villages could be clearly found and distinguished and their people brought in to the fold. And with the Great Company moving further away from the cradle of civilization that the Imperium was, those villages and other signs of real habitation were becoming fewer and farther afield.

After some time Sabrino stopped, greeting another group of soldiers bearing the greatcoats of black and white that marked warriors of the Imperium of Man. His squad marched the fluid route between the static sentry-posts, each set within horn-call of the other, to watch the frontier to the west. They were not as alert as might be, sheltering beneath the local broadleaf trees from the gathering summer sun; greatcoats kept off sun as well as cold, but no man in plate armor could be very comfortable marching out in the sun, whatever their protection from the stellar furnace's rays. The report of the sentries was one of a quiet frontier, despite rumors that some strange men were said to be marshaling against the warriors of the Emperor.

Sabrino gestured his men onwards after a minute or so of speech- keeping to the schedule was wise, and no man who took the Emperor's silver could go far wrong following the orders their superiors had set for them. Off to the west a field of wheat, as wild as most of the folk of this region, lay still and dun in the breathless July air. Sweat trickled down the section-leader's collar from his held as he continued his patrol, shortspear resting on his right shoulder, shield held on his back by short leather straps.

[Oudland]

Following his injury, Donovan withdrew from the field and instead sent forth squadrons of soldiers to seek out and kill the heretics who disputed his reign.

Gilead was prospering. The sea offered a bounty, and all of the kingdom reaped the rewards. All three cities were becoming more populous. More and more vessels sailed the waters of the Gulf, and ventured farther and farther up the Black Sea. The temple in Tarut had been built up with stone, and was the tallest building in the city. This was the seat of Donovan's power, and where the council met.

Skilled artisans were cropping up in the region as well. A few had brought innovation to the simple arsenal of Donovan's warriors, including bows and a design for chariots. Donovan rewarded them with salt, which was becoming quite the luxury, along with livestock. He instructed his commanders to begin drilling with the bow, and prototype chariots were under development. Smiths in Dedan had also discovered that by using arsenic in the smelting process of copper strenghtened the metal substantially, allowing it to hold a better edge.

The Aikhtiar (Chosen) were now his elite holy warriors. They wore copper masks worked into the visages of jackals, and still sported the menacing black robes of tradition, though now stylized with the symbol of Azazl. They wielded copper maces and thick banded wooden shields. His military was beginning to diversify, and he formed a regular infantry (drilling with javellin, sling, and club) along with a light cavalry (drilling with bow and club).

Several settlements were beginning to form as outsiders trickled in, mostly around surface deposits of iron and copper. He sent regular patrols here and there to protect them from the wrath and influence of his new enemy. Roads were under construction to connect them to Sheba, Tarut, and Dedan. Dedan was producing many gems from their open pit mines and shafts, and brought forth silver as well... Donovan lnew that soon it would be time to introduce currency to his people. Biding his time, for he knew he must soon pursue open warfare against the rebels, he consolidated his resources and concentrated on retaining his grip on what he had gained, while keeping his eyes on the horizon.

[Holy Tedalonia]

Chapter 7: and I beheld a white horse: and he who sat upon it had a bow in his hand; and a crown given unto him; and set forth to conquer

Wheatfield, Imperium outskirts
As the Imperium men neared the wheatfield the camouflaged men began to formulate their plan. About half of the men hid sat themselves in the wheatfield; staying about a couple meters away, so that they wouldn't get noticed in the conflict, and they by being along the outer perimeter they secured the left and right flank. The other half nocked their bows and prepared to aim.

Cireth the leader of the central position aimed his bow at a young Imperium soldier who was talking to another guard. He aimed his bow at the soldiers head. His orders were to fallback once he fired his arrow, so he had one chance to hit a soldier.

Cireth shouted, "FIRE!!!!"

His arrow released and flew towards the young soldier. Before Cireth could see if it was hit or miss; he turned to his companions making sure they had fired their arrows. After confirming all arrows were shot he shouted his order of retreat, but before doing so he wanted to check if his arrow hit. He glanced back at the soldiers to check the result.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Western Reaches of Promina Province
July 17th, 63 AG

The patrol was walking along a small path some few meters away from a field of golden wild wheat when Sabrino heard a strange voice whip the air, its language unfamiliar, but its tone one of command. Before he even had time to wonder what the voice said, or process where it came from, the section-leader's head jerked sideways, a harsh clang filling his ears and his head ringing with an impact. The sound that came with the impact was one he was all too familiar with though, unlike whatever the word was: arrows.

"Take cover! Bandits!" His second, Isman, hadn't taken any of the projectiles, and had his crossbow unlimbered in a moment, eyes scanning for whoever the shooter was. Sabrino sprawled sideways, his senses struggling to recover, fumbling his sword from its sheathe like he had been trained and throwing himself behind a nearby tree. The arrows had come from the west, he realized in a few moments, and with a shout he directed his patrol to hunt down the brigands.

His own lips went to a small horn he drew from his side in the safety of the shadow of the tree, and three blasts rent the air, high, now low, now high. It wasn't a signal he had had to use recently, but the answering horncalls made the soldier grin savagely; from the north and the south they came, other outriders called to his aid, to hunt down these bastards. Two of his men were down in the dirt of the path, each having taken an arrow from whatever brigands lurked in the acres of wheat. Ansivold was swearing a blue streak, but scanning the west with his crossbow out- the arrow partially stuck in his left arm must not have been serious. The other man, a newcomer who Sabrino couldn't put a name to just this moment, had two arrows broken under him from where he had hit the dirt, both having struck him in the cuirass.

Next to Sabrino lay the arrow that had struck him, deflected by his good rounded helmet. He had no crossbow, and wished for one, but if there were archers out there it was wiser to stay safe for now. A lucky shot could get through even good Imperial plate, though it would have to be pretty lucky. Six of his men, fighting in pairs, had crouched next to the path, the front man covering both with his pavis shield and arming sword while their partners sited over the shields with their repeaters.

After a few moments the patrol's vigilance was rewarded, and Petyor sang out as his crossbow crashed, and crashed, and fired a third time. The thick bolts of the repeater wouldn't punch their way through steel at four hundred yards like a proper siege crossbow would, but the rate of fire was what made the repeaters as valuable as they were, and the mainstay of the Great Companies; bolts able to kill a man at a hundred yards even through good iron, fired as fast as you could work the lever.

"Aye, they're in the wheat boys. Looks like they've tried to cover themselves in the straw. Watch for movement."

Those words were rewarded with other clacks of crossbows firing, other men of his squad sending bolts seeking barbaric flesh. Sabrino thought- no, was sure, as he looked out at the wheatfield- that the brigands were retreating. Here and there his eyes caught grass moving against the wind, and his men peppered such spots with their steel quarrels.

Sabrino nodded grimly. Bandits for sure. If they moved, they would die, and if they stayed, the reinforcements from back down the way would be here double quick to hunt them down. Such attacks couldn't be allowed to stand, not with the countryside newly entered in to the Imperial fold. The section-leader pulled his square shield off of his back from its leather straps. If the bandits didn't come out, and the other lads got here quick, he looked forward to going in to the wheat himself to hunt them down. It was tall, but no taller than half a man's height. Good ambush country for archers, but nothing men could move in invisibly. His short sword was ready for blood, as was the section-leader himself.

[Kelmet]

Cansivar, Joint Norscan-Imperium camp
Late evening, June 7th, 63 AG

The night was cool and silent as I found myself walking among the combined forces of our armies. I was like a shadow as I moved among the rows upon rows of men and women who could have been easily killing each other as killing the Cansivar confederation. My mind wandered to the inevitability as it had every night since I set foot in Mara, that one day no matter what I did or god or the gods whichever or both did the empire would march north and conquer all of us. "Damn it all" I thought to myself, I tried to keep these darker thoughts at bay but now, seeing these imperials talking to them. The inevitable felt a lot closer to home when I saw the imperial artillery with my own eyes. As I wandered I noticed a rather large tent that seemed warm and inviting, upon closer inspection I came to realized it was a chapel. Close enough for being a few thousand years out of place, pew's bibles and even an alter with a nice artistic cross. After making sure I was alone I took a seat in the front pew and let out a heavy sigh, processing emotions I had not felt in decades.

"Were do you get off?" Almost spitting the words out in a hushed rage "Plucking people up from their lives and throwing them back into this clusterfuck." throwing my arms into the air before breaking into a quite near uncontrollable chuckle. "I mean what didn't you think was going to happen, that what I can only assume because somebody didn't even bother to write a note you would drop a handful of average joe's into this and everything would be right as rain I know some arrogant assholes but bro that takes home the gold." Falling silent as a singe tear slide down the right side of my face.

"Don't grieve for me, for now I'm free,
I'm following the path God laid for me.
I took his hand when I heard his call,
I turned my back and left it all.

I could not stay another day,
To laugh, to love, to work, to play.
Tasks left undone must stay that way,
I've found that peace at the close of the day.

If my parting has left a void,
Then fill it with remembered joy.
A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss,
Ah yes, these things I too will miss.

Be not burdened with times of sorrow,
I wish you the sunshine of tomorrow.
My Life's been full, I savored much,
Good friends, good times, a loved one's touch,

Perhaps my time seemed all too brief,
Don't lengthen it now with undue grief.
Lift up your heart and share with me,
God wanted me now, He set me free."

Wiping the tear off my face, this type of weakness usually angered me but tonight was different. "Of course you know who made me memorize that. And to think we were getting married in your house the next day." A steady stream of tears flowed silently down my face "I was good, I did everything you wanted I went to church I volunteered I even helped old lady across the street that one time. Yet this is how you repay me......What the hell?" I sat there for minutes waiting for an answer I knew never would come. I then stood up walked softly to the alter and poured two small glasses of communion wine, one I downed immediately the other I left on the alter whispering "For you'r kid, hope I see him one day" I then snaked off to my tent on the opposite side of the city.

Valkenheim, Secret Council Chambers
July 63 AG
The conversation I was having with a few other cabal members was soundly interrupted when Magnus entered the chamber slamming the door behind him.

"I know I am only acting a king but shouldn't I know about these things before they happen. Connor I'm getting asked on the landsmeet floor why the entirety of your personal guard, dozens of our most advanced ships to a total of what accounts to thousands of Norscan warriors disappeared. No records, no official records nothing what are you hiding my lord."

I met his gaze with my own and answered in one word "Britain. I sent them to Britain, not the first expedition but definitely the largest." Gesturing to the collection of maps and papers across the table.

"My lord, our colonization efforts have been to the east a pan-Baltic state that was always the mission. Britain and the Britons has been small scale, little trade and exploration. Not this."

"Times have changes Magnus, We need to have for lack of better words a back up plan. The Imperium grows stronger by the day and they are Zealots. You didn't see them in the south, the hate they have for non-Christians is overwhelming. They won't stop, we have both know for a long time war is inevitable we will lose....."

"Sir we don't know that" Magnus shot back, trying to bring a little light to a dark situation.

I snapped and pointed at the two gentlemen that were standing with me when magnus entered the room "Read him in on our progress"

The shorter of the two men stepped forward "Sir since King connor returned from Mara we have been studying everything our spies were able to get a hold of. The Imperiums strength lies in its sheer size, were we can make one sword they can make a dozen the key to this...."

I had to cut Hemrich off, "The important bit"

He nodded in compliance "Yes my lord, by our best estimates, in the event of a full on war with the imperium, based of our scout reports in casivar Imperial legions would arrive at the capital in little over a year, The last major city to fall would be Oslo, in just under two years."

"Now you see the need for this, and why no one outside this room can know. We don't know how many we will be able to save. I'm addressing a closed session of the landsmeet tomorrow, getting them to help send more resources and manpower to Oslo."

"What Can I do my lord?"

"This list of names are individuals I want read into this under a vow of secrecy."

[Conwy-Shire]

Amadeus Mulcahy | Part 1, Chapter 12
July 28th, 63 A.G.
July 28th, 1 C.R. (Colchian Reckoning)

Twirling like a slow dancer across the knotted paper, my crude bronze nib drew a flowing trail of indigo ink; printing out the familiar, if stylised, Anglo-Latin script of my previous life. 'The Statute of Constitutional Rule within the Ashturi Realm...' it read out, and as I rested my stylus - a middling implement between the stereotypical pen and quill - back in an inkpot of pressed-woad, a pent-up breathe escaped my pursed lips. I was always this tense when writing in my measured cursive pace, and the added pressure of writing a seminal legal treatise for my new civilisation helped but little. With each stroke and crossed 't' I could be sentencing some poor cretin of the future to a life of ignominy, even though such protests were as useful as weeds amidst the garden of humanity. Order would prevail, inevitably, and I realised my pain would be alleviated if only I had some coffee to keep the coming night at bay.

My eyes were drawn instinctively to the window as the thought of night crossed my mind, a shuttered and thin slit which afforded me a view from the Deliberative Hall along the main axis of Ashtur, framed against the expansive sea. The tableau glowed with a reddish hue in the evening sun, from the bathhouses to the newest of construction sites - an additional campus for the training of the soldiery if I recalled correctly - and all was serene as the day faded into night. It was this serenity I had fought for, struggled for, and now that codification was within reach, I would not relent.

Other news dominated my thoughts for the moment however, the first water-powered mill of Ashtur was steadily rising, a formidable structure sitting flush against the raging Phaesos. Though the crank-mechanisms of the workshop were yet to be fitted, and the saw of the mill was still sitting in Hallur's workshop, the family which had volunteered to operate the establishment had already moved in, and through a more manual technique I had shown them were already producing thick and wavy sheets like those stacked by my left hand on the writing desk. The family themselves, immigrants who had followed the newly-marked path from Kutaizsur to Ashtur, were kind enough, accepting my knowledge on the mechanisms of their new occupation as gospel.

Further afield, in Uruzriam, the food shortages of yesteryear were long forgotten, yet remarkably the system of ration-chits had remained. At least, it was remarkable to everyone else, for currency in my eyes was a natural way of overcoming the Coincidence of Wants. My only concern on that front was that - as had happened in my world - the currency would become more than a medium by which value was exchanged, and as tempting as it was to pin value on a metallic standard, I was sure John Law approved of my restraint.

The evening wore on, and I had promised myself I would write a preamble at the very least by tonight. Sitting down once more at the paper-covered desk, I resigned myself to a long night. It almost felt like I was back at school writing essays…

The Statute of Constitutional Rule within the Ashturi Realm

Whereas the peoples of Ashtur, Uruzriam, Lanchkhutam, and Kutaizsur, humbly relying on the fortitude provided by the one true faith, have agreed to unite in one indissoluble Realm under the Crown of God, and under the Constitution hereby established:

` Whereas all else is as anathema outside the bounds of this constitution's reach, from the Great Ranges of the North and across all the lands bounded by sea to the South, East and West:

` Whereas, by this maxim, we establish for ourselves a sovereign state, steadfast in shared values and common purpose to establish the principles of our law and governance:

` And whereas it is expedient to provide for the admission into the Realm of other possessions, entities and creations of the Realm's animating spirit:

Be it therefore enacted by God's most Excellent Majesty, by and with the advice and consent of the Lords, both Spiritual and Temporal, and the Commons, in this present Hall assembled, and by the authority of the same, as follows...

[The Grim Reaper]

Inbuhedj, Egypt

It had been a few days, but Vijaya had already become outrageously popular. His advent of games had made him an instant member of the upper echelons of society, his comparably unimaginable grasp of the intricacies of high-school competitive chess elevating him to a near deified role within the small circle of wealthy intellectuals who had the time and wherewithal to indulge in it. Whilst, to an extent, his pack of cards and even Go had become associated with the lower classes, the much more involved process in producing a chess set had somewhat insulated it from taking on the same symbolism. Although some more conservative members of society lumped it in with its ludological relatives, the allure of gaming had nonetheless taken Inbuhedj by storm, and chess was the best they could do.

He had managed to put together a small but powerful circle of patrons, supporting him in building a Temple from which he could operate his games and his school. The Temple of Vijaya had quickly become a social center for traders coming and going from Inbuhedj - the food of the fertile Nile delta heading south passed through the city, while pottery and valuables from Upper Egypt returned through it. With the rise of Vijaya's proto-school, the Temple had quickly become an operating base for Vijaya's burgeoning student population, starting to draw the young of Inbuhedj's mercantile class to learn of mathematics and of writing. With it, he had started to take on a role as a prominent member of society - the advent of writing, a thing that would have in many societies been attributed to a God as the core of a mythology, was now singly attributed to Vijaya, and with it, the rise of leisure games. The Temple gave Vijaya a way to substantially influence those who participated in cross-Egypt trade, and of the city of Inbuhedj itself. The local Gods of Inbuhedj - Tatenen, and Seker - remained prominent as part of the Inbuhedj pantheon, and with it, their temples were still central to the local religious practice. However, the Temple of Vijaya had quickly come to be associated with religious pluralism, as Vijaya's students worked to record the religious and cultural understandings of the many traders who passed through.

However, Vijaya remained acutely aware of the threat of war.

He had very gradually worked towards attempting to institute a tax on trade, to be administered through the Temple; first, through opening donations for traders to have their local myths memorialized alongside those that had already been given place in the Temple. Secondly, he hired his students to meticulously record the goods that passed in and out of Inbuhedj, having them take note of changing trends in the amounts of and prices of goods passing through, selling the information to other traders - and making investments with the funds. Thirdly, he had begun to put together a small mercenary corps, hiring and incorporating elderly soldiers and his youth into small hunting bands, to help protect traders from animals across the Nile, and the increasingly aggressive raids from nearby petty kingdoms. Finally, he had begun to charge for the privilege of serving as a petty priesthood under him, establishing himself as a high priest for the collective mythologies of Inbuhedj's traders, and of "All Foreign Pantheons on the Nile". A seemingly minor title, as far as Inbuhedj's elite were concerned - he was effectively responsible for keeping the peace between a large but heavily transient population of traders - but one that he could see much potential in.

[Oudland]

The Black Sea

Archers lined either side of the pair of ships (fifteen per ship), clad in helmets made from the ivory of boar's tusk over leather and cloth. Their garb was similair, clad in leather jerkins and padded cloth bracers and shinguards, and they wore barbed longknives on their hips. There were fifteen infantry units outfitted with the same armor, and they carried javellins and hand-axes, rowing with the oars at a casual pace and letting the wind do most of the work.

Five of his own personal guard accompanied him, carrying banded wooden shields along with hand-axes, and were regailed in black and gold robes wearing under their helmets the typical copper masks that marked the soldiers of the holy order. The other ship was captained by Abbad Gheisari, Donovan's Commander of Infantry, and was manned by thirty of the same soldiers, the infantry a mix of regulars and Aikhtiari.

Donovan himself wore the armor of his soldiers under vibrant robes of green, gold, blue, and black, but was adorned with a golden mask depicting the snarling visage of a horned demon. The ships themselves were light vessels built for speed, long and slender, built of acacia and using lateen sails along with oars.

They sailed for the coast of Africa, across the Black Sea. The House of Nokta (elder council) had been instructed to continue the hunt for the rebels in his absence. Attacks along he roads had ceased, and it seemed the murderous savages were going into hiding as their numbers dwindled and the strength of his forces grew.

It felt good to be back out on the move again. Though Donovan had tended to pressing business during his break, at heart he was a fighter and a wanderer. The early morning sun shined down from above, and he turned for one last look at the receding coast of Gilead. He could just see Sheba on it's shores, and a few fisherman out retrieving their latest catch.

Donovan turned his gaze to the west. Somewhere over the horizon lay Africa. He stood at the fore of the ship, and wondered what sort of people he would encounter, and what the land would be like.

[Holy Tedalonia]

Wheatfield
"Damn. Their not going to going into the field." whispered under his breath Octive. He ordered his melee squad to retreat slowly, and pointed to a rock to signal to his men to give it to him. Once he got the rock he carefully looked at it. It seemed slightly bigger than a pebble. He tossed it into the direction opposite of the other melee squad. Hoping it would make a sound.