New Civilizations [IC | Closed]

[G-Tech Corporation]

---

World Map | OOC Thread

---

The year is 2915 B.C.

Eighty-five years ago, the world was changed forever. In a strange set of events that will echo through the ages, history is now being rewritten by the arrival of men and women from the far future: The Authors. The Authors were average men and women from the year 2016 swept up by unknown and supernatural forces and sent back five thousand years, naked and alone, but in possession of all the knowledge of their old lives. Made ageless by whatever force has cast them in to the distant past, the more apt and adaptable Authors used their ability and their wits to craft for themselves a new life in this time long forgotten. As the decades have progressed, the primitive villages which they once inhabited have now become civilizations in their own right, castles, palaces, marketplaces that teem with men speaking many tongues. These civilizations were the product not of the organic and natural flow of time, but by the intervention of the Authors - New Civilizations! This is not human history as we know it, this is the new history - formed by seemingly immortal, yet very human men and women. Humanity's story has been changed; in five thousand years' time what will the history books say - who shall be its Authors?

A changed world languishes under the sun of distant prehistory. A world that, though it yet fails to suspect the true impact the actions of these many Authors may have upon it, already feels a part of the alterations they have wrought. Most of mankind goes about their lives as they have always done; seasons come, seasons go, tribe-fathers pass on to the ancestors and the sun rises and sets as it has done for uncounted generations. Petty wars over petty reasons see tens of warriors painted in savage colors beat back their foes, and man's crowning achievement is the pointy stick. This is not the case everywhere though. The wind of change blows strong in some quarters of the world, sweeping these vestiges of the past before it, the herald of ought which is different cold and stark in its fury.

In Europe, men march beneath banners of black and white, there numbers now no longer tens of tribal warriors, but tens of thousands of professional soldiers driven forward by an engine of war and industry which seems insatiable. In their hands weapons flash fire and thunder, and from the throats of these killers come war-cries in a tongue both familiar and utterly alien, men willing to die for an idea much larger than familial bond or base need. The ancestors no more are venerated in many places across the world, strange concepts of divine beings that shape the weft of the universe overtaking the simple shamanism and informal worship of former years. In the frozen north men stand upon ships fashioned of the bowers of forest giants, sails harnessing the power of wind and tide to take fur-clad explorers farther than any humble tribesman would deem possible. Yes, this world is changed; some would say for the better, some would say for the worse, but none can deny the truth of that difference. You are now returned to this world, an Author, a man out of time, an Outlander, an immortal. Your handprints will mark this world, like those of so many before you. What will be your story?

[Labstoska]

John awoke in a large flat plain, bare, cold and with a bad taste in his mouth. Now the first assumption that John had was that on the night prior he had gotten immensely drunk however this theory was rather quickly disproven by the fact that nowhere in Sidney bore resemblense to where he currently was and the fact that there were currently nine men covered in furs and riding upon horses were coming ever closer towards him at a rather unnerving speed.

The first instinct that John had in this situation was to run as far as he could from these horsemen, he tried sprinting across the field and despite the fact that he was rather good at sprinting he was quickly encircled by these men he began to ride around him with their copper tipped speared pointed at him .

John quickly stammered out words that were vaguely similar to " I'm an Australian citizen you know take me and you'll have a right mess on your hands" In the vain hope that this would somehow encourage the riders to leave him be.

Upon hearing John's pitiful stammer the warriors stopped circling him and stared down at him with evident disdain. Then one of the riders who was dressed in slightly more extravagant furs than the rest spoke to him "Well then Australian citizen you shall be coming with us" and with a slight movement of this man's hand two of the other riders came of their horses and began to beat John with small wooden clubs that they had keeping attached to their furs. After John had been thoroughly beaten they tied him up with rope and slung him on to the back of one of their horses in a rather painful position.

John must of passed out during much of the journey for when he had awoken he and his captors appeared to be in the middle of a large nomadic settlement with from what John could see was a few hundred inhabitants. Than John captors arrived at a series of tents that seemed to be more like pens rather than shelter. In an attempt to bargain a way to freedom John turned round to these men and said "look I have money that I can pay you with just give me my clothes and I'll give you all the money you want. At first the men looked slightly confused then they began to laugh, it was all rather humiliating, the same man who spoke to him earlier now said to him " You want cloths than take these" he promptly threw a small set of rags towards him " We don't want our slaves dieing to quickly" and with that the men threw him into the tent where he was surrounded by a group of miserable and incredibly hungry looking men, women and even children who he suspected he would begin to resemble rather closely.

[The Holy Dominion of Inesea]

A New Decade
Byzantium
Alala

Byzantium was a wonderful city, the largest I had ever seen in my life. Delpha, the largest town and center of the Sympagis Alliance, was not as large as this. Until the Prophet, what we Christians call Physiio Walker despite his strong protests, my entire life had been spent in Dimi, in our village or in the surrounding farmland. I was a nobody, with no parents nor any family. I had no status. The Prophet changed that. He came to our village eleven years ago, naked as the day he was born. Before I met him I doubted that I would ever leave Dimi. Now here I stride, in the wondrous city of Byzantium. In front of my stands the mighty sept of knowledge, an Imperial Academy. I was to take the entrance exam soon.

Prophet Walker had taken Revlon, Paris, and I under his wing, back when we were nothing and he was an outsider. Over the past decade, as his status rose he did not abandon us. He trained us, loved, us, raised us as his family. I’ve learned so much of material that I once did not even knew existed. The Prophet taught me most of all, as I had the most aptitude for book learning as he called it. Paris and Revlon, I must admit, were better than I at the practical applications of the medicine. That was why they were traveling the lands of Peloponnesus, what the Prophet calls our homeland, spreading the ways of the Prophet to foreign lands. The Holy Prophet sent me here to learn of the Imperium and expand upon my knowledge. I doubt these barbarians know more than the Prophet, but Holy Walker seems to think it is so. Under his tutelage, I learned to read, to write, and languages beyond my own. He taught me the basics of a language and alphabet called Russian, which he says to write to him in if there should ever be dangerous information I needed to convey. He also instructed me, and much more fully, in a language called English. He said it was his native tongue. He taught me of Chemistry, Physics, Biology, Anatomy, Physiology, Logic, Algebra, and dozens of other subjects. He often remarked that he felt that he was doing me a disservice, that he was unfit to teach these subjects to the extent that I deserved. I tried in vain to get him to drop this humble demeanor that was unbecoming of a man as learned as he. How can a man that saves countless lives, that creates numerous inventions, and led our peoples to prosperity in a half-generation not see how great he is?

The walls of the academy lay just before me, a gate situated in the center. The people around me in this bustling city spoke yet another language. It was a variation of Traders Cant, they called it Imperial Germanic. I learned a good deal of it in the past six months I had spent in the city and country. The Prophet always said I had a knack for learning.

The guards let me through when they saw I was registered for the exam. I paid the second half of the exam fee, funded through the sale of the fine soaps from Dimi and some jams from Delpha. The room was filled with hopefuls, a good deal more lads than lasses. All wore clothing of a different sort than I. Though I could afford to do so, I wore the traditional furs and newer wrap of my people. I must admit, I got more than a few stares but it wasn’t out of the ordinary. I was applying for their school of medicine. Prophet Walker wanted me to learn what they knew about medicine. He instructed me to learn their folk and common remedies, as he said that though his methods and knowledge were far greater than theirs, his access to knowledge of effective common remedies was far behind his knowledge of what he called ‘modern medicine’.

There were a dozen other applicants taking the medical test with me. We were given an oral exam in front of six professors. They asked us some questions about various topics. A wizened old man asked me about germ theory. I replied that certain illnesses were caused by microscopic organisms, Mikriammi or microorganisms. There were three major disease-causing types, a virus, bacterium, and a fungus. Each had different characteristics and was attributed to different disease. I went on for maybe five minutes on the subject. It was a bit hard to explain in my somewhat limited Imperial and at times I lapsed into Dimic and English. They seemed to grasp the gist of what I was talking about, but not the particulars. I stumbled a bit with herblore, but powered through the chemistry questions. After the oral exams, we were brought into a room with a cadaver. It had been cut open and the superficial muscles exposed. A professor would gesture to a muscle or a bone and the applicants would name it. This was strange to me. Their names did not match what I knew. When it was my turn to name a muscle, one on the back. It was the Latissimus dorsi. I explained what it did, from adduction to synergistic lateral lumbar flexion.

The other applicants snickered at my apparent folly. Some of the professors looked at me with an almost sadness, like I had fibbed my way through this. Two others; however, looked at me with keen interest. It seemed they had grasped at what I said, not how I said it.
Afterwards, five of the applicants were accepted into the academy. I was not one of them. At first I thought I had been rejected right off the bat, but the two professors summoned me to their rooms. They introduced themselves as Ivan and Icanis Groethe, cousins and professors of biology and chemistry. They asked me some general questions before asking me of the History of the Imperium. Of course, I knew naught of it. They then asked from where did I come. I replied, the village of Dimi in the south, outside your lands. They were absolutely shocked that a foreigner like I had such vast knowledge. They gave a sheet of fine parchment and asked me to write out the table of chemicals. I assumed they meant a periodic table. I did so, best I could from memory. I know I missed at least a dozen, but they were immensely pleased to see what I knew. They had me accepted to the university as one of their private students. It seemed we had a lot to teach each other.

Delpha
Joseph

I was growing concerned with each passing year. There was something wrong with my body, something I could not pin down. I was a decade older, a decade more worn. Yet my body looked as it did when I first landed in this world. Yet nothing felt worn. A thought was starting to form in the recesses of my mind. A thought that would not die.

But I shoved that aside for now. I had more important things to do, as always. Delpha was booming as a city. When I first saw Delpha, eleven years ago, she was but a wooden walled port town of a few hundred souls. Now she boasted nearly 2 thousand and more came daily. People, small clans, and families came from all over the region. Some, particularly hunter gatherer bands, merely sought the port as a place to trade their furs and bones for tools and cloth. Others came here for the newfound industry. It had caused some tension, between the ruling Delphi and the outsiders, but the burgeoning need for new labor overwhelmed any protests. In a short decade, almost a hundred cottage industries were set up in and around Delphi, Sesk, and Dimi. The introductions I made to agriculture, from irrigation canals to plows to crop rotation had greatly increased not only the amount of land under cultivation but the calories yields from each acre. In places like Delpha, the increased agricultural output supported the influx of migrants. In Sesk and Dimi, it allowed them to have more craftsmen. Dimi had also become a major center of learning, as I and my former pupils taught reading, writing, and arithmetic.

The politics of the region were also going as I intended. The three chiefs called their alliance the Sympagis and sought to foster the bonds between their people. I was in the shadows, always pushing for more centralization. My goal was to create a city-state based around Delpha. It helped that Niko and Mykira had had a wonderful and bountiful marriage, already having four sons and two daughters. All but one of whom survived to be three. Another unintended but in hindsight compleatly reasonable effect of my arrival was a surge in the population of the settlements from birth. Yes, there was growth from migration but the drop in infant and youth mortality from my teachings and the rapid increase in caloric availability and increased food security made for a booming populace. I figured in 20 years, Dimi will have doubled in population and Delpha tripled yet again. A clan of fisherfolk, some forty strong, were currently attempting to join the city of Delphi. They saw the wealth, the productivity of the region, and they wanted in. The Delpha Elder’s were hesitant to accept at first, but I suggested that they let them in. Unlike farmlands, I reasoned, there’s near endless fish in the sea. The walls of Delpha had been replaced with a stone one, while an outer wooden wall went up to encase the city’s growth. I was currently working on a proposal that the Dimi, Sesk, and Delpha officially join together as one people, as I called it. It would take time to get them to agree to it, but the rapid increase in exogamy and increasing threats from the outside made it an inevitable conclusion.

[G-Tech Corporation]

That Hideous Strength
Viktor Nemtsov - Part 5, Chapter 1: The Caged Mountain

March 20th, 85 AG

A rumble, deafening. The sound of the power of a mountain range, trammeled into a single narrow channel. Underfoot the ground did not move, though my mind imagined it cracking and giving way, a hallucination borne of an instinctive understanding of the energy that drummed against the mountainside spillway nearly a hundred meters below. My feet moved carefully on the rough surface of the monolith upon which I stood, the soles of my boots gripping against the ridges of concrete that had been poured on the inspection level. At my side the Emperor walked, and his mouth moved for a few second in soundless speech. I merely grinned and gestured towards my ears with an expression of bemusement, and a silent laugh issue from his youthful face before he motioned towards the door from which we had emerged.

I was not ready to return to the control bunker just yet though. More steps, carrying me toward the precipice, and my great-grandson followed in my wake. He was not a man prone to fear, raised on the milk of aristocratic poise and courage that his father had cultivated lovingly. First into the fray and last to quit their ale, or something like that. Here the air was thin, or perhaps that was just the icy knot of fear that I forced down into the pit of my stomach, and my breath felt somewhat labored as I approached the gleaming railing which separated the uppermost layer of the slumbering beast from the ghastly drop on her northern side.

My eyes, emerald drained to pale green-gold in the dun light of early spring, darted downwards for a few moments, and fear-sweat started at my back. Ah, yes. Heights I could handle well enough, but there were heights, and then there were heights. Down the slope of the immense Kurdan Dam tumbled away from my feet, my fragile body held away from the buffetings and sharp black slope of tumbled rock only by a ribbon of forged steel. The land far below seemed wreathed in fog, the smoke of the early morning, and the distant pooled lake of the Avisgar a mere mirrored marble on the plains below. Below raged the source of the thunder, perhaps a dozen meters from where I stood- there poured an endless tide of water out into the abyss, falling broken down spillways that looked like slides carved by giants into the bones of the land, the refuse of the turbines which turned ceaselessly in the heart of the concrete edifice upon which I stood. It made me feel small, to stand here and look out as far as the eye could see and still see nothing but endless land.

And all of it danced to the tune I piped- though that was an analogy I immediately dismissed as frivolous even as I conceived of it. To compare the path I laid before humanity to a merry jig made me smile, but it wasn't a thought I could ever voice aloud. Hegemon or not, people looked to me for guidance, not merriment. Hands touched the balustrade next to me, weathered and work-scarred, the hands of a man who knew how to use them instead of a courtier; I was glad that Mikhael had been raised his father's son, and the Nemtsov stock ran true. It was always my fear, that one day my lineage would spawn a lesser sire, a man grown soft and rotten with luxury, an Emperor who did not deserve the reigns of Mankind. This generation, though, that day had not come. It was a part of the reason that I felt I could not fade into the shadows of the world, to walk with the commonfolk, to see the good that was wrought upon what had once been such a primitive globe. It was my role, my most important and least used role, to determine whether or not an heir to the Iron Throne was worthy of that crown.

Mikhael had been worthy. His son, Damian, was growing hearty and hale, with all the appearance of a future which was bright. But you could never quite be sure, never be too comfortable.

A hand on my arm, a questioning glance at the way I stared off into the interminable distance as the torrent of unutterable strength coursed beneath my feet. I offered a placatory smile, and then turned, stalking back towards the dun painted door atop the band of concrete and stone which had first served as my egress to the top of this immense creation. There was a thin spray of near-freezing water from the intakes that had left a thin film across the skin of my greatcoat by the time the heavy steel door swung shut behind us, and I spent a few moments brushing it off; thick wool was an excellent material for driving back the cold, but if it was sodden it took forever and a year to dry. As Mikhael entered the small room at the apex of the dam's control center behind me, and the Blackguard in attendance's eyes darted across both of our figures, the sound of the raging flood thankfully lessened to a dull roar.

I pulled two plugs of woven linen from my ears, and grinned wanly as the world became unmuffled again. The Emperor did likewise, and rubbed at one of his ears, reddened by the cold. Down a few short flights of stairs we trudged in silent contemplation, into the bowels of the installation, before the Keeper's office beckoned us once more back to whence we had come. As Mikhael plumped himself into one of the sturdy wooden chairs of the spartan vestibule, he barked a short laugh and spoke.

"Blast, but I'm glad I don't have to inspect this whole sorry thing. I should be an icicle before I had seen even a quarter of it."

Keeper Rorikson grinned politely in response. It wasn't much of a joke, but even feeble jokes from the master of the Known World deserve some response, even from a stick of a man like Andrew.

"We have heavier coats if you would like, your Majesty, ones lined with rubber to repel the damp and the spray. Perhaps they would suit you better?"

I sank into one of the chairs in the office too, and waved a hand in dismissal before the Emperor could even contemplate ascending anew to the heights of the dam.

"No, Keeper, no. I have seen enough, and my old bones do not hand the chill as well as they once did."

It was a sally which made even dour Istvan's face flicker with amusement, but the Keeper did not see the humor in it. I sighed inwardly. It was part of this gift I had given- some days, this curse- to appear as a man in the flower of his youth instead of the aged invalid I felt too much like at times. Jokes about the oppressive hand of time made all too much sense to me, even as the common folk of the Imperium thought me uncommonly blessed. Andrew already had his share of laugh-lines touching his visage, and the first signs of receding hair that would one day leave him bald, no doubt. The Keeper of Kurdan would all too soon return to the place of his birth, the earth, to move on to his eternal reward, and with his final breaths perhaps he would wish futilely for the immortality of the Hegemon he had met so briefly.

I changed the subject, moving away from my own macabre thoughts; we had not come here to gaze upon the mass of the Dam, save to see that it was fully operational. And the hum of the turbines could have told me that, really.

"How is your production, Keeper? The levels of the reservoir have proven stable this last spring?"

The Keeper waved a hand, vacillating, but then stopped suddenly, as if an idea had struck him. Reaching under his desk, to the darkness unlit by the bare bulb that gave stark illumination to his humble office, Andrew rummaged about for a few moments, before producing a series of charts. They were imperfectly drawn, their hand spidery and somewhat difficult to make out in partial gloom, but he handed them over as if they were authoritative. The feel of the sheets between my fingers and the rudimentary graphs flung me involuntarily back to a world which I had almost now forgotten, to presentations and spreadsheets and interminable meetings.

My eyes ran over the figures though, and I smiled. Primitive they might be, but they said enough to satisfy my concerns about this enterprise. I handed the documents over to Mikhael, and my eyes rose up again to meet the Keeper's as he spoke in contemplative tones.

"Yes, they are good. There were worries that we would not have the snowmelt to supply Leviston's needs year-round, but so far the reactors there have proven modest enough in their consumption for us to keep pace with demand; I can't bet on longevity for a century, like we had hoped, given how fast the town has been growing, but for now what is good enough is good enough."

That was some pessimism the graphs didn't show, but I nodded in agreement. It was hard to predict anything with only a few generations of data to work from. Projects the state had raised a decade ago were already teetering under population loads which were commensurate with projections for a generation, and steel production was going through the roof. But that was a concern for the Emperor and the hordes of functionaries of the Administratum, really- I did not concern myself with such minutiae, for it simply wasn't viable to do so. The affairs of countless thousands could no more be handled by a single man than a twig could hold back the tides.

I glanced at my watch, noting the passing of the hours.

"That is good enough, as good as can be expected. Anyway, we have taken enough of your time, Keeper." The Emperor roused himself from his inspection of the documents, and handed them back to their owner with a flourish that would not have looked out of place on the stage. I smiled inwardly. He had always been an animated child, loving deeply, and that characteristic did not make him a bad ruler- not in the least. Andrew rose from his chair, myself and Mikhael rising in tandem, and a firm handshake spoke our departure alongside polite niceties.

The descent from the heights of the Nightwall would have been treacherous save for the graven route that had been hewn into the mountainface by uncounted hands, many points along the road bearing the telltale signs of steam shovels and blasting powder. A light rain began to fall as our small carriage convoy reached the flatlands below the mountain eyrie, and I sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Almighty that we had not been on that windswept perch during the storm- then I would, in truth, have presented a sorry picture of an icecube to my wife when we met her for afternoon tea.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

Leiden,
The Netherlands
2017 CE (12.017 HE)

As the roaring darkness loomed overhead, Bruno Davids was quite content in the illuminated fortress that was Leiden. He gazed across the pitch-black waters of the Rapenburg canal, which only sparingly reflected the lights of the lamp-posts surrounding it. The street lights cast a healthy amount of light on the surrounding buildings, most of which still dated from the time the university was built: 1575 CE. There was something odd, Bruno found, about the way electric lights bounced off old buildings. Somehow, this clash of modernity and history didn’t sit well with him. Even if it was a stretch to call the street lights modern; they were from before the War. Bruno pulled his coat a little closer around his body. The night was getting cold, even for the time of year. His neck was tucked safely into the scarf that kept it from freezing over. His hands tucked tightly into his pockets, scrambling to get the gloves out that he carried there.

“Bruno!” said a kindly voice, coming from a side of the bridge he was standing on. He moved his head slightly to the left, to get a gaze on who had just called for him. It was Anne, a dear friend of him. Once she had been the object of his fancy, but time had slowly eroded that away from him. It had obviously not been mutual, and the feeling had been quite the burden. Having gotten rid of the feeling, he could never quite leave the soft spot he had for her. It certainly wasn’t romantic, but he did care a lot for Anne. And she, apparently, cared for him.

“Bruno, come on! There’s no use standing here all by yourself. It’s cold as shit here”

Bruno looked at Café Barrera from which Anne had come, and from which he had come just a few minutes earlier. From the bridge he could hear laughter, the jokes, the stories… Friends together, just having a good night out. Bruno had been with them before, but a sudden feeling of dread had pushed him away. Feeling himself become quite dizzy, Bruno had opted to leave the confines of the hot room. The cold air and the silence had done much to alleviate the tension on his brain.

“I’m sorry, Anne” he said, giving a faint smile in her direction. “But I better leave it be. Give me a few more minutes”

Anne nodded, giving him quite the pat on the arm. He wouldn’t admit it, but it hurt quite a bit. He gave another faint smile, his teeth writhing under his lips.

“No problem. Just make sure you get in quickly. Daniel is telling his army stories, and I don’t think I can stand another one” Anne said, walking back to the café.

“Don’t worry” Bruno said, giving a small wave.

“I won’t go anywhere”

As he said that, he rested his arms on the railing of the bridge, and peered into the dark waters. The cloud-filled night blocked the view of all starlight, and there was nothing peering back from the abominable darkness besides Bruno himself. The scarce light of the lamp-posts illuminated his face slightly, but not enough to make out the details. Unbeknownst to Bruno, a slight electric spark emanated from one of the street lights, making just the faintest of sounds as it did so. Then, another spark followed, and another, with the sound becoming increasingly loud. When Bruno finally looked up from the water, he saw the lamp-post beaming with electricity, connecting both to nearby trees and traffic signs. A parked car now too began to pulsate with electricity, like a stack of dominoes falling over. Another lamp-post, another parked car. Even from some of the houses current began to jump over, making beautiful arcs of electricity as it went. All the cars, lights and signs now began to form one giant arc of electricity, seemingly forming a half-sphere around Bruno. He didn’t notice, though. He was captivated by the beauty of the display, too enthralled with the lights to really do anything. He just gazed at the blue-ish white light that sparked from every metallic surface.

“Bruno, you idiot, get down from there!”

Bruno could just look over his shoulder towards the café, where Anne was standing with the others. They all looked in dismay and horror, and Anne moved her hands frantically to try and get his attention. At that moment, Bruno realised the dangers he was in. He snapped back into reality.

“That’s right, you daft prick. Get off there now!”

As soon as Bruno tried to lift one foot, however, the lightning struck. All the electrical energy culminating around him suddenly hit home, focussing on the one tiny insignificant body of this tiny human. In thousands of arcs, the current found their way to his body, surging through him in an instant.

“Bruno!” was the last yell he heard, before he zapped out of existence.

Africa
Somewhere along the Nile Delta

Slowly, Bruno opened his eyes. A sudden intake of light through his eyes made his head explode with pain, making him close them as suddenly as he had opened them. His hands tried to find his way to his head, but only one could; the other was clenched between the ground and his body. The turning and twisting of his inner ear soon stopped, allowing him to get a bearing on his position in space. He felt himself laying down on his side, one arm stuck between his body and the ground. Bruno rolled over, allowing him to free his arm, and landing his back on the ground. Only then did he feel the softness beneath him, which was far from any of the paved streets in Leiden. It also didn’t feel like a hospital bed, although he hadn’t seen quite enough of those to really make a judgement on that.

As the pain and the dizziness slowly wore off, Bruno got to open his eyes again. Now, the light, although sharp, would not force him to close them. He sat up straight, quite amazed at the ease at which he lifted himself. He looked around for a moment, accessing his position. He was on a riverbed, it seemed. The yellow sands were moistened by wavelets from the river, watched over by flocks of ibises. Bruno felt nauseated by the sudden warmth grasping all about his body, which suddenly felt naked in the warm, dry air. Looking down at himself, Bruno noticed that he was, in fact, naked. As he sat up he felt the sand run past his arms, as he had been half-buried in the golden grains. He felt the sun beat down on his bare back, his brown hair immediately heating up due to the rays coming overhead. Taking a moment to reassess, he saw that he had woken up along a giant river. On it were sailing ships, the ones he had seen in books about ancient Egypt. Triangle sails pulling forward reed boats, with groups of rowers rowing along. Standing up, Bruno noticed he was being watched.

A coma, Bruno thought immediately. He had entered a coma. There was no other way. This was some kind of drug-educed dream. He was probably being operated upon right now, he thought. Had his life finally caught up with him? Had he spent too much time working his ass off? It was always a meeting here, a commission there, study this, party that... Perhaps he had developed a brain tumour that was being removed by a team of medical professionals. Or he had had a stroke. A hard attack, perhaps? Leaving him brain-dead on some breathing apparatus. For what it was worth, the dream was very convincing. Almost too convincing, in fact. Bruno looked about, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary, apart from the fact that his mind had transported him to the ancient Nile. He had red about lucid dreaming. Was every coma just a lucid dream?

In the middle of his contemplation, Bruno noticed again that he was being watched. One ship had dropped its sails, its crew looking at him intently. Bruno did his best to cover up whatever parts of his body he didn't feel comfortable showing. He thought about walking off, but on the ship a man was gesturing towards him. If the waving meant what he thought it meant, the man was beckoning him to come closer. This was made even clearer when the crew dropped a rope ladder from the deck, which would allow him easy access onto the ship. Bruno shrugged for a moment, and then made up his mind. If this was a dream, he better play along. There was little else he could do. He just had to avoid any dark tunnels with light at the end, if the story about coma's were true. Being a Dutchman, swimming across the Nile was a walk in the park. Not learning to swim in the Low Countries was a death sentence, and he had been doing it for years. Finally, he arrived at the rope ladder, pulling himself up. When he had nearly reached the deck, helping hands closed around his armpits, dragging him aboard.

Immediately, Bruno was handed what felt like a towel. Drying himself, he saw two men approach with tunics, similar to those they were wearing. After drying himself, Bruno gracefully accepted them, and put them on. He noticed the amount of attention he was given; people were whispering to one another in hushed, reverent tones. It felt more like a funeral than anything else. There was no snickering, not silent laughter, which was strange for a man who was just drawn from the water as naked as a babe. The tunic was somewhat itchy, but Bruno decided not to comment. He made a mental note, though. Clothes in lucid coma dreams can itch just as well as regular clothes. After a short silence, a man stepped forward. He was dressed with more splendour than the rest, and had a commanding aura about him. He was also fatter and broader than the rest, making Bruno think he was the captain. Indeed, he spoke to their new guest with a tone one would expect of a captain.

"Greetings, stranger. I am Amenemope, citizen of Egypt. I welcome you on my ship"

A silence followed, as if they were actors in some play. Bruno looked at all the men present, who were gazing intently at him in return. Being somewhat of an actor by experience, Bruno decided to mirror the tone of the captain.

"Greetings, Amenemope. I am Bruno. Where is this ship taking you, pray tell?"

The conversation was strange indeed. Bruno noticed the man was speaking neither English nor Dutch, but still he could understand him as if it were his mother tongue. The words moulded and shaped in his head, taking on meaning even though the words themselves, upon closer inspection, had no inherent meaning to him. In return, he spoke in Dutch, but his words seemed to mould and shape in the air, as the men clearly understood what he was saying. The whole process made him feel dizzy. Was this was lucid dreams were supposed to do? If they were operating on his brain, he would expect to feel a bit wheezy from time to time. The captain spoke again.

"We are headed for Thebes, my lord. I would ask of you to be my guest, if it pleases you"

"That pleases me, captain" Bruno answered. The use of the term 'my lord' confused him. Physically, he was taller than all these men, which would be expected in historical societies. He was already of above average height in his own time, and people back then were smaller. He was merely surprised that his coma-stricken mind had such attention to detail. The captain bowed, which was strange as well. Why such reverence? He thought about this as everyone went to work, and as he followed the captain to the rear of thee ship, were a table was set out for them. Two chairs were set beside the table, and on the table stood two goblets and a ceramic carafe of unknown contents. The captain gestured for him to sit, and only after Bruno had sat down did the captain take a seat. Bruno put down the reverence to him being a guest, which these cultures valued above anything else. Still, why had he earned their hospitality? Was this man just looking for more hieroglyphs to add to his mortuary tomb? "He clothed the poor and picked up poor sods from the banks of the Nile?" As the boat began to move, a nice breeze swept across the deck, as the captain poured him some red liquid from the carafe. Bruno sat back, and decided he would enjoy this dream, watching the Egyptian landscape skirt by as they went.

[Labstoska]

John Collins
The past three months of Johns life had been beyond taxing in both terms of physical work and that of his mind which was attempting to grasp the situation that he was in. He was extremely confused by the fact that despite the fact that these people knew how to speak English whenever he mentioned anything vaguely modern to his fellow slaves they would look oddly at him and then walk away, even when he mentioned England they seemed to be confused. Another thing John found rather odd was that despite this clan migrating 7 times now ,which caused no end of annoyance for John, and he had still not seen any kind of modern technology whatsoever in fact the clan he was enslaved to appeared to not even have the expertise to construct a wheel. These concerns were cast out of his mind however as the sheer amount of work that this clan put upon him and his fellow slaves was mind boggling, from mining copper to washing their cloths, this clan truly did depend of it's slaves.

While all this was going on the slaves that served alongside John had begun to take an interest in his peculiar traditions such as his morning prayers and the fact that he would often call out to the slavers shouting about something called human rights. Eventually while they were working to mine some new copper for the tribesmen's spears a young man around the age of 18 who called himself Uragan came up to John asking about the strange words he often mutters to him every morning and about the strange phrases and words that he uses quite often and so late at night John began to tell him about the tales that he remembered from the bible and he told him of the world that he used to live Australia to be specific. Eventually more and more began to gather around him listening to his biblical tales due to the fact that the new rigorous campaigns of work that the leader of the clan had sapped away the faith of these people and now there was a gap that needed to be filled, at first may were quite confused by his tales of the messiah saying that why were they simply to believe that son of God would come to them eventually however they were soon persuaded by Johns tales of home which he admittedly did exaggerate the luxury and splendour of it. As his tales began to spread throughout the slave population of the clan , which was mainly aided by the zealous words of Urgan, more people showed up to his small tent(or rather pen) and began to pray with him, some even asked to be absolved of their sins which was met by Johns insistence that he was not in fact a priest and was therefore not allowed to absolve them of their sins however soon the sheer amount of people coming up to him asking for forgiveness lead him to take the duty upon himself in order to at least remove some of these people's suffering.

The chief of this clan was quickly becoming quite disturbed by the fact that the slaves had united under one faith, one belief and the slave peoples that served and worked for him now outnumbered the amount of free peoples throughout the clan, this lead him to make the decision to have John brought out in front of all the enslaved people and have him beaten, whipped, cut and finally had him tied up for three days to a large tree with no food or water. By the end of the first day John was beginning to question his faith, why would God bring him to this place, why would God allow him to experience such suffering? The chief also instructed that three of Johns followers would be brought out in the morning and afternoon of each day and were to be executed right in front of his eyes. The entire experience began to carve a scar in the mind of John Collins. On the end of the third day the same warrior in extravagant furs who had lead the hunting party that had first captured John came up to the tree that John had been strapped to with what John could swear was the same spear that he had wielded months prior. When the warrior finally reached the tree John looked up to the sky and muttered one final prayer before the inevitable doom that would flow from the tip of this warrior's spear.

The blow never came. Much to John's surprise and relief the man had fell to his knees and was crying out words that somehow combined the emotions of fear and adulation. John was able to make out some words that were similar to "Great prophet please forgive me for I have sinned against you and all that is holy" At this point John was pretty tempted to tell this man that he would be condemned to the depths of hell and that his soul was truly irredeemable however that would most likely mean that he would never be permitted to leave his confinement so he attempted to play the diplomat.

"God forgives you and absolves you of your sins" John now noticed how gravely his voice sounded but still his words had the intended effect as a look of joy and relief passed across the warriors face.

"Many blessings upon you prophet Collins, now I believe that you have suffered enough tethered to this tree" The warrior now kneeled down and begun to cut the ropes that had confined John with the copper tip of his spear. Now that he was finally free from both the confines of the ropes and that of slavery it was time to ask a few questions that had been boiling up inside him for the past few months.

"The lord thanks you for your service to the faith however I have a few questions about how this whole affair, first of all how fid you and your men manage to take me."

"Well prophet Collins we circled you upon horses and then I regrettably ordered my men to beat you." Was the warriors reply

"yes I remember that part but how were you able to take from Sidney, you know that place in Australia" John said with increasing frustration.

"Uhhh there is no place within the great steppes known as Sidney my prophet" 'so the great steppes that's where but still that didn't explain whey there's no kind of civilisation anywhere near him' these were Johns increasingly worried thoughts as he began to worry if he was even in his own time, luckily he was snapped out of these thoughts when the warrior said to him "Come we must return to the camp there are people who wish to meet you" and then the warrior began to run back to the camp a and John was reluctantly forced to follow.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Part 2, Chapter 5: Vigilance for the Wicked

March 22nd, 85 AG

An inhalation, spicy, refreshing. I hefted the tea-pot carefully, savoring the heady aroma that came off of the poured beverage in wisps of steam, the gurgle of green-tinted water in my glass one that was most welcome. Nothing quite like a good tea to take the chill out of the bones, indeed, and the fog over Securat seemed unlikely to clear soon. Oh, it wasn't genuine tea- even the Scythians had ventured quite that far afield. But the scent of mint that rose from my glass was nonetheless pleasant, and I placed the pot back down on the table with an alacrity that betrayed my desire to imbibe some of the piping hot beverage.

Next to me Tanya smiled indolently, reclining in the luxurious chair that graced the parlour we had commandeered from the local Brightlord, and sipped at her own drink. It was formally spring, but I could not help feel some days that winter's grip was still tight about this section of the Nightwall, so far north. It didn't help that the smog from the industries of Leviston ofen mixed with inclement weather, clouding the sky for days on end. Windmills and waterwheels could only do so much; from hundreds of smokestacks in this city alone poured the fumes of a burning past, the stored energy of the eons being consumed in a flash of time and flame to propel humanity to greater heights.

It was the price of progress. Even if we worked to contain the worst excesses, it was a course that intrinsically carried peril. I sipped my tea, banishing the thoughts; they were matters for another time, another place. Humanity did not have the numbers, or the need, that it had in my own time. I was confident we could pass through the era of industrialization swiftly, establish enhanced standards of living for all, without killing the planet as humanity had been so busy doing in my own time. One of my proudest achievements in my own mind, though none who lived now would appreciate the enormity of what I had accomplished in a hundred years, a thousand.

"No new news on this immortal, grandfather?"

A voice returned me from my reverie, feminine, and I composed my thoughts with another sip of the mint tea, letting the cooling liquid course down my throat. Astrid's smiling face, crowned in blonde hair only barely touched with white, looked at me patiently as I mused for a moment, deciding how best to summarize the course of the investigation.

"No more, not yet. Though I expect it is only a matter of time. One of the better points of the systems of the Administratum; they work unfailingly, even if slowly. He must take ship at some point, or pass through a city, and then we will have him."

The Empress sighed, as if told that there were no more cakes for luncheon. A well-bred mannerism, even when dealing with a threat to the Imperium which might have been the most dire she would face in her lifetime.

"To think the man, this Tzant, had been hiding under the noses of the great men of the Rose Council for more than a decade. It beggars belief."

I nodded.

"He was clever. A petty brigand out of Italy is barely worth the time of a captain of the Imperial Army, let alone the attention of the Greycloaks. It is not against the law for foreigners to join the Great Companies, if they gain citizenship, though perhaps we shall have to refine the screening process. By all signs he did not understand the obviousness of his condition until the noose was tightening- we still don't have firm information about how he managed to evade Inquisitor Goodwin's sweep."

Astrid tossed her head, and at my side I could feel Tanya inwardly laugh. Mikhael's wife had always been given to grand mannerisms, probably a holdover from being raised as a princess in the court of Rhone. There was a theory, back in my own time, that folk from cooler climates had more reserved attitudes, for they could afford less display without being exposed to the elements; perhaps it was true, but Fremjur's daughter had never struck me as an exemplar or test case for the axiom.

"Well, hopefully we shall find out the truth of the matter soon. Lord-Commander Adrian's most recent missive sounded promising, though I did follow all of his reasons for optimism. A strange thing indeed, to find a man from your time who had not accumulated power for himself, like the Priest-King and that Monroe boy."

Mikhael stirred in his chair, and spoke grimly.

"My grandfather neglects to mention the working theory for this Tzant's ambitions; the pacification of Italy put his own plans into disarray, and so the Inquisitor believes he may have been plotting to rise in the Imperial hierarchy to eventually lead his military command in open revolt. It wouldn't be the first time we had to put down a rogue military officer, but I don't like to think what an actual full Company or Great Company led against the walls of a city could do before it could be stopped. This Tzant was dangerous, make no mistake. If we had not been in the middle of bringing Fenis to heel, we might have been facing another Scythia in central Italy.

I stirred my tea slightly, swirling the residue in the bottom of the glass, and let the implications of such a state of affairs sink into the mind of the Empress. Her expression said she did not much care for the taste of what she had bit down on.

"Indeed. Such Decievers represent the greatest danger to the progress of mankind we could face- some, like Monroe, are fairly benign, and so we need not trouble ourselves with unduly, though they must be watched with care. Others though... the lord of Fenis was said to have been of a strange time and place, and I do not like to think of what he could have done with another few decades under his belt and a properly equipped military hierarchy."

My words were grim, but with a conscious force of effort I stirred the conversation away from the heavy topic.

"Anyway, enough of dire talk. It is in the hands of good men, competent men. We will deal with it when this man is caught, and no sooner, no matter what hot air we add to this chill parlour with our words."

Tanya clapped her hands, her eyes alight with mischief.

"My husband speaks true. Better things, then. I hear Master Daniel Redmarch has been calling upon Marie this past winter season- you think, then that a match perhaps may be made?"

A lighter conversation, for lighter hours. My mind was not so easily diverted, as my family turned to the doings of their progeny and the social niceties of a court that sprawled across most of Europe now. These immortals, men of my own time, seemed to be more numerous than I had ever anticipated, and all signs pointed to them coming into this world at a rate not entirely consistent with what I had initially assumed, that all sojourners had been deposited eight five years ago like myself. Caution, indeed, would need to be applied in ever greater amounts, for their ability to amass power was undoubted. A scalpel I would have to prepare, an instrument to expunge these dangerous tumors from the blossom of humanity's rose, if there was need.

[Ulls]

Capital of Nom Sampai,
April 1, 30 Moonrise

After 30 years, Ego has achieved much in its creation but its enemies had also grown in number. Over ten years, their worked more on their expansions in infrastructure and technology than warfare, worked with one another as a centralized nation and saw a massive migration of Neolithic tribes. They still had their expedition to unify Wisconsin to reach the Mississippi but it was still not as bloody as the Grand Campaign to reach the Bay of Hud.

Now their longships turned to galleys. Each ship made by a dry dock and made either by a hybrid of sail or rowing but their size allowed for them to reach Iceland and completed one of Jeb's goals in this world, reach Europe. The first explorations were made in secret by the Skulk as they believe Ego wasn't ready for what might be in the Old World.

Jeb had never set foot on the Icelandic shores was one of the most beautiful things in his life. He always saw the island nation in pictures on the internet but to see it untouched by man it was something else. The ecosystem was so vibrant that he didn't want to harm it like the Vikings did for their lumber. Then he brought up another question, where were the Vikings?

Throughout the explorations of Iceland, Jeb saw no Viking settlements, no cattle, sheep, or horses. The galleys didn't even see the iconic longships with their shields on the sides of the hull. Jeb put his disappointment in the back of his head as he told the Skulk that they aren't allowed to damage the environment so much but they must give back and conserve the beauty of the island. One example that he used was the Artic Fox, which was the only native land animal in the island and one that thrived in the cold.

The Skulk agreed and called Iceland Urygisult, the Frozen Sister of Foxes. A couple ships went back to Greenland to tell the other communities of their findings and needed to bring their own trees and animals that can be domesticated for the land. Strong trees that could handle the weather were sent in seeds as well as some reindeer from Canada but only in small sizes to keep the land beautiful. Most of the time, they had trouble since reindeer would die during transit but they managed to have reindeer farms and Skulk botanists and grove tenders on top of builders to build the community.

Now years after, the community was built and it was the only settlement of Iceland. A stone statue with two foxes looking at each other with the words " Coats of the Frozen Sisters" written in Nol Tongue as the people lived in Dartmoor longhouses and a dry dock that is able to maintain their small fleet for explorations and some defenses in case of hostile invasion from either Outworlders in Europe or their own enemy in Ego. The beauty of Iceland had been maintain through the tender conservation of the environment but they had flora and fauna transplanted from North America but it was kept under check to make sure there wasn't an imbalance.

The ships had been exploring the Norwegian Sea for sometime and they found something that sparked the attention of Jeb. There were people who were travelling on reindeer, carrying iron weapons and armor. Some were on large, four-legged animals that sounded like thunder and made their way up and down the shore. They couldn't see the galleys but they could see them through the spy glass. When they followed the coast down, they saw cities that reminded them of the stories their leader had told them of the Vikings but they carried different banners and the buildings and walls looked weathered by time but kept in some condition.

It was then that they found longships with the same banners and some of them had shields on their sides. When they reported back to Jeb, he was so happy that they never saw him have such a wide smile before. His mind raced to the sight of Norse warriors, berserkers, and the sagas he could read and see the Outworlder who made the Vikings a thing.

Now the fleet was close to the coast of Norway and they saw the cities of the Vikings but something was wrong. Jeb started to saw the clothing of the people and it didn't remind him of Vikings, but something different entirely, their flag wasn't of the Nordic triangle but of blue, red, and yellow. Their ships were longships, but their shields weren't Viking but Viking-like. One longship stopped by one of the galleys and saw the Fox banner and the Night Owl on the triangles and the red men who were rowing it.

Many longships stopped and looked in awe or disgust as they saw them row along the coast. Many of the men in the longship were shocked to see women and men rowing or carrying weapons similar theirs or the funny-looking bows that were being cocked and ready. The people of the coast had started to gather as the four anchored on the ports and the Native Americans started to armed themselves with iron weapons, bows and the funny looking ones while another was carrying a large, curved shield. The longships had siege weaponry on it with some being stone but others being ceramic jars in single portions or clusters.

They wore a mixture of fur-coats and chainmail, some wore iron breastplates but the notion that they were ready for combat made it simple. They were mixed with women and men but they were strong and disciplined as they split their line and stood side by side in unison as a group of cloaked figures wearing winterized fox masks came up in front. Among them was a man that heard all the whispers that the people were saying about them and he finally was able to speak in their tongue.

" My name is Caligari." He said in their tongue.

The crowd gasped and were taken aback and people were wondering what was he and the warriors were getting their weapons out of fear.

" I have came a long, long way to finally come to these lands and I wish to speak to your king, chieftain, or god made flesh for I have questions for them. My troops won't attack unless ordered or provoked but I won't move till they come."

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

The ship floated merrily down the Nile, that ancient giver of life to the Egyptian plains. As the ship flowed further and further, the banks of the river became busier and busier. Now there were large fields visible, worked by farmers planting their first bouts of wheat of the year. Oxen pulled forth great ploughs that threw up the earth, allowing others to plant the wheat in their track. Everywhere the ship went, this process was on-going. Some farmers waved at the ship as it passed, but most paid them no heed. The economy didn’t allow for slackers. All of those farmers probably had rent payments to do, deadlines to meet. As Bruno looked from the chair he had been provided, he thought about the usual processes by which farmers got their grain for planting. Priests and proto-bankers held on to large stores from which one could borrow. Afterwards, you had to pay back with enormous amounts of interest, but since wheat yielded about ten times its initial sowing value, even that was a good investment. There was a whole economy surrounding the planting and harvesting of wheat, from slave traders to magistrates. Reading about it from five thousand year old manuscripts was interesting enough, but to see it in action was nothing short of awe-inspiring.

“Does agriculture interest you?” the captain asked, drawing Bruno’s attention back to him. Bruno shook his head, before nuancing his position.

“A lot interests me, captain. Where I come from, only a minority of people farm. To see farming by hand intrigues me”

The captain frowned when he heard what Bruno had said.

“A minority? Do your people buy food from abroad?”

Bruno nodded, but then shook his head.

“Yes and no. Our agriculture uses great implements so our farmers have little hard work to do by themselves. This makes our food cheap and plentiful, so we can trade it for exotic foods we don’t have”

“fascinating…” the captain answered. He clearly didn’t fully grasp what Bruno had told him, but it clearly intrigued him. Bruno smiled as he saw the captain stare into the middle distance, mulling about what this stranger had said. Bruno decided to save him the headache.

“And you, captain? Does agriculture intrigue you?” Bruno asked, bringing his goblet to his lips. The captain laughed in response, but soon his happy eyes were clouded. A melancholic smile drew across his face.

“I am from a farming family, my lord. We own land along Thebes which we loan to workmen for a share of their crops, and we work some land ourselves. My father built up our fortune in his youth, and he never stopped trying to improve what land he had”

Bruno saw the melancholic smile spread across his face, the captain averting his eyes when he noticed Bruno looking in his general direction. Bruno quickly grasped the situation.

“My condolences, captain. When did your father pass, if you allow me asking?”

The captain nodded. “Not ten days ago. I return now from interring him in the tombs of our forefathers, as he would have wanted. He died suddenly and without warning, so there was no time to prepare”

“I see” Bruno said. He wanted to lay a hand on the man’s shoulder, but stopped in time. Perhaps this culture didn’t approve of physical contact.

“Now the burden of your family falls on you”

“Not quite” the captain answered. Now, the melancholic smile disappeared from his face. It made way for an angry frown, his eyes looking angrily in the direction they were heading.

“I have an older brother, you see” the captain said. Suddenly, Bruno understood what he was talking about. Egyptian law put enormous emphasis on being the eldest son. The eldest son usually inherited everything, and then had to divide his father’s property among his brothers. However, if they didn’t, there usually was no way of stopping him, being the new pater familias. This left other brothers in service of their older brother. No matter how much that oldest brother had actually done for the family. Normally, the last will and testament of the father corrected for that, but if the father died without leaving such a document…

“I always assisted my father in the fields. I was his staff of old age. Now, my brother, who is more concerned with spending than earning, controls all our land”

The captain was clearly bitter over this all, and rightly so, thought Bruno. It was the result of a society where family was more important than the individual. However, it was also a symptom of a less-developed legal system. Somewhere in the back of his mind, ideas began to churn. If this was a dream, how much would be he able to accomplish? How much would his knowledge of 5000 years of legal tradition help him here? It was an opportunity too good to give up. Sipping from his goblet, Bruno began to contemplate.

“Our meeting seems most fortuitous, captain” he began. “For in my country, I am a student of laws. If you bring your case before the magistrates, I will do my best to defend your honour and cause”

This seemed to surprise the captain, but not as much as Bruno would have thought. There were varying levels of gratitude and reserved sceptic looks in his eyes, not sure whether to take him up on the offer.

“How much would that cost?” the captain asked.

“Food and shelter, for I have travelled further than you can imagine”

The captain contemplated for a moment. Soon, however, he reached out his hand.

“We have a deal then, stranger” the captain said, shaking Bruno’s hand gratefully. The concept that he was going to perform an Egyptian legal case quickly flowed through Bruno’s body. The academic in him jumped up and down with joy, being the only human being able to see such proceedings from up close. He would actually perform there, and perhaps even change the outcome of the case. However, his main objective was to get noticed. Get a feel of the power structure of the realm he was heading to, see it from the inside before diving in. A sudden feeling of dread followed soon after. Was he just using this captain for his own gain? The captain was a man too, with hopes and dreams of his own. Bruno vowed, internally, to do the best he could. However, he could not vow for what he would do if certain opportunities presented themselves to him.

[Labstoska]

John Collins
When attempting to run down to the camp John found that after the ordeal that he had gone through had made his legs rather weak and when attempting to catch up with the warrior he found that whenever he attempted to run in order to catch up with the warrior his legs would simply give out and John would be left on the. Eventually the warrior noticed John's plight and ran back in order to support him as they now began to walk back to the settlement. In this time John was able to learn some things about the warrior and about what had been transpiring within the clan, first of all John learnt that the warriors name was Batukhan and secondly he had learned that he and one other of the warriors had accepted the divine truth of the holy creed together these two men had been smuggling spears to the slaves in the hope of rising up against the pagans who ruled them however Batukhan's accomplice had been caught only yesterday and was sentenced by the leader of the clan to be executed in front of the entire slave and free man population of the clan as a message to all those who were considering converting to Christianity.

Eventually John and Batukhan arrived within the camp and were luckily able to sneak into tents in which the slaves were kept and show John their plan. When John entered the tent in which the majority of slaves were kept the people who had either been attempting to get to sleep or silently talking all looked up to him and an eery silence passed over the room (or rather tent) before a great cheer .Urgan and Batukhan quickly silenced them before they began showing John the plans that had been formulated in order to get retribution against. The main component of this plan were the spears which Batukhan and his now sadly deceased colleague had managed to smuggle to the slaves which they would use in order to take the camp while the warriors were busy with their revelries. They had already checked to see who would join the fight to spread the teachings of the prophets message and it seemed as if nearly every man and woman would take up arms against their enslavers all they needed was the permission of the prophet in order to commit to what they were about to do.

John was currently having a moral battle going through his head, 'was it really right to bring forth violent retribution against others just because I disagree with their beliefs' were the words of a small and quiet voice inside his head, another voice now spoke, fuelled by the hatred built up inside of him after the long days of torture that he had endured, it said 'These people are slavers they bring only misery wherever they roam, they refuse to allow us to worship and therefore we must fight for our right to not only be free but our right to embrace the light of god' the far louder and more violent voice within his head won out far and so with the Batukhan he stood in front of the crowd and began to speak:

"My fellow christians these nomadic slavers once came to every single one of us and stole our freedom, we had all nearly given up hope but then the light of the lord came and gave us faith, not only faith in him but faith in a better future of what is to come, however our captors they deny us this faith, they wish for us to become but soulless husks if you require proof then look what they did to me, they tried to strip me of everything that made me Human. So if they will not grant us our freedom then we shall take it for ourselves!"

With that the slaves began to arm themselves, of course there weren't enough spears for every single person but the slaves still had the advantage of sheer numbers and with one great war cry the armed horde rushed out of their tents. The guards where overwhelmed by this horde while they were able to kill quite a few of them the slaves managed t pin them down and execute them. The next targets for the slaves were the shamans tent where the free men went to worship and the chiefs hut, the force practically divided itself in two as the shamans tent was ransacked for all it's religious idols and the shaman himself was killed. Meanwhile the chief and captains were able to put up quite a good fight however they soon fell as all the others, the chief and his captains were not to be killed instead they were to brought out in front of their tent and have the religious idols lain before them not only that but every free man within the camp was to be woken up and gathered in order to watch the final steps of Johns takeover which was to have the chief and his captains step and spit on their religious idols, if they did not then they would be executed. The chief was the first to make his decision, he made the unfortunate mistake of spitting at he slaves which received a cheer from the free men however they were quickly silenced by the fact that a spear was now protruding through the chief's chest. The rest of the captains promptly stepped on their idols but they were not allowed to escape scott free instead they would have to go through 10 years of servitude. The rest of the free men were spared this faith however John declared that anyone who was found worshiping pagan gods would be executed.

The following morning John began reforming the clan into a state that he believed would begin to spread civilisation throughout this land. His first reform was to put an end to the nomadic wandering that this clan had been going though for so long and instead adopt an agricultural society, most of the slaves had formally been members of small agricultural communities so it was relatively easy to begin setting up farms across the great plains. The next of his reforms was a quite bit harder and that was to establish an official priesthood he spent many long nights attempting to instruct the wise men of the clan who were loyal to the faith how to do things such as read and write in proper english, it almost drove him mad but after a few months he finally pulled it of. The last three reforms were to establish a book of laws based around that of the 12 commandments and the teachings of the bible and the final reform he passed was to gather a group as his most devoted followers and create an order known as the Zealous, these men would not only enforce the law but they would also ensure that there was no religious deviation from the established one. John has also gone to great lengths to give the zealous the finest equipment that his blacksmiths could make which lead to them having a full set of copper armour and a choice of either copper tipped spears or swords, may not have been the most inconspicuous police force however they sure were able to bring down anyone who threatened the faith. The last reform John made was coupled with a revelation about where he was for in the past few days John had attempted to come to grips with where he was by having a good look a the geography of the area he saw that it was extremely similar to Urga a place that he had just got back from visiting just before he had been transported to this place, it was also rather evident to John that civilisation had been wiped of this Earth which caused John to now believe that God had placed him here to either to found civilisation or rebuild it, all of this tied into Johns decision to rename the clan 'the Divine Khanate' and crown himself 'the heavenly khan'. These were but the first of Johns great reforms soon many more would be coming and the people of this clan would not be able to escape the coming reality of Johns new civilisation.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Sterkfestning, Nom Sapmi

The crowd of civilians spoke amongst themselves, their high lilting tongue strange to the ears of the Outlanders; it wasn't long, though, before the tunic-and-fur clad folk parted, and the sound of heavy footfalls could be heard as men bearing weapons approached. It was a column, from somewhere else in the capital of the Saami, and at its head strode a warrior who towered above the people at the dockside as a man does a child, his hair long and red and plaited and thrust into his belt. His mien was not swarthy, like that of most of the folk that swarmed about the piers, but fair and pale- a different national origin, perchance.

In his hand was a naked axe, and the warriors at his back had the look of killers, not guardsmen. His voice was harsh, suspicious, and brooked no disagreement when he parted thin white lips.

"I am Gunjar, sword-sword of King Heigen. Your look is strange, and your words likewise by the report of my soldiers. Speak quickly- my blade stands ready, if I deem you threat to Nom Sapmi and her folk."

[Ulls]

Sterkfestning, Nom Sapmi

The crowd of civilians spoke amongst themselves, their high lilting tongue strange to the ears of the Outlanders; it wasn't long, though, before the tunic-and-fur clad folk parted, and the sound of heavy footfalls could be heard as men bearing weapons approached. It was a column, from somewhere else in the capital of the Saami, and at its head strode a warrior who towered above the people at the dockside as a man does a child, his hair long and red and plaited and thrust into his belt. His mien was not swarthy, like that of most of the folk that swarmed about the piers, but fair and pale- a different national origin, perchance.

In his hand was a naked axe, and the warriors at his back had the look of killers, not guardsmen. His voice was harsh, suspicious, and brooked no disagreement when he parted thin white lips.

"I am Gunjar, sword-sword of King Heigen. Your look is strange, and your words likewise by the report of my soldiers. Speak quickly- my blade stands ready, if I deem you threat to Nom Sapmi and her folk."

The warrior stood above Jeb as he the masked Outworlder had to slightly look up at him. He looked similar to what a Viking would look like and the name sounded Norse enough.

" Gunjar, my name is Caligari and me and my people have come from the land of Giant Trees and Frozen Sisters. I have came here after seeing the Vikingyr cities but we have found foreign flags, people, and this name by the name of Nom Sapmi."

He points waves his hand up and down the sword-sword's physical characteristics," You Gunjar obviously aren't like these people. Similar to some of your warriors. If anything, I wish to gather information and diplomacy from your king. I truly mean no harm to your people and you have us at a disadvantage if that will assure you I and my people mean know threat."

[Pasong Tirad]

Arsenio Lacson
On the coast south of Athens, dawn

He was at the tech booth and then - he just wasn't. He was holding the script with all his notes and he was getting ready to cue the boardsmen when all of a sudden, he just wasn't there anymore. He wasn't in a theater at nine in the evening on the last show before he gets his final pay check. Instead, he's on a beach, naked, sun rising up from the eastern sky quite literally on the other side of the world - and where he is is the least of his problems.

Several men were coming up to him, spears in hand and a couple of carts waiting for them further back. There were several other bodies on the shoreline, along with pieces of wood here and there and the occasional valuable item. They were scavenging what was left of a wreckage - it looks like a few boats didn't make it safely onto shore. Some of the men were talking to several survivors, but most of the bodies that washed up on the shores south of Athens were dead - except for one more body two men were standing over. They didn't touch him, because they thought he actually was dead.

"He Egyptian?"

"Could be. But the boat wasn't Egyptian. It was Minoan. What would an Egyptian be doing on a Minoan boat?"

"Canaanite?"

"It's possible, but his skin is too muddy. Canaanites don't have mud-colored skin. And Canaan is much farther away than Egypt."

"From Cyprus, then."

"I don't know, alright? He looks dead anyway."

The man prodded Arsenio with the end of his stick, only for Arsenio to suddenly wake up. Eyes jolt open like it's the first time he's used his eyelids and he takes in air as though his lungs have never tasted it. Arsenio was awake - but in an entirely different world. The two men standing over him take a few steps back, surprised at the man they thought rising from the dead. "Are you Greek?" One of them asked. Arsenio just looked at him. Confused.

"Where am I?" he asked - only for him not to here what they answered. He spoke, but he didn't speak anything familiar to the two languages he already did speak. That wasn't English and that wasn't Tagalog, either. He didn't know it yet and he didn't understand why it happened, but he was speaking their language - he was speaking Greek.

"I told you he's Greek. He probably is from Cyprus," the man said, before moving off to continue scavenging, while the other man stayed with Arsenio, asking him "Do you remember what happened?"

Arsenio just looked at the man. He understood them. He knew exactly what they were saying, but they weren't using English or Tagalog to say it. He knew that that combination of sounds meant "Do you remember what happened?"

"I understand you" was all Arsenio could bring himself to say.

"Aye, and I understand you." He offered Arsenio, who still sitting on the beach's sands, his hand. Arsenio took it and surveyed his surroundings. He hasn't been to a beach in ten years. Seeing the look on Arsenio's face, he offered to once again answer his first question. "You know where Athínai is, right?"

"Athínai?" He said it over and over again in his head. He heard Athínai, but his head already knew it meant Athens. Still, he was thinking that he had never studied the Greek language and couldn't possibly have known that that was the Greek word for Athens. It was nearly impossible. And yet, here he was, on the shores south of Athens without any clothes - and then it hit him. He was naked. He instinctively put his two hands on his genitals as soon as his mind reminded him of that.

"We'll get you some clothes," said the man who helped Arsenio up. "And we'll take you to Athínai. We know the elder there, maybe he can help you get your bearings. It's the festival, the elder's birthday is coming up, so we're all feeling generous. I'm Kleomaki. Do you have a name?"

"Arsenio," he said. But because of the Filipino accent that he still has, Kleomaki heard it differently.

"Arsenios? Good. You are a Greek. That's a good, strong Greek name. I like it. Come along, Arsenios. We'll bring you to Elder Théspis. Welcome to Athínai."

[The Orson Empire]

Winsconsin Frontier

A full moon shined brightly alongside the stars on this temperate spring night, while crickets chirped, wolves howled, and a chorus of other animals could be heard from the forests. Close to the banks of the Mississippi River, hundreds of men drank and ate with each other along the dozens of tents scattered across the forest floor. The feast was extravagant and lavish, seemingly fit for a king rather than the lowly tribes, and meant to prove the sheer hospitality of the host. While the alcohol flowed heavily, and men laughed and even fought each other in drunken duels, the Mississippi flowed mightily in the background.

The river was the bringer of life to the tribes who lived and farmed on its banks, as they depended on the water. Tonight however, it was to be the backdrop of death.

The news had spread throughout Ego quickly: the Bison Chasers had been spotted along the frontier in Wisconsin, marking their return after having disappeared for years. Turner had known them well- he had fought them during the Wisconsin Campaign. They had migrated from the Great Plains to the west, and were known for their ambush tactics against the armies of Ego, allowing them to score several victories in the campaigns. Eventually, however, they were overpowered and, along with the Five Wolves, forced out of Wisconsin entirely. Turner had become a national hero for his efforts during the campaign, allowing him to put his reputation as an upstart behind him with the general public (though, those still high up in the government distrusted him).

Turner had been awarded a province in southwestern Wisconsin, and had finally been allowed to begin his career in politics. He had gained their near unconditional loyalty of eight tribes he had recruited during the Wisconsin Campaign, and they now formed the core of the population of his province. However, his honeymoon period had worn off, and the return of the Bison Chasers would certainly spell disaster along the frontier regions. Those living in villages along the Mississippi were terrified of potential raids, and Turner knew that a terrified populace was also a dangerous one- the atrocities people were willing to commit out of fear were incredible.

Of course, Turner also knew that a fearful populace could also be exploited for his own gain, and he would do just that. Intelligence reports provided by Turner's army revealed that it was an exaggeration; a portion of the Bison Chasers had returned, but certainly not all of them. They were led by a chieftain known as Haekho, who apparently had suffered a falling out with the rest of the tribal leadership, and decided to leave the plains with a band of hundreds of loyal supporters, settling 100 miles south of Turner's province in Iowa.

However, many would often exaggerate reports of the strength of this offshoot of the Bison Chasers, claiming that they were a massive horde numbering in the thousands. Turner and those in his provincial government did not correct these rumors, as it played perfectly into their strategy.

Haekho was, of course, looking to raid other tribes in the area to take slaves and much needed supplies, but he was avoiding Ego, remembering how the last war went. If he tried to raid a village inside Ego's borders, the Bison Chasers would certainly be hunted down and exterminated. Nevertheless, Turner acted to keep the peace in the frontier regions. He would personally meet with Haekho along the banks of the Mississippi near Wisconsin, with their armies present for their personal protection. A major feast would be held, paid for by Turner's provincial government. They would discuss a possible non-aggression pact between the two, in an effort to end any enmity present and hopefully become friends and allies.

The feast began rather lukewarm. Haekho brought 400 soldiers with him in a show of strength (not even counting the dozens of camp followers), while Turner appeared to have brought only 150 soldiers, to prove that Ego really did desire a permanent peace. Turner's soldiers were initially very skeptical of the situation, believing that Haekho might take a gamble and try to do battle with them with so many soldiers. Even General An Hal, a former chieftain who was now Turner's right-hand man (having served with him during the Wisconsin Campaign) was concerned about the situation, but Turner assured all of them that everything would go according to plan.

As the feast went on through the night, and men became evermore drunk, the ice seemed to be broken between both sides. Though, Turner's men appeared to be consuming far less alcohol than Haekho's men; Turner wanted to show off his hospitality, and thus most of the precious drink was reserved for Haekho's men.

Haekho and Turner talked for some time in a private tent, and it seemed that peace would be assured between the two. Haekho even admired Turner and his achievements, and it seemed like the two could form a strong alliance that would last for generations. Turner had even promised to help Haekho against the rival chiefs in the Bison Chasers, providing much needed aid in the coming war, which virtually ensured his cooperation. Haekho himself quickly became very drunk, though Turner only drank a small amount, preferring to keep his senses; all talk between the two quickly came to an end. Turner would excuse himself from the tent after a time, while Haekho engorged himself further on the feast.

And now, the Mississippi would flow red with blood.

The Next Morning

Those exposed to death often, such as soldiers, often say they get used to the smell after a time. Even after years of fighting in battles, Turner never got over the sheer might and fury of the stench.

Turner walked along the banks of the river, surrounded by dozens upon dozens of corpses, all of them being Haekho's soldiers and camp followers. In the distance, smoke could be seen rising high above the horizon; Turner's men had constructed giant bonfires, loading piles of corpses onto the fires to ensure evidence of the mass murder was covered up. With the amount of dead that had to be 'processed', it could take days to fully clean the scene.

Despite the horrid stench, Turner simply smiled with glee at the scene. The plot had worked perfectly. Following him was General Hal; at first, the two said nothing to each other, merely marveling at the blood-stained and maggot-infested scene around them, while soldiers worked to move the corpses into the bonfires.

"What a sight..." Hal simply said. He then looked at Turner, now a bit disturbed at his happiness. "I have known you for a long time now, Turner...never before have I seen you so happy at the sight of death."

Turner looked at him. "Their deaths are...unfortunate indeed, but the plot was a success. Their drunkenness was their demise."

Hal said nothing for a time, but then spoke once more. "You should have let us know that there were 200 more men waiting in the forest. I was beginning to get cold feet...and you know I am not one for cowardice."

They both laughed. "I wish I could have told you, old friend. But, secrecy is of the utmost importance. But now, the hard part begins. Most of Haekho's army has been killed in one fell swoop, and his lands are open to conquest. I have already sent word for all of our provincial forces to mobilize, and you are to lead them."

Half frowned. "You will not be personally campaigning?"

"No. There is business I must attend to in the province. I need to be present to ensure my province develops in my vision. Bureaucrats tend to find a way to complicate such matters."

"That we can both agree on, friend. Looks like you have broken them in for me however."

"That I have, general."

They both continued their walk among the horrific scene surrounding them.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Sterkfestning, Nom Sapmi

The burly soldier mused for a moment, his eyes running over the vessels offshore. "We have heard speech of folk of the west, beyond the lands the Norscans have taken for their own. Very well, Caligari, perhaps your words have merit- it is not mine to decide who speaks with the lord of Nom Sapmi, though. I shall take you before Steward Agelmar, that he may judge your worth for himself, and see if you are worthy of the king's time."

Gunjar returned his heavy war-axe to a belt loop as he finished speaking, and the soldiers behind him appeared to relax, though some of the civilians muttered with disappointment; obviously they had been looking forward to a fight.

"There are two conditions, though, Caligari. I may speak with a man in a mask, but the Steward will not, anymore than my king would deal with an unknown emissary. Your reasons for donning such garb may be your own, but on this I am firm- it shall be removed, or you shall not see the face of my lord Agelmar."

"The second, that your ships withdraw from this harbor. Their presence disturbs the traders. There is an anchorage a short distance up the shore where they may make berth, while you are within Sterkfestning. Chose two men to accompany yourself to the Festaghund, if you feel need of them, and then I will take you thither."

[Ulls]

Sterkfestning, Nom Sapmi

While Jeb and the Gunjar were talking, two of the mask men were talking amongst themselves.

" So, do you believe that the Master's plan would actually work?" A male voice could be heard in Nol Tongue.

" Well we've made to the Old World, found out that there's an Outworlder country off of the sea between the Frozen Sister we made our own. If anything, we need this plan to work or we're going home with more trouble than we already have at home." A female voice spoke.

After what seem that the crowd and warriors died down as their leader came up to them and spoke to them specifically.

" He's allowed us to see his Steward but we have to go up there without the masks and our ships will have to move up north from the capital."

The male spoke," so much for our secrecy."

" They already know of us and that we occupy Iceland." Jeb said to him.

" Guessing you want us to go with you master? If anything I can try to understand the people and what kind of country were working with." The female said.

Jeb nodded," that's why I brought the Archiver, but try to do it discreetly like you usually do. And no masks, we don't want to break their trust already."

The three walked up and removed their masks, the two Native Americans had distinct features like that they came from different parts of America but the people were more alarmed at the sight of Jeb being a white man among the Native Americans. His features were a mixture of different parts but one thing that had stood out was his features were more of the way of the Anglos and Saxons, at least the proto-tribes of the two.

" Now we are ready to go speak to the Steward Gunjar."

Man-Majol,
Skulk Caravan

The caravan was not as large as the communities but they still had skilled workers. The encirclement of the caravans sent throughout California during the start of the centralized government in Ego had allowed the Skulk to understand greatly of the past of Red California. They realized that the West Coast was the most populated region in the continent. While Ego was much larger in land but it was sparsely settled compared to the arid coastline. On top of that, the Californian civilization was older than Ego, around 70 years at best.

Among the examples of that prove their theory was a couple of blunderbusses that were made of iron and rusted but still were one of the most important discoveries in America. It meant that guns and gunpowder were a thing but it seemed to be the highlight before their Outworlder disappeared. The locals don't know where they left but they shared stories of times when they were all united and had millions of people under their power.

People like the Man-Who-Spoke had came very recently and split California and war against each for decades. The Outworlder was older than their master and Ego itself but they already knew that their was an inconsistency of the arrival of Outworlders through their time but that wasn't the issue, the issue was that they had guns and if they didn't fracture then they may have been able to rule the continent. However, the ability to copy the powerful weapons and the ingredients to make gunpowder were still an issue, so much the gunpowder than the guns themselves.

As of right now, the caravans stayed in the north in Man-Majol in order to do one big experiment, try to discover steel. The steel phenomenon happened during the first cast iron forges. The iron of those tools were uncommonly durable or sharper than other iron tools and Jeb had started to say that they had accidently found how to make steel. When the Skulk caravans reached the Land of the Bear, their master had decided to make contact with the Man-Who-Spoke to get access to the iron supply and start the process of discovering steel. It would take a lot of iron but they had faith that they can produce the effects.

[Pasong Tirad]

Arsenio Lacson
Athínai

Arsenio and the others were walking for a good hour. Most of the men were soldiers with swords of bronze and spears with tips of iron. Others, like him, were plucked up from the sea. Arsenio deduced that the boat that sank off the coast wasn't just one small boat, but probably several. Nobody knew who he was, but it didn't look like a lot of the survivors from the sea knew anybody else, either. He heard from the idle chatter that the destination of the ships was further northeast from where they crashed, that the Athinaíos had set up a small portion of the beach as a place where boats could dock. The beginnings of the large-scale naval trade networks of the Mediterranean.

The party crested a hill, and Arsenio saw it: nothing grand or spectacular, really. It was a small village next to two rivers to the west and the south, with the main village situated right next to a river to the north. South of the main village was a large flat-topped hill, mostly rock but he could see several trees on top of it. A small stone house was on top, and a lot of smoke was coming from the area, too.

"That hill is where Elder Théspis resides," Kleomaki said, pointing to the hill with the fires. "That's where we hold our festivals. The main village, however, is below the hill, right on the Iridanos river. The river to the south is the Ilissós, and the river to the west is the Kifisós."

Arsenio was beginning to connect the dots. He felt very out of place. This whole village felt very out of place. There were no cars, no lamp posts connecting electric wires from every house, the roads weren't paved, the houses made of wood and stone didn't look like anything from modern architecture, there were animals everywhere - horses, cows, chickens, pigs, all of them just roaming around the area, more numerous than the tiny heads of the people. Most of the people he could see were in a central area, cleared of all trees. It was crowded. The kind of crowded Arsenio was used to - clogged streets filled with cars and people.

Arsenio was beginning to think that he was in another time - but, of course, he wasn't able to fully connect the dots yet. He's getting there, though, but it'll be difficult to accept.

They entered the village an hour later. It was a sprawling mess. Chaotic, even. There were no real "streets" except for the muddy areas the people and the animals kept trodding on. Houses made of either stone or wood were everywhere, and all of them were small. Just larger than the typical condominiums Arsenio was used to - probably larger than the condo he owned.

"You can stay with me, Arsenios," said Kleomaki. "Elder Théspis can meet visitors later tonight at the festival. This morning, you can rest and get your strength up. Any questions you have, you can ask me and my wife, Lysistráte."

A few minutes later, Arsenio entered Kleomaki's home. It was small and humble, made of stone and reinforced by clay and a thatch roof to keep the water from destroying the house. Kleomaki's wife, Lysistrate, was by the fireplace, roasting what looked like chicken legs. "My dear, this is Arsenios. He's from Cyprus. He's a survivor from the shipwreck."

"Oh dear, hello. You must be starving. Come in, sit down. We have plenty of food." Kleomaki and Lysistrate were both young and beautiful people. They were probably just around Arsenio's age, but they didn't look as "clean" as Arsenio - Kleomaki had scars on his let upper arm and a notch on his right ear lobe was missing, probably from battle. Lysistrate was already showing lines on her face, most likely from the toils of manual labor. There was a small crib made of wicker and wood in the corner, padded with fur cloths, but it was empty. Arsenio spent a full split-second to look at it and made a mental note to never look at it again and to never bring it up.

Lysistrate was still busy tending to the fire. Arsenio and Kleomaki sat down, upon which Arsenio finally had the courage - and the strength of body, actually - to speak: "Okay, Kleomaki, what the actual fuck is going on?!" Kleomaki's eyes widened, and Lysistrate stopped dead from her cooking. "This, this language that I'm speaking here? This is not a language I've ever heard or studied. Apparently, it's Greek, and apparently, this is Athínai - and that seems impossible, because there isn't that huge temple Acropolis thing on top of the rock. Although, I gotta say, that rock does look familiar. But literally fuck all of this makes sense, dude-" he said the English word 'dude,' probably due to the lack of any proper translation of the actual word "- last thing I remember was I was in a theater, the next thing I know, I'm waking up naked as fuck on a beach south of Athínai, apparently, which makes no. Fucking. Sense. I'm speaking full sentences - full fucking sentences - in a language I've never heard and never studied and, apparently, time seems to have gone back a couple fucking millennia." Kleomaki and Lysistrate didn't even look mad at hearing a total stranger just burst out at them. The looks on both of their faces were equal parts confusion and curiosity.

"This! This language I'm speaking now, this is English. At heto naman, Tagalog. I've been speaking those two languages my whole life. I've studied them, I've spoken to people who speak them, and it's the only languages I'm used to hearing on a regular basis. This, this tongue I'm speaking right now, I have no fucking clue what the fuck it fucking is or where it fucking came from." He stood up, hands waving like a madman at the disbelief of his current situation. "Fuck!" He shouted. He could hear chatter outside their house, mostly asking what was going on inside, but none of the voices outside seemed to care too much.

"Arsenios," Kleomaki finally spoke. "Sit down, please. Have some kotópoulo." Arsenio sat down. He was close to crying, but he was more angry than sad.

"Dear," Lysistrate said to Kleomaki, "that sounds like another story I heard. About a man from the Pelopónnisos, but it's probably just gossip. An old man found somebody naked in the forest, whiter than any man they've ever seen before, speaking their language, but coming from a place they'd never heard of. Maybe it's also the place you come from. What was it? Ta Ga Log?" Arsenio just looked at her. He was tired, and he could feel it. Before he could even utter a reply, he could feel himself losing consciousness until, just like this morning, everything went black. In his last conscious moments, he heard Lysistrate scream and Kleomaki call out his name. He was unconscious once more.

[Labstoska]

The arrests were getting worse, day by day the people were growing tired of the Zealous's seemingly constant abductions. Batukhan, the man that John had put in charge of the Zealous so that he could better educate his priesthood, had been stepping up the control that the Zealous had over the Khanate, he had also been expanding the definition of what it meant to be a heretic so that even people who were viewed as being champions of the faith had been taken by the Zealous due to 'heretical' activities. John finally grew tired of Batukhan's ruthless crack down when one of the priests that John had spent weeks trying to educate was arrested by the Zealous and was summarily killed, John ordered that Batukhan was to meet him in his tent in order to discuss Batukhan's transgressions.

After what seemed like an age of waiting, Batukhan finally decided to respect the decision of his superior and entered the tent. John granted him permission to sit on the large fur carpet ( he had yet to introduce the art of carpentry to the Khanate) Batukhan started of the conversation.

"I am sorry if I am questioning your wisdom, heavenly khan but I believe it is foolish to have me summoned here while heretics still roam throughout the camp."

That is the exact reason I brought you here Batukhan, your mass purges of the population they must end, only a few days ago your men arrested and executed a priest and as I do recall these men are the holiest in the entire Khanate, so Batukhan I have to ask you was it really heretical actions that lead you to arrest this man or perhaps the reason could have been more personal..."

"My lord surely you know that even those that are considered incorruptible can easily turn against there masters and we have evidence that proves that this man was involved in various plots to assassinate you"

"The reason you just mentioned is exactly why I do not trust you and what evidence do you have to bring to me other than your own words"

"If you wish for me to end my harsh measures than I shall but I warn your enemies are everywhere and only through harsh repression will stability be found"

" See to it that you end the repression"

However the arrests did not end still the Zealous continued their repressive regime of arrests and John began to fear that they were now more in control of the Khanate than he was and that if he attempted to scold Batukhan again that he would be the one arrested for heresy. In order to combat the nearly absolute power of the Zealous he began recruitment for a standing military force know as the free company whoever joined would receive immunity from the Zealous this did cause no end of problems however it was necessary in order to prevent the Zealous from diminishing his ranks. The ranks quickly swelled and in order to supply weapons he began to siphon the bronze weaponry of the Zealous and instead gave it to the free company of course these weapons were just copper tipped spears but still they were valuable to him. Now that the free company had been recruited and a small wooden war camp had been built just outside the settlement where the fee company trained, John could begin his plan to retake the Khanate from the Zealous.

The first stage of his plan was to in the middle of the night the free company was to dismiss the Zealous of their guard duty which was to be taken over by the free company, then when the Zealous had gone to rest the free company was to begin rounding up the higher ranking members of the Zealous including their leader Batukhan. When each of the leaders had been dragged outside they were executed one by one. In the morning the Zealous attempted to retaliate against the Free company but they simply did weapons to fight against them so soon all of the Zealous had been captured or killed. John however did not abolish the Zealous flr he had them report to him as the head of the Zealous for John now knew that only the incorruptible could be trusted with the Zealous.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Part 3, Chapter 5: The Siren Call

April 14th, 85 AG

The air was hot, ragged, parched. Tannis wiped his brow instinctively, though I could see that no perspiration marked it- my linen shirt already felt shot through with sweat as we stood here, even this far from the forges, and I was glad when he closed the door. It blocked the worst of the heat, at least, though it sent the small room into an oppressive half-darkness barely broken by the small exterior window, and the chamber felt only more cramped with myself, the foreman, and two blocky guards taking up space which was really only meant for two men.

"Apologies, Hegemon. It isn't even summer yet, but the smelters put out so much heat we struggle to keep the building anything like cool." I wasn't overly fussed, really. It seemed as I grew older that I appreciated that such concerns were quite mundane in the grand scheme of the march of the years, and I raised a hand, forestalling his murmured regrets.

"Do not trouble yourself, Master Jorik." A grin flickered over my face. "Indeed, I am glad to see that your forges are well supplied, for their progress is much of why we speak today."

The grimy entrepreneur nodded, a wan smile marking his own visage. "Aye, there you speak truth. Heim will still not see the reason of your offer, I fear, and while he dithers the city chokes under his ineptitude."

It wasn't really the most fair assessment, though I was sure it made sense from where the foreman sat. Ceran and her surroundings were flourishing at the hands of the warlord who had set himself over the prominent mining town, to the contrary, her coffers and people growing fat on trade from nearby regions who would pay nearly any price for the rolls and ingots of cast iron that spilled from Blackblood Mine and the warren of smithies that surrounded it. The people of the hills and dells here scarcely found any need to farm or hunt for food, so cheap was it to trade for in their markets.

And that was also what made it so attractive to the Imperium. One of the local Brightlords, Isman Heartsworn, had approached the man Heim this last winter with an offer of integration into the Imperium. Access to shared markets, the ability to sell goods farther than just her local neighbors, protection from any who might threaten her prosperity... it had been, in the thoughts of Isman, and indeed those of many of the guild-fathers and prominent men of the city, a reasonable offer. But Heim clung to power as only a man who had come to it newly would, reveling in his own ability to bind and loose, to prosecute and raise up. It was understandable, but every month he delayed his response, the good people of Ceran languished.

Some were discontent. The master and foreman of one of the largest smelting concerns, Tannis Jorik, was one of them, and that was why I was here. In his younger years he had served in the Imperial Army, learning the trade of a smith, before emigrating to Ceran to take advantage of the opportunities here. It was one of the inexorable facts of this new world, one I resented but could no more stop than I could stop the tides; artisans, doctors, skilled laborers all flowed out of Imperial territories into the wild morass of city-states, confederations, and petty tribal fiefs that surrounded our borders, what was good pay in the Imperium superseded by the ability to command almost any price they asked for their talents in the places where no men could even hope to match their skills.

Yes, I had seen Jorik's house as I entered the city. It was luxurious and well-appointed, though, to my nose, it lay in a part of town that smelled like a privy more than a rosegarden. The wild folk of what might one day have been called Belgium aped many of the customs of their betters, but sanitation was not one of them. Even so, the smith had done well for himself- and now he sought to do better, by moving his business into the borders of the Imperium, gaining the ability to trade near and far without tariff or concern of brigandry.

Axiomatically understandable, a logical progression to treason.

For that was what we were here to discuss. Guards to be bribed, silence to be assured. A warlord to overthrow. A messy affair, but one that occasionally had to be carried out. I preferred, as had my grandson Vladimir until so recently, to let such reticent states come to their own conclusions. One warlord might reject such an offer, but the next might think better of it, and as the years wound onward the tendrils that tied man and woman so firmly to the Imperium only thickened and grew stronger.

"I lament for the good man's folly. He has grown drunk on power, I fear, and will only see logic when it is presented to him forcibly. Perhaps not even then."

The forgemaster nodded, his brow now beginning to sweat again since we were out of the desert-dry air of the smelters, and I caught a glint of ambition in his eyes. It was healthy enough, and not an idea I had discouraged. Ceran and her marches would need a Citylord to govern them, a man who knew their people and their ways, once Heim had either been cast into exile or sent to his eternal reward. What better man to bow to the Imperial yoke than one who knew precisely what engines of war and order could be brought to bear if his ambitions grew too great?

I drew a letter from the satchel at my side, shifting my cloak in order to access the document, my mind decided.

"Your missives have assured me, Master Jorik. Tell the others; this next week, at the striking of the midnight hour of Sunday, you will move. I will ensure all is in readiness from our end, and once the deed is done, you shall be Citylord Ceran and all her dominions. I will inform Brightlord Heartsworn of my decision ere the time has come."

His hands shaking slightly, Tannis took the document, sealed in the ebony wax of the Emperor of Mankind, from my hand, and seemed to be at a loss for words. For several moments he was silent, before stammering out what I had been hoping he would say.

"All shall be as you say, Lord Hegemon. Tell the Brightlord I will await his coming with eagerness, so that all may be put in proper order."

I nodded, and rose, leaving him with some final parting words.

"See that it is, Citylord Jorik. The Emperor is a patient man, and rewards those who serve him well, but does not abide failure. Neither do I."

In two weeks time the final fires were doused, and the soot of the uprising washed away. It was not often that I exerted the iron fist within the velvet glove of the Imperium, but sometimes, more could be accomplished with steel than could be accomplished with gold or the slow march of time.

Sterkfestning, Nom Sapmi

A nod from the dour warrior was all the western man received in the way of acknowledgement, but Gunjar turned on his heel at a languid pace, and the rest of the company of soldiers of Nom Sapmi did likewise. Up the hill of the capital of the North-men did the sworn-sword lead the strangers, through a warren of streets that in places were paved with cobblestones, but in others had fallen to decay and now seemed to be little better than dirt paths between poorly-maintained houses. It was obvious, if one knew the signs to look for, that Sterkfestning had at another time housed far more people than the population that now graced her fine bones, though Gunjar did not mention any of this in the trek towards the structure that stood in prominence over the harbor.

Eventually that structure loomed closer, tall, ominous; the Festaghund of King Heigen, lord of the many tribes and tongues that composed the northern kingdom. It was a well-built keep, better maintained than any of the other buildings within the city, and showed signs of being an active stronghold. Warriors patrolled at regular intervals along the sloped walls of broken stones laid with thick mortar, and the flags that fluttered in the breeze of a rearing bear on a field of indigo were not tattered or shoddy, but newly embroidered and dyed.

Anon Gunjar removed a horn from his belt, and blew a series of notes. In the walls of the Festaghund two great gates, ten feet tall if they were an inch, slowly creaked open after a few seconds of delay, and into the gap the party marched, along with the outlanders. Ponderous stone creaked overhead for a few moments, before the entourage arrived within the confines of the fastness and back out they went into the open air. A few barked commands from the sworn-sword dispersed the few dozen odd soldiers that had accompanied him down to the dock, and then Gunjar turned back to his guests, weathered face more open.

"Welcome, Caligari, to the halls of Heigen King." A large mailed fist gestured toward one of the numerous outbuildings, and Gunjar nodded. "If you will follow me?"

A few strides, and many curious glances from the soldiers, and that fist beat against a sturdy fir door which barred the access to one of the outbuildings that were nestled against the walls of the fortress. Footsteps sounded faintly from within, and the door was opened with the sound of a metal lock clicking, to reveal an older man in opulently appointed robes who blinked faintly at the bright spring sun.

"Gunjar? Who on earth are these men?"

"Merchants, or something like that. Travelers from the port, who claim to need to speak to Heigen." A moment of hesitation. "As you can see, their aspect is... foreign. I thought you may want to inspect them, see if they have ought of interest to say."

The old man harrumphed loudly, and squinted at Caligari and the two Skulk, his pupils dilating slightly upon noticing their oddly swarthy but ruddy complexions.

"Hmm. Yes, perhaps. You have neither the clothing of Imperials, the stink of Scythians, or the skin of Norscans. Alright, come in, strange sailors, come in. Let me throw some wood on the fire, and then tell me what is so important that you must speak to our lord Heigen of it."

Gunjar nodded, and turned away, obviously going back to whatever duties he had previously been called away from.

[Ulls]

Sterkfestning, Nom Sapmi


As the three walked through the city, Jeb noticed how desolated the city truly was. It was being fixed by patchwork scaffolding but it seemed that these builders aren't skilled enough to repair what time already damaged. The archiver made a mental note that their was probably some large migration of the original settlers of this city and the other cities that they saw, which meant the majority of the people aren't the famed Norse that they heard about.

Jeb believed that the few Norse who are here didn't leave with their people, wherever they went to. Though the next question is where did they leave to and what cause them to move their entire people in that direction. As they saw around the people with the company, they saw their galleys in the distance going up north for traders in longships to finally get into port. Jeb knew that nothing would come to him or his people but the thought that he would be outnumber in a fight still ringed in the back of his mind.

As they started to walk into the keep, he noticed that this was more well-kept and was truly to a Norse home would be. Yet the only Norse he had saw were Gunjar and the warriors, and even some of the people walking into the city. As they went into the keep to see the Steward, Gunjar called their looks "foreign", which made Jeb mentally scoff at it before reeling it back once he understood that no where in history that Native Americans had ever crossed the Atlantic nor colonized Greenland and Iceland before the Vikings.

Yet the names that he gave off made Jeb take mental notes of the denyomyns.

Imperial and Scythian? There are three Outworlders in total? If their culture had spread throughout the continent, then we have a lot of ground to cover in Europe.

As the Skulk and Caligari sat by the warmth of the fireplace he spoke in their tongue.

" As Gunjar said we are traders, explorers, and diplomats from the Land of Giant Trees and Frozen Sisters. We've been sent on a secret mission by our leader to explore these lands beyond ours, seek information and diplomatic ties for we have a bit of an... issue back home that need help dealing with. I wish to seek an audience with your King in a discreet matter that perhaps something could be arranged."

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

Amenemope’s home
Thebes
Lower Egypt

Bruno nodded thankfully as Ruru, Amenemope’s wife, placed milk and cooked eggs on the table. The breakfast she had provided had been heavenly, in stark contrast to the cornflakes that Bruno was used to eat in the early morning. The sun had only risen half above the distant sand dunes, partially heating up the cold morning winds. Those came from the south, bringing with them the frigid air of the nightly desert. Luckily, Thebes was far milder, being situated on the fertile banks of the Nile. Lush green oases dotted the landscape there, and trees and shrubbery made firm the ground on which the city was built. They provided shade during the day, but trapped heat during the night, making both more agreeable to endure. Only last night, Amenemope and Bruno had walked the city, talking about important matters of their case with the magistrates.

“So, tomorrow is the big day, huh?” Ruru asked with a pleasant smile. Her husband kissed her gently on her cheek as she sat down with the men, breaking a piece of bread for herself. The bread was divine, far better than the mass-produced drivel made by modern machinery. Bruno pondered both the court case and the fact that breakfast had only gotten worse over the years. It reminded him of the American diners he visited on vacation in the US.

“I hope so, Ruru” Amenemope said. “We’ve worked hard enough for it”

Indeed, the two had spent the better time of a week working on their argumentation. Finding witnesses was the most important task, as witness testimony was the most important piece of evidence in Egyptian law. Neighbours, friends, family… Everything done to prove that Amenemope was the better of the two sons. However, that was easier than the task Bruno had taken upon himself: convincing the Egyptian court that they needed to heed a will and testament that had not been produced by the father, but a theoretical will that he perhaps would have made, had he had the time. These Egyptians were notoriously hard on evidence and the written word, but they also heavily respected the care children had to take for their parents. He had to make sure the last sentiment won the day.

Just as he finished eating a boiled egg, Bruno saw one of the children peeking around the corner. The girl was young, about four or five, dressed in a colourful tunica. With her deep brown eyes she looked straight at Bruno, who smiled at her in return. He waved at the child, winking as he did so.

“Amenemope” Bruno said, putting his ceramic plate back on the table. “I know all about your family history, your lands, your finances… But I have a feeling I know nothing about you, personally. Other than that you are a hard worker, of course”

Amenemope now looked over his shoulder, spotting the little girl standing at the door post. He beckoned her to come closer, picking her up and placing her on his lap.

“This is Penebui, my youngest daughter” he said, brushing her hair. “She is curious, while her brothers are bolder. They’re probably hiding somewhere in the bedroom”

Amenemope then smiled at Ruru, who smiled in return. The child still had her eyes fixed on Bruno, like all people who he had met since arriving in this dream. All family, friends, neighbours had stared at him for a good five minutes before getting accustomed to his presence. So it was with the crew of Amenemope’s ship, the dockworkers who moored his ship, the merchants who they had passed… And especially the children, who least of all felt uncomfortable staring at people for a long time.

“Forgive me, Ruru…” he said gently, “But is it normal for people to stare at strangers here?”

Ruru looked alarmed, and her eyes quickly shot towards her husband, who seemed a bit uncomfortable too. An awkward silence followed, which made Bruno fear he had committed some terrible faux pas. After a short silence, Ruru dared speak up.

“Don’t take it personally, please, but… People are probably amazed because of your eyes” she said, almost looking guilty as she said so, as if she had just done a terrible thing.

“Some people might think you come from the Afterlife, since you returned with me from the tomb of my fathers” Amenemope added, placing a hand on the shoulder of his wife. His wife hugged her child and drew her closer, as if she had to protect her from something terrible. Bruno felt no anger; instead, he felt stupid. How could he have missed that? Of course, the people of Egypt had scarcely seen blue eyes like his before. Had the mutation even occurred already? He had narrowed down the timeframe to somewhere between 4.000 and 1.500 BCE, based on the technology and the political state they were in. Somewhere in the Old Kingdom, at least. Had they even considered other eye colours before? Suddenly, Bruno felt really out of place. Amenemope, Ruru and their daughter all had brown eyes, as did the crew of the ship, and all the people they had met since they’d arrived in the city. He couldn’t help it, laughing at his own stupidity.

“Don’t worry” he said to the couple, who seemed relieved at his light-heartedness. “I never thought about that, and I feel stupid for not having thought of it. Where I come from, this colour is quite common, although we have a lot of diverse colourations, too”

Bruno planned on leaving the conversation at that, but this time, Amenemope would not let go. It seemed like, with that question, a whole barrier between them had been broken. The professional air that had existed between them now made way for a more friendly aura, something that friends would allow between them. From that point on, Amenemope would never call Bruno ‘lord’ again.

“Please, tell us more about your home! You made it sound like a wondrous place when you spoke of it, yet you have been silent ever since. I want to know of this place, where they have so few farmers, where people have blue eyes like the sky and the river”

Bruno looked at Amenemope, and then at Ruru, who had the same curious expression in her face. Apparently, the two had been talking to one another, that much was sure. Even their little girl looked at him, although Bruno couldn’t quite gather if she could speak or understand yet.

“Penebui didn’t get her curiosity from a stranger, I can see…” Bruno said. Seeing the surprised, wondering expressions in the faces of his listeners, he decided to leave the talk about genetics for another time. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees like he always did when telling stories. He used his hands to accentuate the important parts of his story, gesticulating all the way. It felt more like theatre, as his mind raced to render the information he had into chunks usable for consumption. Still, he decided to keep things vague. There was no need telling he was from the future, and decided to make it sound a lot more fantastical than it really was.

“I hail from a land far from here, where people call me Councillor”

That was the most accurate translation of the Dutch word for ‘lawyer’ he could give.

“Where I come from, scientists are held in high regard. Through years of study they become the wisest and most knowledgeable in their field. These men and women then go on to improve the way we live our daily lives. They have made our horse strong and fast, and have built tall buildings for us to live in. Our cities have clean drinking water delivered to every house. Our natural philosophers have created thousands of concoctions to ward off disease, to clean, and to do a hundred different tasks. Our magistrates are tasked with creating grand projects to improve the lives of our people, using funds given to them by a general taxation. These magistrates, elected by the people from among themselves, present us with care for the sick and elderly, and they educate our children in the ways of progress and science, as well as morals important to our society. What I told you about agriculture is made possible by enormous implements and machines, worked by a small number of dedicated workmen”

Bruno immediately felt a twang of regret. It was clear the two had not at all grasped what he had told them. Their faces were awed but blank as their ancient brains tried to wrap themselves around every concept. They probably wondered why they had never heard of his far-off kingdom where magistrates were chosen, where large machines apparently did all the work. Still, they didn’t seem scared or put-off. Instead, they were more curious than ever. Soon, they started questioning him about every tiny detail. How did these machines work? How did they make horses stronger? How were magistrates elected? Who was their king? What was Bruno in their society? Still, however gladly he would answer these questions, Bruno denied them that pleasure.

“If I were to tell you every single thing about my country, you would call me mad, and I fear you would misunderstand”

He looked at the two parents, who seemed equally turned off by what he said. They were curious people, and Bruno felt saddened that he could never satisfy that curiosity.

“Still, if I win your case tomorrow, Amenemope, I will present myself before the king. I will do everything in my power to give Thebes just a taste of what my country has to offer”

[Trinity Commonwealth]

Jia (Elise) Xu, Circle 10 Month 1 Day 1 since arrival.

Over ten years ago, I appeared as this strange white skinned woman within this tribe that I come to known as the Archaic Age of the Mayan Civilization. These people were rather primal and didn’t really had much other than some of what I think would be the earlier form of their culture. But now, here we are, ten years later, and we migrated to the southeast of where we were. Though it was a little deeper in the jungle, we found a fresh small river flowing through, which does not seem to be there today. Hm, the world back then looks extremely different than it does in the present day.

We had fought many battles against other countless of warring enemy tribes, and during those years, my trust with the tribe grew and grew. My young apprentice had begun to learn even more of the ropes of what I had taught them so far. Farming, though useful, has been proven a pain so far. The forest was quite hard to cut down, considering there was allot of it, but I’ve also taught some of the locals on the basis of defense. Nothing more than some basic defense pallasades defended our settlement for quite a bit. There has been quite a bit of people who had came over to our settlement, wanting to assimilate in our culture. We’ve also begun to slowly expand on as well in our settlement, and started to permanently settle the area.

This is when my trust between the chieftess begun to massively increase. She had begun to see the prospects of my work, and had begun to think that I am indeed one of them. But what the most impressive thing she saw about myself, is that, not once, had I ever gotten ill, nor had I aged. I remained the same person as she first saw me, with my very foreign white-skinned self. Her High Priestess was also quite in a bit of shock. She never would of think that I would even still be alive. Even I thought this too. But here I am, being an extremely productive member of their society. I was praised quite highly by the two for my contributions, namely the High Priestess who saw me as a possible savior of their people. I couldn’t deny such a title from these people, as they were quite friendly to me for these past ten years as they got to know me.

Many had grew up, and some familiar faces looked different, including Iuitl, whom I had met. She grew to be a fine young woman and even married someone. Things seemed to also be going the way I had planned in my head, as the tribe became more and more matriarchal. Many women had begun to take positions that men normally had, and the true balance of power had begun to show, atleast to my eyes. One of the major things I had accomplished was probably building my own home, which took me a while, but my straw hut looked pretty good. I had also took in wing of several children that had begun to cling on to me in the past four years wanting to learn from me, as their parents want to know the secrets behind my attempts of making our tribe wonderful.

We are rather off to a good start. Mayapan looked like as if it was going to become one day, an important city located here in the Yucatan. Our exploration of the area had figured this out, since I was able to sight some familiar locations. But much had seem to change for all these years. Our small defense force had also been established, as I see some women training troops to defend our settlement. Our Chieftess even agreed that this place was perfect location for us to permanently settle down.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Part 4, Chapter 5: The Old Man and the Sea

May 2nd, 85 AG

Beneath the quay the ocean waves rumbled, breakers frothing against poured stone and cracked shale. The bay south of the city looked to my eyes as if it were coated in white, the wings of birds of the sea covering its briny depths, but I knew otherwise. Robert flexed his arms, and next to me Vladimir smiled, though the smile did not reach beyond his lips.

"A good day to sail, think you not Hegemon?"

Brightlord Dawn's words were gruff, but to my ears they were almost eager. He was a good man, the ancient lord of Brittany who had bonded her to the black and white over a decade ago, though there was something about his mien that occasionally set my teeth on edge. It was not altogether mere intuition- Lord Inquisitor Baliman's reports on the Brightlord's activities were unsatisfactorily full of an ambition that was both becoming, and alarming. The Governor-General of this provincial collection also had tepid praise to offer; Robert Dawn was a man whose ability to govern could only truly be tolerated in the context of the service he had rendered to the Imperium, and the example he offered to other tribal chieftains within France and beyond.

But that was of minor important. I trusted the Eyes to keep me informed if ought more dire should be discovered. There were many ambitious men within the Imperium, after all- ambition was one of the traits that turned administrators into leaders, after all. I would no more trammel the ambition of humanity than I would cast her back into the ignorance in which I found her, but ambition had to be channeled to good ends, or it would turn upon itself, destructive, selfish. I hmmed for a moment, and then offered measured praise of the day.

"The wind is stiff, and the surf is low. I could ask for more sun, to drive away the chill of winter which yet lingers, but such desires are in vain I am afraid."

Robert laughed more than the sally required, and for a moment I considered dismissing him to speak alone with my grandson. But the Brightlord was a valuable link the chainmail of humanity, whatever his faults, and his ability to unite the disparate Brittanic tribes (at swordpoint, but nonetheless) had seen the boundaries of the Imperium expand more in ten years to the west than I had planned for thirty. Would that I had more men who would go so far to forge a unity out of many parts, would that there were more tribal leaders from afar who could see so clearly as to realize the benefit binding themselves to the Great Anchor could bring to their people.

"Aye, the wind is stiff, and the tide is almost up." Vladimir's voice was more subdued, perhaps because of the eagerness he worked to control, perhaps because of the import of the task he was about to attempt that was finally becoming clear. Perhaps merely because age mellowed men. My eyes swiveled to take in my progeny, and I knew a moment's pang of sympathy. My grandson had done right in abdicating so Mikhael could rise to power at a young age, and he seemed more relaxed these days, more carefree than he had been in a decade. But the driving fires that had formerly flared behind his eyes seemed to me more often in present years to be banked embers, a blaze running down and fed carefully lest it perish.

Age. The constant enemy of man's passions, of his desire for more. Her tender embrace was one I had been spared, so far, but I could see her caresses in the lines of Vladimir's face, in the streaks of gray that marked what had been black-blue hair. He looked old, I reflected, but not so old as I should. Here, at least, the former Emperor was granted the ability to pursue his own designs, to do something more with his life. Many years ago- twenty? thirty?- he had confided to me in a night of too much alcohol that the sea sang to him. The sea he had only seen some few times, the pulse-blood of humanity that throbbed in the ears of those who heard it, and whose endless melody could entrance even the most stone-hearted of landsmen. I knew what he had meant then, and now, before the fire of his body was completely spent, Vladimir meant to make something of that love.

"You sound contemplative, grandson." My tone was soft, like a man gentling a puffing horse, but it was less concern and more quiet sympathy.

A wry smile, this time genuine.

"Well, this may be the last time I gaze upon Europe, if it is my time. The bosom of my childhood, the flower of my manhood, the stick of my old age- all have made their home here, upon these near shores, and now in my madness and yours we seek a further horizon. It is a time for contemplation, if there is any."

True words. The expedition fleet held some of the finest seagoing vessels the drydocks of northern Europe had ever turned out, experienced sailors, supplies for many times over what we estimated the journey would take... but you could never really be sure. Only God knew the entirety of the future, and He did not always share His plans with mere men, merciful or not. The Atlantic was no Black Sea, nor even the Mediterranean, to be crossed relatively safely and in knowledge that shore was never too far afield. Hurricanes brewed out there off the coast of Africa so far south, and midlatitude cyclones lashed the northern passages of the Trade Winds. I gazed south again, towards where the fleet lay at anchor, a forest of masts sprouted from the waves like a limbless woodland.

They were strong, sturdy, tall. Their bows reinforced against the pounding of surf and sea, their sailors having said farewells to kith and kin. But they were toys, vessels crafted by the hands of men, set against the fury of the most unknown and treacherous aspect of our little marble of brown and green and deepest blue that swung in the dance-steps of the heavens.

"Even so. But the tide waits for no man." I gestured with one hand towards a man in the mottled green-gray of the Seaguard that was respectfully approaching our small party here on the windswept western quay. "Unless my eyes mistake me, Admiral Firthwright thinks the hour to sail is now at hand."

Vladimir turned, taking in my gesture, and I saw his shoulders move up and down in an invisible sigh. Then he straightened, life seeming to return to his limbs now that the time of decision was upon him. He proffered a hand to shake, after the fashion of men, but I merely laughed and swept his solid body into a bear-hug which would have squeezed the air from a lesser man's lungs. It was bittersweet, and for a moment I felt hot tears start at the corners of my eyes even as the tail-end of that chortling laugh shook my frame. Vladimir- the Emperor of Mankind- had been at my side now for nearly thirty years, since his father passed on to glory. I had raised him, played with him when he was a child, and now he took his own decisions, ones which might lead to his demise on some foreign soil or in the depths of the sea.

But I would not deny him this choice. All men died- it was only our choice, if we could make it, how to live the lives we were given. Slowly I released him, staring into those eyes that were so much a mirror of my own, and I swallowed down a lump of sentiment suddenly, mastering my voice before speaking. It would not do to show fear, or sorrow, not in front of the Brightlord or one of the men.

"I will pray for you, grandson. Fair winds, and I will look for your return within the year."

Robert offered his good wishes as well, and Vladimir looked as if he wished to speak for a moment, then merely smiled and turned on his heel to march with the Seaguard off towards the waiting skiff that would bear him out to the pride of the expedition fleet, the great Scion's Hand who stood with her four masts and obdurate bulk so way off in the bay. We stood there, the Brightlord and I, for the few hours it took for the entire immense flotilla to depart through Brest's harbormouth, sail after sail billowing under the western gale and bearing hundreds of souls away towards foreign shores.

"I am almost jealous, you know, Lord Hegemon. Perhaps I too will take ship one day- the coast of Africa could use mapping, and I am not a man made to sit still and shuffle papers to and fro for the rest of my life."

I nodded musingly at Robert's words. I had never thought of him as an administrator, to be fair.

"Perhaps I shall have to talk to Emperor Mikhael about assembling another fleet soon, then, Brightlord Dawn."

Sterkfestning, Nom Sapmi

Interesting names. The steward's face displayed no comprehension when Jeb mentioned the lands he hailed from, and Agelmar frowned after the Skulk's leader finished speaking, turning around for a moment to leaf through some papers on a desk behind him. Anon, with a muttered apology to his guests, the steward produced a map- it was a charcoal drawing scrawled on vellum, stretched and cracked with age, but upon it lay a fairly good representation of continental Europe, though the proportions were a bit dodgy.

"Hm. The Giant Trees and Frozen Sisters, you say? I don't suppose you men are from Hibernia, or Caledonia. Fierce warriors they say live there, but, forgive me, neither of you three men have the aspect of soldiers accustomed to war."

He rubbed a chin rough with stubble, contemplating. "A secret expedition, hm. If you're looking for help fighting the Norscans, I'm afraid you may not receive such a warm welcome from my liege-lord."

[Ulls]

Sterkfestning, Nom Sapmi

The Skulk leader gave a grin to the aspect of war and remembering his genealogy that stems from the places the Steward mentioned.

" I assure you, we don't hail from the Isles, nor Europe for that matter."

He goes inside his cloak and grab two maps made of parchment that was in a somewhat mint condition. It was less detailed than what the Skulk normally had but each showed rough drawings of Iceland and the Faroe Islands, while the other map showed Greenland and the current land of Ego but with less precise locations and important locations entirely removed except for the capital and

" This land is west of the Europe, beyond the Atanic Sea. The whole of these two maps make up the Land of Giant Trees and Frozen Sisters.

As for war, well war is a culture that has been engrained into the culture sense it's conception but they've been trying to improve and develop.

Which of course goes back to what our mission. We need some help or some allies to handle a problem in our lands and were sent throughout the land in secret to help against this threat.

If your king does give us some of his precious time that something could be arranged between our lands."

[Holy Tedalonia]

March 23rd, 85 AG
He travelled down the road as he prepared to return to his house. He didn't really use his house often with his military career, but with the recent campaign finished and amount of campaign Ted has done recently his superiors figured on giving him a few days off. Ted disapproved; he had never been the one for idleness and since books and games have not been spread far yet he had no real leisurely activities.

As Ted entered town he headed to his house. He lived in a small town nothing real to note other than the calm and relatively denseless streets. It was one of the new towns that formed and Ted decided on having his small and lonesome house constructed here, since he never really liked the cities. As he turned the curb into his house he immediately saw two greycloaks standing in front of his house discussing something. Ted knew they typically didn't show up to places like houses unless there were signs of corruption or other less savory things. Ted quickly adjust his ear, so he could listen to what they were discussing as his blue gaze meet the soldiers.

The farthest 'cloak said, "can you believe a mere brigand from Italy to get to where he is now?"

Damn, Ted thought. Ted hoped his past would've been more fogged, but alas not everyone can keep their mouths shut. It saddened Ted to think he would have to leave the Imperium. Ted considered the possibility of turning himself in, but he concluded that'd be fruitless, since he'd likely to be tortured or executed for his past misdeeds. If it would be a discharge or forced resignation he might be more comfortable with the consequences, but the Imperium lives off a strict, but understandable set of laws, and runs its nation justly, if Ted would be leading the nation he'd run the nation very close to how this one is currently being runned.

The nearer one added, "and to think he's also an immortal just like our Hegemon a dangerous combination."

Wait immortal? Ted thought. He had always wondered why he maintained a young appearance, and he had heard the Hegemon had always maintained his appearance untempered by the onslaught of years, but to say he's immortal was ludicrous to Ted, why him? Ted then thought about the Greycloaks reputation on their ability to effectively do their job right and made Ted question if he was actually immortal. Regardless whether this information was true or not he needed to leave and make sure they lose track of him. Ted however wished to leave a message for the Hegemon and the Empress, and went into the market to purchase a plank of wood. He sat on the street and carved out words on this plank in english, since if he's similar to this Hegemon, then he might be able to translate and besides he didn't want the message to be read by the cloaks, nor never be given to this Hegemon. Writing in English had its risks, but it is probably the best way for this Hegemon.

Don't Follow Me. Will leave Imperium. Enjoyed my stay. - Tzeentch, the Changer of ways

Ted made sure that even though the plank was short that his message came across. He didn't wish to cause trouble and he also didn't want to be brutally tortured and executed and if he is indeed immortal then the repercussions are going to be even more gruesome. He flipped the side and added some more words, so the greycloaks knew who to send it to. Ted wrote in Imperial.

To the Hegemon of the Imperium of Man

Ted then decided the plank was the best it could be and he went to the curb next to his house. He then slid the plank over to the Greycloaks and began to run. He knew if they're two Greycloaks at his house and if they're them there then they're more in the town. He decided to leave where he entered. He knew once the Greycloaks saw the plank the place was going to be swarming with 'cloaks from top to bottom. Ted quickly entered the forest nearby the town. That way the damn 'cloaks can't tail him on horses easily, however he had a far way to go, and the Imperium is known to be persistent if not dedicated to enacting justice. Ted decided to head west if he's immortal, then he can create a kingdom to sail home. From that day on Ted would no longer be a Imperium soldier, but a Imperial exile.