New Civilizations [IC | Closed]

[Revlona]

Robert
Brest
May 8th, 13 AA

It Bemuses me that it has been 13 years since I first mysteriously appeared in these lands, in these past 13 years my life has been somewhat steady, with me uniting Brittany under my banner to me Bending the knee to the Imperium and becoming brightlord of brittany. I have expanded a small amount to the south and a little to the north, and have taken a beutiful women by the name of Lara to be my wife, fathering two sons off of her.
I have developed trade with the Norse across the way, and i have developed the armies of Brittany into the glorious nature they should be. More recently I accompanied the Hegemon as he said farewell to his grandson when e went on his little exploration trip.
The most recent thing of note I have done is write to Lord-Commander Philius asking for a Military commission, it was the usual dreary official letter stating all my accomplishments and stuff of that sort. The usual bore.

Anyways, now that that is out of the way, I can tell you where my eyes lay now, Africa!

[Ulls]

City of Ego,
Ego

Over the last 30 years, one of the weakest villages of western Wisconsin into the hegemony of the Great Lakes, the ruler of colonies across the Atlantic, and a fierce power in America. Ego had became built fairly quickly from its warrior ways and traded across the east coast with its friend Franklin.

In the capital, it had shown the beginnings of the industrialization and creative applications of iron as scholarly people talk about politics, culture, and economy. The inner circle of power surrounding the great theocratic state had been troubled with the known power of Turner and their network knowing that he made a move against the Bison Chasers while the Skulk are all of over the known world either trying to make Ego stronger or preparing for the second civil war.

This all made the Messenger and her family worried, she didn't know how far her father's plans went or widespread the spy network was becoming. Every time she try to bring up her concerns to her husband or her father, they both say nearly the same thing with "great treasures leading to greater prosperity to Ego" and "that everything will be worth the wait."

She didn't like being out of the loop, especially since the Skulk were nearly independent in both culture and organization yet were the greatest weapon that she knew of. She tried to find comfort with Three-Feathers and his family, who have been kept out of public view sense the First Civil War because they would've been targeted by Turner and even he knows very little of the Skulk and their activities yet he told her what Swan-Heart could divulge that to him as Jeb was worried that Turner would try to interrogate them and find out about the rising power against his.

Still, the mind of the Messenger still worried about her father and she prayed to the gods that her adopted father taught her for comfort in these troublesome times. After she found her center, she resumed her public duties, one of them was the mass industrialization by using water and wind. It would help with the industry of many villages in Ego as there's being a continual influx of immigration coming from the Canadian wilderness and south of the Mississippi.

The second was the clergy and shamans of the Old and New Faiths wanted to try and summon the spirit of Jeb to try and understand the Faiths. She thought that this was a good idea to unite both and prepare for when he came back so that Ego can stand stronger for it. She's been holding this"ritual" back for sometime now but if it didn't happen then they would fracture even more.

The third and final was the developing currency system. The transition and experimentation from barter to a commodity backed has been slow for three years but has shown signs of openness among those who are daring and is used mostly in Chicago, which has shown vast industry progress for a newly found city but if she can with the Mafia to make it easier to spread among the population, than there would be no need for barter any more.

However, she decided to go to Twilight's Gate as she wanted to see the naval academy to hear about bigger galleys and ships without oars.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Sterkfestning, Nom Sapmi

The steward rocked back in his chair, taking the map from "Caligari"'s hands and studying it intently for several moments. His face seemed slightly paler when Agelmar looked up from his contemplation of the parchment, and his eyes looked at the visitors with newfound curiosity, noting perhaps for the first time the strange cast of the features of the Skulk, and their odd clothing.

"Beyond the Isles. Well, I don't know exactly what I expected to hear... but it was not that. You have come far then, far indeed."

Lost in thought the steward seemed for a moment, turning over the ramifications of this discovery in his mind, but after a moment he nodded, hearing Jeb's words about the warlike nature of the people who he led.

"Perhaps we have something in common, then. My people have forged our kingdom out of the ashes of Gunjar's forefathers- he is a Norscan, and we of the North, Lapps. A threat you say, well, that is outside my purview. At any rate, if what you say is true... yes, I think that is the best explanation for your strangeness, men from beyond the Atlantic. As what you say is true, I shall take you to the King. He will desire to hear what your request is, and I have no power to bind or loose that which you might seek."

His mind made up, Agelmar rose, holding onto the two maps and turning aside to one of the doors set in his room. It opened at a touch of the old man, and he motioned for the outlanders to follow him as he disappeared into a dimly lit corridor.

A few strides, a minute's walk or less, and the steward emerged from the hallway into what appeared to be the central part of the keep, a sturdy fortified mead hall. The sound of conversation in the native tongue of the Sami came from ahead, and as the Skulk came through the doorway the ceiling fell away upwards, the hallway transitioning into a high chambered roof from which echoed the arguments of two men; two men, one which sat upon a low graven throne set with amber and precious stones, the other who knelt before his liege.

King Heigen of Nom Sapmi raised bushy eyebrows the color of fresh-fallen snow at his steward's entrance into the throne room, but this was clearly an extraordinary enough situation to gain his attention. A pre-emptory bark of voice ended the conversation with the supplicant, and a brusque jerk of his thumb sent the man scurrying away from the throne, bowing obsequiously without turning his back as he departed the feasting hall. Crowds of courtiers and soldiers parted as the steward led the outlanders towards Heigen's seat, and then Agelmar motioned for them to wait, whispering "one moment" before striding ahead to the side of his king.

The steward whispered for several moments, and the deep brown eyes of the King moved to gaze at the foreigners for interest, before moving down to the map that Jeb had provided. After a few minutes of further whispered exposition on the part of the steward, he stood back, and spoke aloud for all the court to hear.

"Western men, step forward. His Majesty, King Heigen of the North, will hear your requests."

[The Hierophancy]

Coliman

The first thing I noticed was the warmth - pleasant, gentle, it felt as if I was soaking in sunlight. The next was that I wasn't in my bed - instead of the smooth, firm feel of my mattress, the material beneath me was rough, soft, warm, and damp, which was, to say the least, worrying. I decided to open my eyes.

The water was sapphire blue, the sand beneath me wet, streaked with black. All along the horizon there were mountains, great and small, all covered in a thick, vibrant green - it looked like rainforest, though that couldn't be right... By the time I had fumbled to my feet, still groggy from sleep, I knew I was in a dream. There was no other reasonable explanation for how I could have been transported from civilization to the middle of some tropical nowhere - probably some figment of my imagination conjured up from a postcard or movie. Wherever this was, it was beautiful. The plants were lusher than any I had ever seen, the water bluer, the sky clearer. Everything seemed... purer. Even the imposing plume of greyish-white smoke billowing up from the distance was picturesque and captivating. After standing in the sand for a few moments, nude as the day I was born and wondering at what my sleeping mind had created, I decided to take a look around.

Lucid dreaming proved interesting, and despite the impossibility of it all it managed to feel surprisingly real, almost too real. Already I could feel doubt gnawing at the edges of my mind, and I didn't much like the encroaching dread that this wasn't something I could wake up from. After a few moments walking along the beach, looking for something that would prove without a doubt I was still asleep in bed, I decided to create one for myself. I cleared my throat.

"This is a dream, my dream, I control it."

I waited for something to happen.

"There is a ship... made of solid gold... and it's right in front of me. On the bay."

I looked out to the bay, which remained free of golden ships. Maybe I was doing it wrong? I knew that when you were having a lucid dream you could do whatever you wanted - fly, teleport, create objects out of thin air. Perhaps I just had to concentrate...

"I am holding... an orange!"

I looked down at my hand. It remained empty save for the blackish brown sand that caked it. The encroaching dread begin to ferment into something more akin to panic. Maybe I wasn't having a lucid dream at all - maybe me thinking it was a lucid dream was just part of this... this nightmare? Was that how lucid dreaming worked? Yes, yes, that must be it. The panic receded, and my explanation, thin though it was, held out. I resumed walking along the shore, exploring my nightmare, or dream, whatever it was. It was really quite magnificent how detailed and intricate every little bit of my mental cage was - every grain of sand looked and felt real, every tree in the distance waved with the wind as one would expect it to. No matter how hard I tried, I could not spot an inconsistency, an error. I wandered further inland.

The grass here was rough, almost sharp, and wholly unpleasant to walk on. I wandered up to tangle of small trees or shrubs, their trunks close set and tangled, their leaves green & yellow. I plucked one of them off the bush and held it before me. It felt waxy and a even a little warm. I saw nothing odd about it. I took a bite. It tasted like a leaf should - bitter and unpleasant. I spit it out, disappointed I had not yet found something that could prove my suspicions.

Not far away, I could clearly see the edge of a lake, it's water the same blue as the sky. I suddenly realized how thirsty I was - my mouth was dry as the Sahara. I made my way over to the body of water. The lake - if that's what it was - was much larger than I had first thought, and ringed with a thick layer of vegetation. I cupped some of the water - warm, of course - into my hands, and took a sip. Even lukewarm, the life giving liquid went down easy, and I felt immediately refreshed. I remembered something about never drinking standing water, but what did it matter in my dream? Even better, I was getting tired - it felt like I had been wandering along the beach for hours, and the once pleasant warmth given off by the sun had become scathing and oppressive as it made it's slow but certain journey upwards. It only took a few moments to find a nice patch of leaf strewn soil, shaded by the impressive wall of growth surrounding the nearby lake. Laying down and once more closing my eyes, I was sure that I would soon be waking up in my bed, safe at home...

It was dark when I did wake up, and immediately I realized that I was most certainly not back in the comforts of a bed. In fact, my little patch of vegetation had become about as far from comfortable as a place to sleep in could be - already it was crawling with insects, from ant to mosquito, near everything with 6 legs and the ability to bite seemed to have found it's way to my humble resting area. Stumbling to my feet and cursing out whatever deity had sent me this plague of sucking, chewing and underfoot-crunching monstrosities, I made a mad dash for lake, plummeting through what felt like a thicket of razor blades and into the cool embrace of the water.

Floating in the flawless blue expanse and doing my best to remove and eviscerate the small collection of ticks I had managed to collect over night, I finally managed to collect myself to a point where I could start considering my options, and what exactly all this meant. Immediately I discerned that I wasn't dreaming - I'd never before slept in a dream, and doing so seems like it would violate some rule of nature. This, in itself, crushed my morale within a few moments. Whatever had happened - be it kidnapping, drugging, amnesia, or any combination of the three, my odds weren't looking great. If this was indeed the real world, I needed to find somebody, somebody who could get me back to the States. Next I would need to eat - I was used to refraining from food for most of the day, but hunger was already setting in. Before I set out in search of either things, however, I would need to cover my shame - walking around naked in dream land was all fine and dandy, but stranded or not, I wasn't going to risk running into someone whilst completely nude.

Unfortunately, I wouldn't get much of a chance to find food, nor cover myself up - it appeared my thrashing about in the water hadn't gone unnoticed. The men who emerged from the brush opposite to me as I struggled my way on to the shore were certainly odd - there were 3 in total, all of dark hair & eyes which, even with the moon's considerable light, seemed near pitch black. Their skin was dark as well - I guessed of a native tone, though it was difficult to tell with only moonlight to go by. Strangest of all, however, was what they wore - two were in naught but white loincloths, whilst the third indulged in a mantlet as well. In their hands were what looked to be spears tipped with a dark black shiny material I could only assume was obsidian. I was surprised at their presence (and appearance), and quite embarrassed to be caught in a state of undress, but knowing I wasn't stranded alone in some tropical backwater was a huge relief.

"Hello?" The word felt odd in my mouth and sounded almost unfamiliar to my ears, smooth but alien. It was strange, but I chalked it up to hunger and whatever unexplained incident had caused me to lose all memory leading up to my first day on the beach.

"It's an odd time for a swim, tlacaztali. What brings you to these lands?" The man who responded, clad in the snow white mantlet, spoke in the same half-comprehended sing song speech I had greeted him in. Maybe I was dreaming after all?

"I have no idea. I don't even know where 'these lands' are." I thought for a moment on what he had said to me. "What is a tlacaztali?"

"What you are - an albino, misborn, a freak. It's a wonder you have lived this long with the god's curse upon you as such." One of the man's compatriots snorted.

"Oh come now Tlatli, everyone knows tlacaztali are white of hair as well. And it is known their eyes are red as blood. This one has hair of mud, and his eyes look nothing special - certainly not like those of the accursed." At this point, I felt a little offended, and quite bewildered. Where in God's name did people dress in loincloths and talk of the accursed nature of albinos? I was getting more confused by the minute...

"You've been putting too much faith in Ikal's tall tales, Chimali. If I've told you once I've told you a thousand times, you must stop listening to the babbling of merchants. Red eyes? Why, never have I..."

"For the love of god, I'm not an albino! Now could you please tell me where the hell I am?" Tlatli sighed.

"No need to be so rude, tlacaztali who is not tlacaztali - you're in the land of the grandfather mountain, territories ruled by Speaker Tsijiari, who I'm sure would be quite interested to meet the not-albino who has appeared out of thin air in one of his lakes. Maybe he could make you part of his menagerie, eh?" The man turned and gestured at me with his weapon before retreating into the brush with his fellow... savages? Cultists? I had no idea what was going on any more, and truth be told I was just about past caring so long as it resulted in something to wear and some sort of sustenance. Sliding back into the water, I made my way to the other side of the lake and clambered out of the water on once more onto dry land, pushing through the thick brambles, trees and shrubs to where my... captors? Perhaps guides... to where the three men waited.

The man previously referred to as Chimali looked me up and down with at least some degree of pity. "Tlatli, why don't you give the poor lad your tilmahtli? He looked as if he could freeze to death this very moment, and god's know the walk to Colote is a long one." The man wearing the mantlet grumbled something about stupid foreigners and begrudgingly handed me his outer wear, which proved to be surprisingly soft, though it was quite itchy as well - probably cotton. I mumbled a thank you and, as my benefactors began heading out into the rain-forest, fell in behind their little troop, walking out into the dark unknown...

[Ulls]

Sterkfestning, Nom Sapmi

The steward rocked back in his chair, taking the map from "Caligari"'s hands and studying it intently for several moments. His face seemed slightly paler when Agelmar looked up from his contemplation of the parchment, and his eyes looked at the visitors with newfound curiosity, noting perhaps for the first time the strange cast of the features of the Skulk, and their odd clothing.

"Beyond the Isles. Well, I don't know exactly what I expected to hear... but it was not that. You have come far then, far indeed."

Lost in thought the steward seemed for a moment, turning over the ramifications of this discovery in his mind, but after a moment he nodded, hearing Jeb's words about the warlike nature of the people who he led.

"Perhaps we have something in common, then. My people have forged our kingdom out of the ashes of Gunjar's forefathers- he is a Norscan, and we of the North, Lapps. A threat you say, well, that is outside my purview. At any rate, if what you say is true... yes, I think that is the best explanation for your strangeness, men from beyond the Atlantic. As what you say is true, I shall take you to the King. He will desire to hear what your request is, and I have no power to bind or loose that which you might seek."

His mind made up, Agelmar rose, holding onto the two maps and turning aside to one of the doors set in his room. It opened at a touch of the old man, and he motioned for the outlanders to follow him as he disappeared into a dimly lit corridor.

A few strides, a minute's walk or less, and the steward emerged from the hallway into what appeared to be the central part of the keep, a sturdy fortified mead hall. The sound of conversation in the native tongue of the Sami came from ahead, and as the Skulk came through the doorway the ceiling fell away upwards, the hallway transitioning into a high chambered roof from which echoed the arguments of two men; two men, one which sat upon a low graven throne set with amber and precious stones, the other who knelt before his liege.

King Heigen of Nom Sapmi raised bushy eyebrows the color of fresh-fallen snow at his steward's entrance into the throne room, but this was clearly an extraordinary enough situation to gain his attention. A pre-emptory bark of voice ended the conversation with the supplicant, and a brusque jerk of his thumb sent the man scurrying away from the throne, bowing obsequiously without turning his back as he departed the feasting hall. Crowds of courtiers and soldiers parted as the steward led the outlanders towards Heigen's seat, and then Agelmar motioned for them to wait, whispering "one moment" before striding ahead to the side of his king.

The steward whispered for several moments, and the deep brown eyes of the King moved to gaze at the foreigners for interest, before moving down to the map that Jeb had provided. After a few minutes of further whispered exposition on the part of the steward, he stood back, and spoke aloud for all the court to hear.

"Western men, step forward. His Majesty, King Heigen of the North, will hear your requests."

Jeb and the Skulk stepped forward and Jeb kneeled at the feet of the King. The others, confused at seeing their master bowing before him soon took the hint as a sign of respect that Jeb knew about and too bowed.

Jeb got up and spoke," Your Majesty, my name is Caligari and we are from the West. I was sent here by my nation on a secret and urgent mission to find help against a threat in our nation and to secure an alliance that can benefit both nations."

In a Secret Location

The smoke stacks of forges and corn flour were being made by watermill downriver. The local archiver was stocked with men and women in different clothing around the prices of information next to a couple sets of newly created blunderbusses but had the words"no gunpowder" in coded script different from normal tongue.

"So we need to prepare, the knights are always ready but it's about to happen and we need to be organized when it does."

One of the women had started to look at the papers and gave a sigh.

"By the Fox, I thought we had more time but it'd true it talked us a while to get everything ready but I can organize the rest of our groups by the time something happens."

"That's assuming we can organize on time."

" What about the Bison Chasers? Are we still going with that angle?"

" After what happened with their chieftain and the Poisoner showing his fangs on a enemy because he can. There's a chance they can be an ally."

" Or they would kill us because we have fought them in the past."

" Then that's the chance we have to make. I'm going to see them with a retinue and some weapons to make our case."

[Leikmis]

He was turned to steel
In the great magnetic field
When he traveled time
For the future of mankind.

Port of Lázaro Cárdenas

May

In the bowels of human thought and intellect came a disturbed lack of conscious, found only when in deep dream or a state of near death. From this state one could see their life, as one does while dreaming in deep thought or in near death. One could see their family and friends. School, home, a frequented ice cream shop they had gone to every summer. Their mother, their father, his sister, his brother, and their pets, as well as the friends they had shared interests with. These were all he could see. Was he dead? No, no man is dead when they sleep, only in a state of regret that they could not live their life differently in the previous day. Unlike death, dream can come in ways more than one; from injury to day dreaming to sleep, dream could be seen as a fictitious and, eventually controllable, form of fantasy.

Zachaios, a young, quiet, and absent minded yet by his own thoughts ‘intelligent,’ lay on the beach shore, the slow wave of tide quietly and gently smashing against his feet and legs. He laid in a state of euphoria and joy as he looked upon his past experiences within his head. The kind of Euphoria one senses when they have died and are looking upon the bland splendor of their so called achievements. But, he was slowly waking up, from the long dream and nap. Although he thought he was gone from the mortal world, the injuries he had sustained from the car collision in the modern world did not exist and could not exist anymore in this one.

He opened his eyes slowly as he left his state of Euphoria. As he opened them the deep blue, cloudless, and morbidly hot sun rushed into his eyes. He scrunched them, and jolted his head to the side to avoid the light. The lights he had seen in his dream were none like this, because these were real and had texture while those of the mind did not. His eyes, now fully yet somberly awake, stared at the gushing, blue water slowly hit the sand to his side.

His ears suddenly, and without warning unleashed a flurry of rings and sounds, including that of the water gushing next to him. As did his ears, his nose, and other senses began to overflow with senses that had been held back during his slumber. He screamed as all of these senses raced to his blood filled head and the pain that had been inflicted on him the instant the vehicle had hit him raced through each and every one of his nerves. None of his body was broken or harmed in any way, however. He continued for several minutes as his nerves tensing and weakening, eventually calming, with all of his body now very sore.

He sat up slowly, tears dribbling down his now red cheeks. His eye twitched as he looked around slowly, very oblivious of the state of his clothing. The land had seemed to be real, with features, texture, and pores, nothing like his dreams. In the higher, logical parts of his mind he knew he was still in a dream. Everything had been a lie; the crash, the beach, the day. All of it was a dream, and he was in his bed, soon to wake to his fear inducing alarm. The lower, but still logical, part of his mind; the middle mind, thought that he was now dead, landed in heaven for his piety. ‘Could this be so?’ He thought to himself. After all, he was never much religious. And then, finally, to his lower mind, of the more illogical and panicking sort, he thought he had been sent to hell, revived to suffer life all over again, or possibly worse. Maybe he had been kidnapped and taken back to health from a coma? Maybe his neighbor was a murderer after all? What if he was stuck here forever? Would he cry, would he starve, would he die?

The highlands and forests in the distance taunted him to get up from his place on the beach as he thought and panicked, to explore them and find his new position in life or unlife, and everything in between. The weather was humid, the wind non-existent, and the sweat now beading from his body building up. He looked down at his hands, now realizing he was very much nude. He looked up again to find his clothes, which were none to be found. He didn’t trouble himself too much to find them anyways, he was too panicked to find where he was.

In the distance could be seen five men, clad in loin and cloth, carrying spears of stone. Their skin was red, unscathed by the scorching sun and Zachaios’ own burned away. He stared at them deeply in fear and awe as they slowly grew closer. They took a defensive stance with their spears, they were afraid, or cautious of him. Why? He did not know. All he knew was that these men were not Americans, or Mexicans, or Canadians. He too was now afraid, and so attempted to stand up with all of his strength. He managed to push himself up on all fours and knees, pushing with his hands as much as possible. He reached a knee-stand position and then attempted to get into a lunge position. His body screamed in pain. His head exploded with pain and pressure as his legs tried to push him up to a bipedal standing position. After much pain, shouting, and growling he managed to gain his standing position.
His legs instantly buckled under the pain of a car’s weight hitting his body at full force. He landed on his belly and silently began sobbing out of grievance. All other attempts to stand up were to no success.

He lay now, still, and looking to the men close to him. They finished their march and stood around him on the ground. Their skin was brighter than it was in the distance. One of them kneeled down and placed him palm on Zachaios’ chest, a heartbeat was felt.


“It is alive, do we bring it back to the chief?” The man said, looking up at one of his companions.

“If it cannot move then it would be easy to sacrifice it to the gods, Gozio, you know how joyed they would be to have a demon be given to them.” He points the knife end of his spear at me, with a poking motion.

Zachaios begins to squirm insanely at the idea that he will be sacrificed in some damned native ritual. He could not speak, for his screams of pain had shot his voice.

Gozio holds Zachaios’ arms firmly, holding him down to the ground.

“The demons are getting smarter Cosichaguela, It can understand us. We should bring it and see what reward the gods give for such a smart demon. Get the tie, we’ll tie him up now and bring him back to the chief and see what he says, good?” He takes out a piece of vine rope and begins to tie Zachaios hands.


They pick him up, and begin to head for a village in the distance, by a river.

[Ulls]

California Skulk Caravan,
Man-Monjoi

The idea of getting into the iron resources was going slow, too slow. They decided to work on something more practical, their new weapons. They had been looking at the idea that the other Skulk had been working with before the Master went over to Europe but now they are organizing so they decided to send the R&D to the east and west. The east started to work on the steel sense they were near Ego's allies while they were supposed to make improvements on their range weapon, the Tri-Horn.

The Tri-Horn was made during the beginning of the Skulk's beginning after iron was made. The first was their rudimentary one and the current one they had but the idea that they can launch the small arrows that can put through iron, but was slow to load up. To them, this was too slow to be of use but one thing that it could do that traditional bows couldn't was the short amount of training that was needed. What needed a year or two could make a decent archer, a week was needed by anyone but it was still slow to the draw.

The idea had been to make separate improvements and modifications to the Tri-Horn but one that they were constantly needing was to improve the rate of fire. Schematics from Home Territory were sent with the name "latch-1" and another naming" Improvement, repeating chain and box attachment-2" in parchment.

The first parchment they were working was a attachment of their basic design. Using what is known as a "latch" to help the Tri-Horn go beyond their poor fire rate and having a tool attached. This tool would truly make the Tri-Horn its namesake. With it, they got to work on the design right away.

The Bison Chasers Encampment

The agent came with a retinue of warriors and arbalest ready for the fight. He didn't expect to actually find common ground with a foe like the Bison Chasers but they couldn't wait any longer for the Master to get back. He brought goods in hope of bringing the enemy to the table so that he can solidify some type of alliance.

The areas outside of Ego were different than the trees he knew about. These plains were like the deserts he heard from the Skulk in the west but it wasn't as hot. He saw the wooden encampment of the nomadic warriors. They saw the caravan and brought out their warriors, wielding mostly stone weapons but others with some looted copper from the war.

The warriors made their fighting stance and the range weapons were ready.

" My name is Emik, I wish to speak to Onkasha of the Bison Chasers. Tell him that I have something that he maybe interested to hear."

[Labstoska]

The Divine Khanate was coming upon harsh times. The farms that John had ordered to constructed were starting to fail, their crop yields simply weren't high enough to supply the entire clan and not even the fact that the priesthood was now fully instated was enough to boost the morale of the populace. This problem was not one that could not be solved using an agricultural solution, no it was not the fault of the farms but rather that of the land which the crops were grown upon, it was simply to infertile to begin the establishment of an agarian society. Instead of returning to pastoral nomadism John devised a solution, the Divine Khanate was to migrate one last time and if John was correct about where he thought he was it was geographically then his people had a long march south ahead of them.

The exodus began at dawn with all the possessions of the Divine Khanate were packed up on carts which were driven by prisoners who both the free company and the Zealous were to keep a close eye on. The situation between the free company and the Zealous had devolved into one of bitter rivalry with each organisation attempting to gain the upper hand over the other. For the most part the former freemen of the Khanate had begun to calm down with the exodus now coming into full swing life for them had seemed to of returned back to normal.

The Divine Khanate travels south were hastened by John's insistence to arrive in China as soon as possible because God he despised nomadic life, the constant walking, settling down and then packing right up again was agony for John who in his old life he had lived with a very sedentary lifestyle. Eventually the great grasslands of the steppes gave way to vast and dense forests, some suggested that the Khanate should settle there however John would have none of it, he would not stop the exodus until they had reached a particular place than John had in mind. The Khanate would never settle in one place for more than one night and this was clearly beginning to have an effect on the population for as the horde moved faster and faster John's people people grew more and more weary.

However one day despite the ordeal that they had been through they had finally arrived. The great flowing river that flowed right in front of them signified that they had finally reached the place that John had intended for them to reach. When the workmen began to construct the tents John told them to stop, they were instead ment to go into the woods and begin collecting wood for John knew that it was here that a civilization would be born.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

“After having so generously and patiently heard our plea, after reading and hearing all our presented evidence, I would ask of you, magistrates, our masters of law and governance, to take a philosophical tour. From this moment onwards until the moment that I sit back down with my friend and his wife, we will not deal in matters of precise evidence and timelines, the awful and horrid question of which son was favoured more by a dead father, who now peacefully resides in the underworld. With you, my magistrates, I want to ponder a matter higher than which acre of land belongs to whom. I want to imagine a perfect world: a world inhabited only by the spirits of the righteous, and ruled by the gods of wisdom, virtue and justice. I would not enjoy tis thought for too long, for we men and women of earthly desire might grow sick of our own world and long for this perfect place. Yet, as we stand in court, a palace of divine justice, it feels like a disservice not to pay homage to the very ideal we are trying to search for.

A world inhabited by the spirits of the pure and righteous would not require any of us to stand here today. It would not require us to stand or sit at all. A world of the righteous would have no need of laws and contracts, of wills and testaments. Were we all imbued with the perfect sense of divine consciousness we would give onto others what they would need, receiving in return only exactly as we would need. Contracts, guarded by securities and oaths, but be wastes of time, as we would all trust our neighbour to do the best in his power, no external force obliging him to do so. We would give freely onto others, a godly faith instilling in us a feeling of security that the world was helped by our action.

Take us one step more towards our own, for I would not want you to ponder too much on the world of heaven which I described. Imagine now a different world, of mortal souls in our likeness, governed by the righteous gods I described before. This world, like our own, has great need of contracts and boundaries, of personal property and of securities. We mortal souls are not quick, indeed, we would be fools to trust our neighbour without first knowing him for a long time. What guarantee do we have that our trust will not be acted on in bad faith? In such a perfect world, laws and decrees from our ruling gods would show us the light of truth, their judgement deciding in each case what the most righteous and true decision would be. Here too would be no need of laws, as laws are guides the gods do not require. Their perfect moral fibre and union with the nature of the universe allows them no other choice than to do the best possible. Unless we want to commit to the idea that nature can do wrong, we cannot but agree that gods can do no wrong, either.

One step further, and we are in our own world, inhabited and ruled by mortal, imperfect souls. My magistrates, before you think me a charlatan and a fraud, I mean no disrespect towards your mighty office, and certainly not towards the persons who inhabited those mighty seats. Less still would I want to insult our Lord Sovereign, who with divine mandate rules this city in fairness and equity. It is no insult to call a man mortal and imperfect, for, which man is greater? He, who by nature is imbued with perfect sense, or who by free will chooses to take the path of righteousness? While the being is perfect, it would be useless to judge such a creature, as, like a stone thundering downhill, it has no choice but to be good. We do not praise the stone, but we do praise the water carrier, who carries his water up and down the hill.

Still, it leads us to conclude that our laws, our governing principles, are only inspired by what little part of the divine we can witness. For the rest it is the work of imperfect, mortal men, who cannot see into the future. I would therefore argue that your task, my magistrates, is more than to apply the law. Applying the law on its own is applying the flawed will of flawed men, however perfect they may appear. You, as men imbued with a free will, must carry the load that a free will carries; it is up to you to look into the divine, searching nature for what is right. While our laws are not made by gods, we can aspire to follow the ideals of justice they used to create our world with. We follow the feeling given to us by Amun himself: what do we feel is just? That the son is punished for his hard work by the death of his father? A father he loved so much; his death is punishment enough. And do we, by his early death, enrich a man who not only has done little for his family, but little for the community?

I end my plea with this, noble magistrates: I hope your sense of duty and justice is as strong as it is in me and that, empowered by the will of Amun, you make the right choice, by all that is sacred”

Sighing, Bruno sat down beside Amenemope and Ruru, the latter laying an arm on his shoulder. The magistrates spoke among one another, the five men bending of to discuss in a hushed whisper.

“I hope that did it…” Bruno said, looking at his shaking hand. No matter how many times he spoke in public, that tremor never vanished. It was there too at the beginning of his plea, making his voice shake as it bellowed through the large halls of the palace. It had calmed down halfway the first paragraph, though, much to his own relief. Amenemope wanted to say something, but before he could open his mouth the middle magistrate stood up from his throne, addressing the room.

“The council will retreat to her chamber; we will notify you of our decision soon” he spoke. He was either not impressed or trying to look that way, but there was no time to ponder more on that. As quickly as they had said that, everyone in the courtroom rose to their feet, quickly shuffling towards the exit on the right side of the room. Bruno did his best to avoid the stares of contempt from the other side of the room, where Amenemope’s brother and his friends were seated. Amenemope’s account and all the witness testimonies had not been kind on him, and there was no doubt his reputation was tarnished. This procedure between two outstanding members of the community had drawn quite a lot of attention, and the whole city was abuzz with the news of a case. A lot of the more well-to-do public had turned out to witness it all, and Amenemope was quickly surrounded by friends wishing him their best. Bruno, not really familiar with anyone beside Amenemope and Ruru, walked out the palace door, down the steps, unto the square. There, he picked a tree to sit against, where he rested himself in the shade.

From the folds of his robes, supplied to him by Amenemope, he drew a piece of papyrus, a small bottle of ink and a piece of wood, which he could use as a writing implement. It was crude, but it was enough to write with. More importantly, Bruno had found that he could write in any script imaginable. It wasn’t exactly a choice, but when writing for himself Bruno found that he wrote in demotic, an ancient Egyptian script designed for easy writing on papyrus. Demotic wasn’t at all popular yet in Egypt, and Bruno wondered if it had been invented at all, but that he would find out soon enough.

“Article 1” he wrote down, using the Arabic numeral as he went. A one was easy enough on papyrus.

“Section 1: Ownership is the most extensive right a person can have on property”

“Section 2: Unless good morals dictate otherwise, an owner can demand his property be returned to his power”

Bruno was working on a new civil code. He knew how bad ancient societies were with written law, although written law was the basis of a functioning market society. Of course, they could not be blamed; the idea of codified law would not truly reach its zenith until emperor Justinian, four thousand years into the future. However, there was no reason why they couldn’t start already. Sure, Bruno was far away from being anything government-related, but he had to start somewhere. There weren’t any good books to read yet, and the inscriptions on the temple wall were boring him to death, so he started writing out a code. Nothing final yet, just a rough outline.

“Article 2: Ownership can be transferred from one competent person to another person, if that transfer is grounded in an agreement and a delivery has taken place”

That would need some work. The idea of ‘delivery’ would need to be thoroughly explained, and perhaps he would need to use another translation of the word. These things were precise, and required attention to detail. So much attention, in fact, that Bruno hadn’t noticed Amenemope and Ruru walking up to him.

“Councillor!” Amenemope exclaimed, making Bruno jump up in fright. Amenemope and Ruru laughed at his response, which did much to calm down his heart rate again. Panting and leaning against the palm tree, Bruno wiped some of the sweat from his brow.

“Bad conscience?” Ruru asked, which earned her a semi-serious frown from Bruno.

“No need” said Amenemope. In his hands he had a scroll of papyrus, with a wax seal of the magistrates in two pieces on it.

“We won!” he said, his face shining with the victory he had achieved. Ruru now kissed her husband on the cheek, embracing him tightly as she did so.

“And we have a surprise for you, too” Amenemope said, handing the scroll to Bruno. Reading through the scroll, Bruno didn’t immediately see what they were talking about, until he read the last sentence. It was the final act of the proceedings, a line added by the scribe on demand made by Ruru and Amenemope. Reading it time and time again, Bruno could not believe his eyes. Then, he looked up, tearful, his voice breaking with emotion.

“An estate? For me?”

[Pasong Tirad]

Arsenio Lacson
Athínai
The Next Day

Elder Thespis resided in the sturdiest - and cleanest - stone house in all of Athínai. According to Kleomaki and Lysistrate, Elder Thespis had received an education in medicine a decade prior. Kleomaki had also met with the Elder some time yesterday while Arsenio was unconscious - from shock, apparently - and had informed the Elder of everything Arsenio said to him. So, once Arsenio entered the Elder's home, before even introducing himself, the Elder took out a large piece of parchment and told Arsenio: "Show me where you're from."

So, with a small piece of charcoal, Arsenio began drawing a crude version of the world map onto the parchment. It wasn't good, and Arsenio wasn't really much of a painter, but it was clear enough. He even remembered to embellish the Greek archipelago, making sure to include the isthmus of Corinth, the Peloponnese, and the island of Crete."This is Hellas," he said, pointing at Greece. He then pointed at the Philippine archipelago. "And this is where I'm from. Filippínes."

"Fascinating," the Elder said. He wasn't much of an old man - in his forties, maybe - but Arsenio did believe that he was the oldest man in Athínai. "Arsenios, you also say you're from a different time?"

"Yes," Arsenio said with a sigh of relief. He'll be able to finally tell somebody about all of this - and without just screaming at them, too. Arsenio and the Elder sat down, while Kleomaki and the other people inside the Elder's house (he is a physician, after all) gathered around to listen to Arsenio, who told them all about the Philippines and its many eras - Spanish colony, American colony, American commonwealth, republic, martial law era, another republic, and then autocratic populist state. He told them about much of what he knew about the future. He explained to the best of his ability what electricity is, the internet, automobiles, airplanes, and everything else he could think of. However, Arsenio still had the common sense to avoid talking about Greece and Athens - except when they asked about it. Not that he knew much about Greece and Athens apart from their theater histories and conflict with Persia.

"And Athínai?" Elder Thespis asked. "What do you know of Athínai?"

"Not much, Elder. I know Athínai is the home of dimokratía."

"Dimokratía?"

"Yes, Elder. Rule of the people."

"Rule of the people..." The Elder was deep in thought. Others in the room were conversing with themselves about what they just heard or had questions of their own, but even Arsenios wasn't able to say much else. "There is word from Delpha," said the Elder, "rumors, really, that somebody with a situation similar to yours is also there. A man from a different time." He stood up, and knelt down before Arsenios. "Just a generation ago, an Empire was born to the north stretching from sea to sea. There are men springing up everywhere, changing the course of history as we know it. Ten years ago, I wouldn't have lived to see this age. Now, look at me. Look at everybody in this room. They are going to live longer lives because of the art usually only reserved for Asklēpiós and His people. You are a man destined by the gods for greatness, Arsenios. You are one of those Men Beyond Time. The goddess Athína brought you here to us in Athínai. You shall train, you shall be one of us, and when I pass, you shall lead us."

"Wait, what?!" Arsenio said. Everybody in the room was in agreement with the Elder. His word carries plenty of weight, it seems. "I don't know anything about this place. I need to go home, I don't need to train to become-"

"You will!" Elder Thespis said, lightly slapping Arsenio in the face in a fit of anger. His age was getting to him - forty is like seventy in this time, apparently. "I am old, Arsenios. You are our future, you are our prosperity. There is no horse, no caravan route, no boat, no aftokínito, no aeropláno, and no diadíktyo that can take you halfway around the world to Filippínes. That's beyond all our times. But you can become one of us. You can farm and fish and hunt like the rest of us, you can train to be a warrior and trade like the rest of us. You will learn our ways, you will learn our laws, you will learn how to govern us. And when you have done all of this, you will protect the independence of our small village with dimokratía. Rule of the people, Arsenios."

"But-"

Elder Thespis just looked at him. The rest of the village just looked at him. Arsenio didn't even bother. He didn't know what else to do. If what they were saying is true, then he would have gone back into the past - for several centuries or millennia, even. The Philippines wouldn't be there. His home, his family, and his friends wouldn't be there.

"Do you have a surname?"

"Yes, Λακσον."

"Lacson. What does it mean?"

"I don't know."

"Then it won't do. Your name will be Αρσενιος Θαλασσοσ. Arsenios From The Sea."

Word quickly spread of Arsenio, or Arsenios Thalassos, as he was now known by the Athinaíoi - and the position Elder Thespis had put him in. Elder Thespis had a wife, but no children, and he was hesitant to proclaim a successor to elder because of a lack of possible alternatives. Kleomaki, apparently, had refused to be elder, for fear that that would also instil upon him the "curse" of infertility that all past elders seem to have had.

And thus, in just a day of being transported into the past, Arsenios Thalassos now has on his shoulders the burden of having to fasttrack two thousand years of Athenian history.

That was the end of their meeting. Elder Thespis dismissed Arsenio. He was to take this day to get his bearings and to take in everything he's learned about his fate. The next day, he will begin his education. And as Arsenios Thalassos was leaving the Elder's home, he shouted: "And maybe you can deal with the Christians!"

"The what?!"

[Kingdom of Tunisia]

Hikma bin Naaifa's Dairy, Day 133

April 12,
I've came across an group of 9 Bandits roaming around the local village. I used my sword to fight those invaders one by one. Luckily, my blood brother came to my rescue and fought off against the bandits. It was kinda a very busy day for me but i bet we can find some things along the way

April 18,
Yes, i have officially created my own flag for me and Jihvavan. A major masterpiece to represent Johor as a whole. We also was planning on a exploration down South to Indonesia but he never heard of that name before. I bet there will be some land along the way but let just not get that under the hands of our rival. But again, our exploration will be successful once we get our troops together.

April 22,
Finally, we are ready for our first exploration. We also made changes to the military to make it a bit Islamic feeling to it. Jihvavan will explore south while i will expand Northward to Thailand. I am in fact a creative type of person but very good with Mechanics as well. It is uncertain when our secret weapon will be made but it will be our major masterpiece yet especially SE Asia...... Also, we have created our first Capital called Johor City but i bet people will like our idea. Until then, we hope that our Exploration was successful and will not come across any hostile tribal villages along the way.

[Ulls]

In Iowa,
In Transit to Main Bison Chaser Camp

The sound of loud banging and shouting came from the nearest hill. A mob of 200 warriors came down on the side. They had hide shields, bows and arrows, and spears rushing down from the hillside against the Skulk detachment. The alertness of the leader started to gather the equipment and 2 sets of arbalests drop their iron reinforced pavises near the cart to protect their partners and the tribute from arrows or the spears when the close engagement happens. They cocked their Tri-Horns and ready for when the enemies were in range.

Most of the warriors formed a shield wall with their iron shields ready to take the damage of the overwhelming horde. Still, with the shields interlocking and made a wall of spear and doom, there were some among the tribute who were trained with a specialty in mind. They started to go on one of the sides of the wagon small ceramic flasks with a string of cloth within them.

They gathered some and lit the cloth and threw it at the Bison Chaser as the Tri-Horns flung their arrows through the hide shields and pierce the chests of the warriors. However, the jars hit the warriors and the cloth hit the liquid inside, causing the people to be set on fire. Those that miss and hit the ground were also on fire, halting the charge.

The warriors had shown a mixture of fear and malice as they saw their brethren gone in flames. Some of the warriors riled the braves again as they seek to destroy the enemy near them. They ran and clash into the Skulk's shield wall as crossbows and fire threw at the engagement. Still, the Bison Chasers had more numbers as they could have two or three of their own against the one Skulk soldier. If it wasn't for the weapons that they made the deaths of the braves more deceive.

They finally retreated after taking heavy losses and a broken morale but not without inflicting significant casualties to the escort. They took a couple of days to make sure the tribute was alright and to loot and burn the bodies. After that they continue on their path but sent a messenger up north to a community that they may need reinforcements should the Bison Chasers kill them.

Iceland,
Secret Skulk Community

With the King's mission underway, Jeb and the rest of the Skulk departed to Iceland to stock up on resources for the trip to Twilight's Gate. The sight that the emissaries spoke of was a mixture of curiosity and awe at how similar in tech that they are, yet different on how they treat their lands. The Skulk in turn saw them in the same eye but not so much. The archiver spoke to Jeb and she used her master as a translator to get a some sort of an understanding of the Sami and their ways for the achieves and send them back to the other Communities. One thing that she asked about was the currency system, which was adopted by the Norscans as a coin-based system.

The emissaries were shocked to hear that someone as advanced as the Skulk or the land their going to still had a barter-based system but she told them that there were some reforms making the rounds but nothing perfect. If the Skulk could adopt the economic system and when Ego knows of a potential trade partner then they can see an impressive growth in wealth, which can help the Skulk in return.

While they settle in for a few days, the emissaries thought that they would see a warrior culture as this was more of a scholarly one and more in the way of peace. Jeb said that the Skulk are different, yet connected to their country as a tribe in the Sami kingdom is connected to the king, but looser. They sort of understood but they wished to see rest of the land before they could report back to the king.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Part 5, Chapter 5: Muscle and Machine

April 20th, 85 AG

"Please, Hegemon, stand back from the turbine-shaft."

Foreman Domai's voice was almost pleading, and I nodded, a half pace backwards removing me from my close inspection of the powerful engine. It was fortunate that the dour Italian industrialist stood almost at my side; his voice did not carry far in the din of the factory here in Maragano, so full my ears were with the whirring of the metalwork and the growling of the equipment. There were few words in the air, luckily, and so his proclamation stood out. A half-turn let me direct a gesture to continue towards the man with the droopy mustache, and he mopped his brow for a moment with a cloth before continuing.

"As you can see, the main shaft supplies motive power to an array of other devices; in this part of the factory, the borers, derived from your own designs on the topic."

The workers were struggling to keep their eyes averted, but as I glanced towards one of the coverall-clad women I caught her green-blue eyes and smiled. She blushed furiously, the poor thing, and turned her face back down towards the grinding iron which she manipulated through heavy gloves. It made me laugh at times, internally, how it seemed the people of my own domain were so fascinated by their leader. Doubtless they had heard my name often enough to be bored of its syllables, to my mind, but still many found me a strange creature to be watched with interest, for perhaps it would break out in song and dance if only one gazed surreptitiously enough.

Or maybe she had other reasons for looking; the years had preserved me well enough, and gifted me with a self-confidence that to my young self would have seemed outlandish. It was a heady thing, to know that the power to bind and loose wrested behind my lips, and with a mere utterance I could elevate this foreman to the heights of his industry or cast him down to labor in the mines for the rest of his days. Not that I would ever do such a thing; to disrespect the diligence of law and order which I had worked so long to cultivate in this savage world would be a foolish exercise indeed, working at cross-purposes to the desires that beat in my breasts steadily at saner moments.

Was I a comely specimen? It was a distracting question, and I pushed it aside, returning to my tour of the factory. Such self-possession was vanity of the highest order, and pointless beside. Presenting a reasonable demeanor to the world for political purposes was all I really needed to concern myself with, for to concern myself with one of these effervescent beings that labored in the smokey confines of the brick-and-mortar factory on the banks of the Ruen would be even more insipid than my usual flights of fancy, and more dangerous than to wade into the heart of a battle. They would die, as had countless thousands before them, their years run long and their lives run out. And I would remain, alone then, for to dally would be to sacrifice she who I held dearest. Yes, such madness would madness in truth beget, a man alone in an endless time, that man in possession of more power than any being should rightly hold.

Dangerous, dangerous. I strode forward, meeting the nervous eyes of Domai as he babbled on about the more efficient design of the recent steam cylinders. It was all very interesting, really, but I found the captain of industry moving down in my estimation as he continued to talk technical details here in the cacophonous din of the boring yard. Even as carefully guided machines cut gun barrels into precision diameters, Domai continued to attempt to transmit the nuance of their work to me, and I could only catch one word in five. It was, in part, because of the swabs that filled my ears- but honestly, it soon occurred to me that the foreman was just used to this level of noise, and considered it merely daily life.

After we passed another battery of milling implements worked by steady hands, the chance came. Though a gaggle of functionaries from the surrounding towns accompanied us, I stepped forward and spoke softly into the foreman's left ear, his expression one of consternation.

"I can't hear most of what you are saying."

That consternation turned to mortification, and he bowed half at his waist, his stammered apologies filling the air almost as loudly and fulsomely as the roaring of the industry around our party. It was almost too much for Sten, one of the Blackguards whose shift it was right now to accompany me. Seeing the somewhat overweight foreman sweat and scrape sent a smile twitching across his lips, and I rolled my eyes at him in bemusement, which only made the normally taciturn Anatolian grin in earnest, teeth parted in a half-laugh unheard in the maelstrom of iron and steam.

His hurried pace once he felt he had apologized enough almost made me roll my eyes again. It took a smart sudden quick step to keep up with the factory manager as he rushed along the lanes of workers to lead our party out into the indifferent spring air of Maragano, one of the balconies set aside for lunch breaks of the peons that labored within the brick walls of the Arsenal forming our destination.

"A thousand apologies again, Hegemon, honored gentlemen. The rumble of industry is music to my ears, but I should have realized it may not sound the same to all men." Flowery language for a blocky industrial worker, but that was the power of education, I quietly surmised.

"At any rate, as you have seen, with these machines we can do the work with a hundred men and women what would have required ten thousand. Our output is now up to five hundred finished units every fortnight, and the reports from the field praise the ability to replace a worn-down part in the assemblage with those spares we produce with minimal skill."

It was a good report, and Domai waxed eloquent for several more minutes on the virtues of the new system of producing near-identical constructs for mass consumption. About me the notables- Citylords, Firstmen, scribes up from local Administrative districts- nodded at points in agreement, and I could only smile internally. Nobody here needed to know that the factory had only flourished after a hefty investment of thousands of goldpieces from the state, the throne directly. It was a proof of concept, and that concept had been well-fleshed indeed.

I departed the inspection a content man, stepping up into the carriage where Tanya's beautiful mellow eyes greeted me with warm gaze, and her lips did likewise.

"A pleasant day at the school, my dear?"

"Well enough, Viktor, well enough."

[Ulls]

Oshanka's Bison Chaser Camp,
Iowa

The tribute caravan managed to get to Oshanka's camp. It had less warriors around but they were by no means safe, they were merely in the "Mountain Lion's Den". Whatever damage that they manage to inflict on Oshanka's braves would at least consider what they had to say and it was worth it. Still, in case the talks went wrong then they would be avenged.

The Tri-Horns were cocked, fire at the ready, and what's left of the soldiers were ready for battle should the need arise.

" Oshanka, my name is Emirk and I wish to speak to you. We mean you no harm and don't wish to have any further hostilities with you or your camp."

[Arulean States]

Virginia, near present-day Richmond, April, 2915 B.C.

Several things hit me as I wake up. The first is that I’m naked. That on its own would be weird enough on its own, as I never sleep naked, but then I realize that I’m lying at the edge of a forest. This fact is just as jarring as the first realization, because I’d fallen asleep in a crowded dorm building. I sat straight up, then came into a crouch, head swivelling around. Finally, coming three hundred-sixty degrees, I came face to face with a deer. The moment we made eye contact, we both froze, the moment totally still. The moment was shattered by the sudden sound of breaking branches in the woods behind me. The deer darted away, leaving me alone in the field.
By this point, I’ve come to the logical conclusion that someone was playing a prank on me. I took in a deep breath then yelled, “Hey dickbags! Real funny! Now give me my damn clothes back and take me back to campus!”
In response, instead of laughing frat boys, a deer darted from the nearby woods. Behind it, running in deerskin leathers, came a half-dozen men dressed as Native American warriors, carrying spears and bows.
“What the hell…” I mumble to myself as the scene unfolds in front of me. I am so stunned by the appearance of this first party of warriors I fail to notice another group of equal number approaching from behind me. All of a sudden, I am lying on my stomach, gasping for breath, as a warrior kneels above me, knee planted on my chest, and holds a knife to my throat. Another warrior, who looks to be older than the others, crouches beside me. “Who are you, man of the riverside clay?”
‘What the hell?’ I think, ‘where the hell am I?’
“Answer me, man from afar, or we shall kill you”
Stammering, I realize I can understand him, despite the fact that he had not spoke English. “I- I can understand you…”
The man looked at me as if I was a child, “But of course you can. I speak the tongue of mother earth. All peoples of the clay speak this tongue.”
Thinking quickly, I respond, “Of- of course. My name is...” I thought quickly, not sure that I should give them my real name. I finally decided to use my Hebrew name, Zvi, “My name is Zvi Avraham. Who are you?”
“Very well Zvi Avraham. You answered my question, I will answer yours. I am called Askuwheteau,” he responded, then spoke to the warrior kneeling over me, “Mahigan, allow the man to sit. He has become a guest,” then, turning to me, “What tribe do you hail from?”
“I am of no tribe,” I replied, sitting up. I held a hand to my chest and began to breath in painfully.
“So you are an outcast? That is unsurprising given the color of your skin.”
“No, I am no outcast,” I said. I tried to remember some of my family history, “I am of the Erie, first son of first son of Clan O’Rooney. My father’s father is chief of a great clan.”
The man interrogating me raised an eyebrow, “Truly, man of riverside clay? And in the land you hail from, are all people of your color?”
“In my homeland, there are people of many colors. In the homeland of my ancestors, all people look as I do.”
“You do not hail from the homeland of your ancestors? Why is this?”
“There was a great famine many years ago, but my ancestors survived it. Rather, they sought to escape from the tyranny of the English, and so traveled to the land of America, where all people are free.”
“This is curious. I would have you tell me more of your homeland. Travel with me to my village, so you might share your tales with all of my people.”
It surprised me he’d never heard of the English. That either meant I’d somehow travelled back in time to before the arrival of Europeans in the new world or that he was pulling my leg. The first was impossible, but the second seemed unlikely. “Sure, I’d be happy too. It doesn’t seem like I’ve got anything better to do. I just have a quick question… Where am I?”
“You are in the land of the Powhatan. We are from the village of Arrohattoc. It is only a few hours from here.”
And that confirmed it for me. Somehow, I’d travelled back in time, and I was talking with woodlands Native Americans.
“Alrighty then. Let's get going,” I said, standing up. “Actually wait, before we go, do you have any clothing with you?”

[G-Tech Corporation]

Oshanka’s Camp, Eastern Iowa

The rumble of heavy drums came from the camp of the Bison Chasers, strong hands beating on the stretched skins of fallen victims and send a heartbeat of menace out into the surrounding plains. As the warriors of Ego approached the primitive pallisade, they felt naked under the deep blue sky, no trees marking the horizon for leagues, only endless acres of long golden grass. Grass tall enough to hide anything.

A crier emerged from the rudimentary stockade, listening to the words of the man of Ego for several moments, before scowling and shaking the spear in his hand at the emissaries.

“You say you wish for peace, man of Ego, but my chief sees no peace in your hands. The blood of my brothers cries out for vengeance. Begone, before he is forced to honor the People of the Sky with your deaths.”

[Ulls]

Oshanka’s Camp, Eastern Iowa

The rumble of heavy drums came from the camp of the Bison Chasers, strong hands beating on the stretched skins of fallen victims and send a heartbeat of menace out into the surrounding plains. As the warriors of Ego approached the primitive pallisade, they felt naked under the deep blue sky, no trees marking the horizon for leagues, only endless acres of long golden grass. Grass tall enough to hide anything.

A crier emerged from the rudimentary stockade, listening to the words of the man of Ego for several moments, before scowling and shaking the spear in his hand at the emissaries.

“You say you wish for peace, man of Ego, but my chief sees no peace in your hands. The blood of my brothers cries out for vengeance. Begone, before he is forced to honor the People of the Sky with your deaths.”

Emirk raised an eyebrow," vengeance? Ego has left the Bison Chasers alone after the war and we have came to seek to repair the damage that the war has brought. Why would your chief want vengeance for something we didn't do?"

[G-Tech Corporation]

Oshanka’s Camp, Eastern Iowa

A harsh bark broke from the emissary's mouth, and his face seemed mottled with the purple flush of rage as he spat words back at Emirk.

"Repair the damage? Something you didn't do? Your lies condemn you, man of Ego. My brother, flesh of my flesh and blood of my blood, his body we found not after the slaughter, after the Butcher did his work with your hands. His body they condemned to the flames, and now his spirit will walk forever lost, sundered from his people and our family. Lies, a viper you are."

The emissary had obviously had enough, and his fist that gripped his spear was tight, knuckles white as the tension of his fist drained the blood from their passages. He raised his spear high, and then turned and walked back towards the encampment. A ululating cry came then from the grasses about the detachment from Ego, and on the rampart of the stockade Emirk glimpsed for a moment a tall stone-faced man, his expression grim and his cheeks and forehead covered in ochre dye. A gesture from the man, and the drums beat loud again, their echoing rhythms coming now wild and fast.

With the hiss of a snake, arrows leapt from either side of the tribute party, fletched shafts emerging from the long grass thick and fierce, the invisible archers obviously shooting as fast as they could. The gates of the encampment opened wide, flung back by eager hands, and braves streamed out shouting fierce war cries, buffalo-hide shields of mottled brown being beat against spears as they rushed to grips with the tribute party.

[Revlona]

Robert
Kasr Teravin
May 21st 13 AA

Robert and his entourage of 12 elite Breton Lancers rode into the fort of Kasr Teravin, the lancers, armored in plate mail and with 11 foot long iron tipped lances and iron long swords at there hips, Robert with his Signature war-hammer, "Justice".

Riding in, the entourage stopped in the middle of the courtyard, dropping his reins Robert called out to a soldier standing near by and said "Lead me to the Commander, and have someone take care of our horses.

[Labstoska]

John Collins
War weariness in the Khanate was growing, attacks from the infidel forces came in quick succession, it was if the warriors who hounded them never slept, it had even gotten to the point where the Free Company would have to mustered in the dead of night in order to fight these men. This had inevitably led to people loosing faith in the Khanate as people began to mysteriously disappear. John could tolerate this no longer in order to bring the faith to this heathen world he would need to have a civilisation to sustain it and what little civilisation he had made was now beginning to run off out of cowardice, something needed to be done. This problem eventually lead to John ordering the Zealous to keep tabs on every person in the Khanate, John despised the fact that he would now have to return to the authoritarian regime that was enforced by the Zealous before the free company was founded however the seemingly fickle loyalty of his citizens now called for even stricter control on the population. Now John would have to find a way to deal with the tribal warband that was following the Khanate as they marched into China, from what he had observed over the course of the past few raids was that the heathens attacked in a mindless horde with no inkling of tactics or strategy, this lead John to believe that in a straight up battle that if he was able to instruct the captains of the free company correctly than the Khanate would rise above the crisis.

The preparation for the battle was done hastily but John believed that it would be enough. He had ordered for the workmen of the Khanate to begin the construction of wooden shields which were to be provided to every man within the free company, these shields would be useless against anything but the most basic of weaponry luckily for John the enemy he was facing had exactly that. He had also quickly organised the free company into regiments of 50 men each of which had been shown the basics of the turtle formation which was to use the wooden shields to form a box around the regiment and then with their spear raised they would march forwards. Now that these preparations had been made all John and for that matter the rest of the Khanate could do was pray.

The battle began at midday on a moderately steep hill, fortunately for the Free company they had control of the top of the hill however the heathens warband still had numbers on their side. Just as the Free company regiments were able to get themselves into a spear wall formation the warband began their charge up the hill. It was as if some madman had gathered together a horde of swarming daemons who were currently charging straight towards the lines of the Free company, luckily the regiments were able to hold as the horde of furious tribesmen clashed with the ordered free company lines. The battle continued as the horde of tribesmen attempted to breech the Free company lines but still the regiments held and the tribesmen were slowly being whittled down until they were not only outclassed but also outnumbered. After 3 hours of gruesome warfare the leaders of the tribal warband called for a retreat however the Free company would not let a single man live and as they charged down the hill they speared any man who was unfortunate enough to of fallen behind the rest of the group.

In the aftermath of the great battle the spirits of the Khanate were raised tremendously as a great celebration was held in honour of the brave warriors in the Free company. The following morning John made sure that graves were made for every one of the Free company soldiers, he had even gone as far to make sure that graves were made out of stone in order to make sure that they would pass the test of time. Once the revelries and mourning was finished the Divine Khanate continued onward with their march with renewed vigour towards their promised land.

[Ulls]

Oshanka's Camp,
Eastern Iowa

The hundreds of braves that came out of the gate were too much too handle. They still stood their ground and fought but it wasn't enough. Fires raged at the jars being thrown and some of the braves or the golden fields but it wasn't enough. Despite their equipment and training the overwhelming force took them down and took their tribute by force.

A Day Later

A mobile force was orchestrated from the archiver and the local Knight who support them. She was angry that the envoy didn't come to her now they had a nomadic band with their equipment and this is a big mistake for them. The force was equipped with light arms and a more shade of golden coloring to their uniform and their Tri-Horns. They had their trackers with their wolves around the camp to get a sniff on the camp as they probably burned the bodies of Ego and buried their own.

The camp itself had shown human settlement and battle among the burnt marks from out groupings, the wagon was broken down and the valuables missing. The wolves picked up the scent and the trackers gave the go ahead for the force to move. They knew that even on hard move they haven't gone far away from the Bison herds and would find one of their hunting parties.

[The Hierophancy]

Coliman

By the time our little troop stopped for a brief rest and drink, the sun had long ago once more peeked over the mountainous horizon, and had for the last few hours been gradually baking me and my companions, though they seemed much less disturbed by the sluggish heat of midday. Nor did they seem nearly as taxed by the mountain trek - an arduous and exhausting journey through thick brush, rough terrain, and worst of all, thick clouds of blood sucking mosquito, an insect who was quickly educating me on true hatred.

"Why are we wandering through the jungle? Is there no road to Colote? No path?" Tlatli once again gave a deep sigh.

"Tlacaztali-not-tlacaztali, what do you think we have been walking on all day? This trail is only way from the embrace of grandfather mountain to the coast, where you so mysteriously appeared, and it is a mighty fine one. Do we look like Olmec to you, to be so clumsy and stupid as to need wide stretches of bare earth to walk from place to place?" On second glance, the winding, sloping route we had taken did seem to have slightly less obstructions as the even thicker rainforest around it, without the thorn thickets and crisscross of vines draped about and even between the densely packed trees surrounding me. The disdain for dirt roads was certainly strange, however, and what in gods name did any of this have to do with the Olmecs? I was starting to wonder less where I was and more when I was. The rest of our brief break from the never-ending hike was spent in silence, we being much to busy gobbling down rough and half-burnt tortillas and a cold, roasted vegetable which tasted like something halfway between a yucca and a sweet potato. After we'd chased down our rushed lunch with lukewarm water and a sip of what tasted like sour yeast followed by a sharp burning.

The rest of the journey felt a good deal shorter with a full stomach, and by late afternoon we made it to "Colote", which stretched out below us. The village was about what I had expected after spending a few hours with its occupants - small, primitive, and most definitely Mesoamerican. In it's entirety, the town contained perhaps some 25 to 30 homes, all small, adobe structures roofed with what looked to be thatch and constructed upon rough, stone foundations that rose ever so slightly above the earth. Many of these hovels had some sort of mud furnace or oven nearby, and of these the majority were producing smoke and the unmistakable aroma of baking cereals. Near the center of the village was a stubby, one story temple, it's walls plastered with a rough white stucco and it's trapezoidal roof composed of large, white stone panels. Not far from the village was an additional stretch of cleared forest at the edge of a shallow, sky blue lake, within which the villagers had scratched out a few meager fields of maize, squash and what looked like chilis. After stopping to catch our breaths and look over the hamlet, Tlatli began walking down from the hill we had been standing upon and towards the stout stone temple, gesturing towards me to follow whilst his compatriots made their way to the residences clustered about the religious heart of the village.

The front "wall" of the stone structure was composed entirely of thick, rectangular columns covered too in the hastily applied stucco that coated the rest of the temple, with the spaces between these columns of roughly equivalent width to the stone wall sections flanking them. Hanging from the tops of these "doorways" were rug-like mats of what looked to be dried, interwoven strips of agave. I again wondered when I was - where in modern Mexico, so near the coast, was a society this isolated and backwards? Was there such a people? I briefly considered that I truly was in ancient Mesoamerica, but the thought was both terrifying and near comically absurd, not to mention completely unexplainable. The interior of the temple did nothing to dispel my confusion - it was largely bare, adorned by a few clay pots and vases, and in the center a simple stone altar. Along the back wall were a series of idols - on the far left a crude, chubby looking figure carved out of some sort of volcanic rock, it's rough features vaguely oriental in nature, and it's forehead sporting what looked to be a dried and desiccated corn stalk, cob included. Nearer to the center of the back wall was another stone idol - an odd creature with the body of a man and an angular, nearly abstract head sporting a pair of imposing fangs curving upwards out of it's rectangular upper lip - by this statue knelt a man clad in black cotton cape bordered by vibrant red dye. The man bore no crown and at first glance no regalia that would indicate authority or leadership, but when, shortly after Tlatli and I entered, he stood up and turned towards us, I was able to better see his large jade "earings", intricate face paint and relatively advanced age - at least 45. The man's nose was long, hooked, and the rest of his face wasn't exactly pleasant to look upon, though the smile he offered me and my guide was not unkindly. The man's eyes were dark, and his hair was as black as pitch, wound into a tight pony tail or rope of sorts. The rest of his outfit was unremarkable - a simple white cotton loincloth and a pair of woven sandals.

"Greetings Tlatli. Did you find any of Chʼipirijuata's gifts on your expedition?" Tlatli tipped his head downwards and made a vaguely pleading gesture with his hands.

"Many apologies revered Speaker, I followed the sky-trail but found naught, save for the outsider -" he waved his hand in my general direction "- last night, by the great western sea." The priest - whom I assumed to be the aforementioned Tsijiari - turned to face me, taking a few brief moments to look me up and down. It felt quite a violating experience to be examined whilst wearing naught but a glorified towel wrapped around your waist, but I wasn't about to tell off this backward village's leader.

"Ayyo, a most interesting find, Tlatli. Many of Chʼipirijuata-Kurikaweri's expulsions were recovered, but you are alone in finding... this. Perhaps you were led to this creature for a reason. You may leave us now, Tlatli - know that you have done well." The man who "found" me shot the speaker a look of gratitude before leaving the way we had come. Tsijiari watched him go before once more turning his gaze upon me.

"Do you have a name, pale one?" I felt an urge to look towards the ground as Tlatli had, but managed to keep my head high and answer him with what authority I could muster.

"It's Cameron - do you have a-"

"What an odd name." The priest interrupted me as if he had not even registered the rest of my statement - I took it that questioning the Speaker wasn't considered the norm. "What is it in the real tongue?" I thought for a moment.

"Uikixu-Úrhi, I suppose." Tsijiari looked bemused.

"Your nose looks perfectly fine to me, Uikixu-Úrhi - an undeserved name, it would seem." I suppose he had a point. "In what land do people receive such ignoble names?" I decided against explaining to him the name's celtic origins.

"Connecticut - at least, that's where I got mine." Tsijiari tilted his head in an expression of, it seemed, non-understanding. "The United States?" The speaker shrugged. "The nation far north of here - or maybe east, or west - maybe above - truth be told, I'm not so sure where it is myself."

"I know of no lands north of here save those of the dog-people, and maybe of Reds, if you believe the whisperings and rumormongering of Olmec merchants. Buffalo country." Tsijiari shifted on his feet and his gaze shifted to the wall behind me. He seemed to be thinking. "How did you say you reached our lands again, pale one?" Now it was my turn to shrug.

"For all I know I could have flown here, or materialized out of thin air." The speaker once more looked lost in thought before his vacant stare was once more interrupted, this time by a broad grin. "However you came here, know you are welcome in Colote, Uikixu-Úrhi. You look a healthy young lad, and the one-true realm is always in need of new fieldhands, hunters - even warriors if you prove talented in the art of combat." The grinning priest clapped a broad, calloused hand down upon my bare shoulder - the stark contrast between his own reddish-brown skin and my paler brand of flesh seemed to catch his attention. "Mayhaps your skin is not even a curse - after all, your hair and eyes are similar to those of humans, and even some gods are too pale of flesh. I will have to speak with the heavens to determine whether that is the case, of course, but until then you can stay at Namunku's old abode." I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could tell him I was seeking not a house but passage back to America he waved me off and turned back towards his idol. Without much else to do, I muttered a farewell and left the temple.

[Pasong Tirad]

One Month In Athínai

Arsenio Lacson,
or Arsenios Thalassos
Athínai

The whole day and night before the start of his informal "education," Arsenio - or Arsenios, as how he was called now around this village of a thousand people - wept. He stayed in the kitchen, where he was given a bed and a pillow of furs. He wrapped himself in the furs and laid himself right next to the fire due to the cold and he just wept. All night, he wept. Before his emotions could actually overtake him, all that his head was filled with was confusion. Now, where there was confusion, there's now clarity: unless he finds a way to get back to his home, he will die here. He will never use the internet again, or drive a car again, or play with his dog again, or hug his mom again. In the most extreme way imaginable, he was truly alone. The most alone a person could be even though he was surrounded by people.

He was sure Kleomaki and Lysistrate heard him from their bedroom - he heard Lysistrate say a word or two after a shuffling of feet. It seems Kleomaki wanted to go to Arsenio, but Lysistrate stopped him. This was Arsenio's depression talking to him, and it would continue talking to him for a while - a long while. How could he even begin to be happy when he's trapped in a place that, after one day, is now trying to put him into a position of power?

When dawn came, he was wide awake. He did cry himself to sleep, but he awoke just before dawn not feeling any better - well, maybe a little. The weeping did help a little. Lysistrate was awake before dawn, readying a meal of some bread, wine, cheese, some cabbage, and bits of hare - a diet that Arsenio now had to get used to. Kleomaki woke up around an hour later, ate a hurried meal, and left with Arsenio to get him to help with their small barley farm. All they could grow was barley - even the bread they ate was made of barley - and not even a lot of it. Farming barley was difficult work, and Kleomaki found himself, for the most part, just standing back and watching Arsenio plow the field himself - training him, apparently, to learn how to farm. The other half of the day was spent tending to the one olive tree that they had. That, comparably, wasn't much work. He just watered it and made sure there were no parasites chewing at the leaves. Olives take a long time to grow and to fruit, and this wasn't the year for it to be fruitful.

This was how life was now like for Arsenio. Every other day, he would be working: helping tend to the farm, or helping somebody catch fish, or he would do basically anything everybody else did - go hunting for meat, help in raising the sheep and the goats (their only livestock), chop wood or any other trade he could occupy his time with. The rest of his days were spent with Kleomaki and some of the other people in the village as they helped Arsenio build his own home. His home was to be right next to the Elder Thespis' own, right on the rock of the Acropolis so that, in the Elder's own words, Arsenio would be able to expand his home upon Elder Thespis' death.

And at night, he spent an hour or so with Elder Thespis over dinner, occasionally joined by the Elder's wife, or their patients, or any other visitor from the village. The Elder would teach him about his new world - the Imperium to the north, the Christian "cults" as they were known in Athínai, the rise of the "Christian medical cult" in southern Hellas - and Arsenio talked to him about the only subject the Elder Thespis was fascinated with: dimokratía, for the elder believed that this fascinating system of government was Athínai's way to greatness in Hellas. To add to their discourses, they taught each other their alphabets - for Arsenio, an early version of the Greek alphabet; and for Elder Thespis, the modern Latin alphabet (which would be mostly useless to use, for only Arsenio would be able to read it). Arsenio would be able to learn faster if he were free in the mornings, but he wasn't. Elder Thespis, aside from being the doctor of the village, was also the main teacher. He taught the young boys of Athínai literacy and basically anything he could think of discoursing with them about.

Because of the Elder Thespis' fascination with the republican democracy that was common in Arsenio's homeland, he wanted to implement a version of it in Athínai. Soon ("after several moons"), they would attempt to replicate it with the democracy the future Athens would have been known for. There would be no presidents or heads of state other than Arsenios Thalassos, who shall gain the title of Archon and who shall rule until his death. However, his rule would be largely representative and judicial rather than executive, legislative, and also not military, for Arsenio himself rejected the idea of being a general for he has absolutely no knowledge of warfare apart from playing it in video games (Elder Thespis saw this as a problem, and decided that Arsenios should after that day take lessons in fighting from Kleomaki and the other men, as well as strategy and tactics - if only there was somebody else who could teach strategy and tactics).

Two bodies shall make up the main organs of the Athinaïkí dimokratía: a "lower house" (the Ekklesia) which would be made up of all the men of Athínai; and an "upper house" (the Boule) which would be made up of a small percentage of the number of members in the Ekklesia and elected by the members of the Ekklesia among themselves. To be collectively known as the Athínai Assembly, the Ekklesia and the Boule shall act as the legislative as well as the executive of Athínai and should the need arise, Arsenios Thalassos shall use powers vested upon him by the said Assembly for whatever matter they see fit - to break a tie in voting, to set the agenda for the session, to act as a representative for visiting foreigners, and as a general (should the Assembly wish it, of course). Arsenios Thalassos in turn, as Archon, has the right to veto any decision of the Assembly - the Assembly, on the other hand, can overturn that veto with a large enough number of votes - and to appoint somebody to act for the Archon and use the Archon's powers for whatever tasks the Assembly requires of him (if he was appointed to be a general, the Archon can appoint somebody else to be a general in his stead). For the judiciary, Arsenios Thalassos himself will preside as judge for any criminal case that needs to be heard, along with 12 men who will act as jurors and will decide the fates of the accused.

It sounds complicated for a village of barely a thousand people, but in the eyes of the Elder Thespis, it would be an easy system to implement due to the already tribal, close-knit, and chiefdom-like nature of Athínai. And, while crude, this would be the basic framework for their democratic experiment. Any other responsibility or power or whatnot they believe they need to add or fix or work on shall be the job of the Assembly.

Their main point of contention, however, was Elder Thespis' adamant view that only the adult men of Athínai should be allowed to have a say in the complicated process of dimokratía. Elder Thespis' views on women wouldn't be uncommon to classical Athínai. But Arsenio's modern sensibilities weren't having it. He argued that women should be able to do everything men were allowed to do in a true dimokratía. Elder Thespis, of course, believed women to be inferior to men in intellect and only superior to men when it comes to "the domestic," as he put. And so his arguments revolved around this.

Every other topic they talked about, they would easily discourse and argue about it pleasantly. However, when it came to the topic of equality for women, the passions of both men - one old, one young, one ancient, and one modern - tended to flare up. The discussion was able to make its way to the rest of Athínai. Women started debating with men in the public square where they would go to trade and barter with the merchants from all over Attica and the Greek seas. The conversation was spreading, and news of the Athínai experiments with equality and dimokratía will soon be heard throughout the Greek archipelago. The conversation is happening, the process has begun. Soon, in the near future, once the Athínai accept the very idea that one man ruling over them is a dangerous concept, perhaps they will begin to accept the idea of dimokratía.

A month after landing on a beach south of Athínai, Arsenio's home was finished. And with his home, the village generously gave him crops and animals to begin with his farm: two ewes for eventual breeding and shearing, two female goats for milk and cheese, and some barley seeds. As he was tilling the soil (a process that would take him all day), he felt a smile creep up on his own face. A smile of contentment. The first time he actually felt at peace in Athínai and with his new situation of being stuck in the past. He could still feel his depression, and he still openly weeps at night, but it's a start. He's yet to call Athínai his home but, at the very least, he's accepted his new place in this village as the Elder Thespis' new right hand.

[Ulls]

In Iowa

It had been two weeks since the Skulk had been on the trail of Oshanka. They had been near sights where they hunted as the wolves had been on the trail of the Bison Chasers from their scent while the trackers noticed that Bison herds had lost a few of their own, knowing that the herd was recently hunted. Still, the force still believed that they had to stop and their enemies knew they had to as well. To them it was only a matter of time.

Upon one night they were still following the trail that they saw smoke rising in the air. The wolves ran off with the trackers and the Skulk made their split up and made their move. They quickly surrounded the camp and aimed the Summersoul jars at the fields in case of warriors while arbalests and trackers hid in camouflauge with their Tri-Horns ready but the host was still enough to outnumber the camp and make their statement.

" Oshanka! I'm the Community Marshal of the Coat of the Golden Lands. We have you outnumbered and surrounded. If you don't want your warriors to die and be burned alive then you will do as I say and come out to talk. We only want questions and peace between us but if you force my hand and your souls will be for the Fox and your ancestors."

[G-Tech Corporation]

Central Iowa

The sound of voices muttering in the distance, where a field of tents were erected, filled the air. A few minutes after the Marshal's proclamation, a warrior emerged from the encampment, along with several others, holding his spear close but not apparently rushing to the attack. He approached the Skulk, and then spoke in the slow sonorous speech of the Plains.

"Very well, man of Ego. You have us, though be warned, we will not be bidding pieces for your games. Speak your piece, if you have ought to say." A number of warriors, perhaps three dozen, followed behind him; the man had not the aspect of a chief, but of a war leader.

Kasr Teravin, Brest
May 21st, 85 AG

In the heart of the wooden redoubt, a man approached Robert as he swung down out of his saddle, two younger men rushing forward to take charge of the horses. The first man nodded politely to the Brightlord, and spoke in a voice that was just out of youth.

"Greetings, Brightlord Dawn. The Lord Commander has been expecting you- if you will follow me?" He was clad in the slate-gray uniform of the local Great Company, the Ninth, and walked with a brace of pistols on his hips, leading the Brightlord towards the one stone building within the fortress, obviously a keep or command center of some sort. The camp smelled of sap and newly hewn wood, obviously a frontier outpost freshly erected, but the sounds of men drilling with weapons echoed through the complex nonetheless, and the smell of a hearty stew from the mess hall bespoke a fine meal in the offing.

Anon the aide came, through a series of hallways and past some guards who nodded in recognition, to a heavy fir door. Opening it, he called out to the occupant, who sat on a well-appointed chair of graven oak at a solid desk that obviously was much older than the rest of the encampment.

"Lord-Commander? Brightlord Dawn is here to see you."

The grey-haired Lord-Commander looked up in interest, wintry blue eyes like the North Sea glinting in a face of weathered leather, and callused hands moved to put aside the papers he had been inspecting earnestly prior to his adjutant's interruption. The Lord-Commander rose, proffering a handshake across the sturdy desk, and at a gesture the young aide pulled a chair over to the front of the monolith of arboreal provenance.

"Brightlord Dawn. Good to see you made it here in one piece. A pleasant ride down, I assume?"