New Civilizations [IC | Closed]

[Senkaku]

Mother Ganges, Chapter One: Water Angel

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Aaron awoke underwater.

He was disoriented, confused, but at least had the presence of mind not to take a breath. After a moment of confusion, he had sorted out what he thought was up and down- there was a faint gray light streaming from above, though the water seemed cloudy- and he began kicking upwards furiously, ignoring his confusion as he raced towards the light before his oxygen could run out.

When he broke the surface with a gasp, the world was not as he had left it before falling asleep. Manhattan's towers and a clear winter night had vanished entirely, replaced by rushing brown water. In the distance, grazing the bottoms of low gray clouds swollen with rain, gently undulating green hills burst with tropical flora, and the air and water felt fairly warm- certainly not what he would expect if he had somehow fallen into the East River on a clear night in December.

He could hear screaming, getting closer, and realized someone else was caught in the torrent. The source suddenly came into view- a girl, screaming and spluttering and thrashing frantically to try and stay afloat in the raging current. Aaron instinctually began swimming towards her, fear gripping him as he saw her dip beneath the waves, then resurface, then dip, then resurface- and then she sank a final time, her long black hair spreading out of the water's surface. He dove down, ignoring the stinging of the water on his eyes, and hauled her to the surface, scanning around for land as she coughed and heaved for air. There appeared to be a shoreline, no more than fifty meters to the left. To the right, he could barely make out the distant land, so he began paddling them both to the nearer shore.

When they reached it, Aaron hauled himself and the girl up onto the muddy bank, leaning over her and frowning to see if she was breathing.

Her eyes were open very wide, and she slowly sat up and stared at him.
"Who are you?"
Aaron knew the words were unfamiliar, but somehow he understood them, and more unfamiliar words popped unbidden into his mind as he searched for a response. "I might ask you the same thing." He felt a draft and looked down, then blushed and covered himself. How had he lost his clothes? The girl gave an uncertain chuckle, unconsciously smoothing her own rough tunic, and shook her head, still staring, and Aaron looked around, thinking this might be the most vivid dream he'd ever had.
"I think it is fair that you tell me first," she replied, tilting her head. "You are a stranger like no man I've ever seen. Your skin- even your eyes are pale! And you can swim, like a fish." Aaron suddenly realized that other people were coming down the bank towards them, all slowing from a run to a walk and then pausing as they took in what was happening.
"So, strange one shaped like a man, are you a demon?", she asked matter-of-factly, seeming to be struggling with her composure.
Aaron looked around at the people who were now circling around, staring in awe.

"No, not a demon. I think I was sent to help you." He said it in a confused tone, his meaning unclear even to himself- after all, this seemed quite real, but he could think of no clear explanation himself as to how he had gotten here or why, save for the purpose of rescuing this girl.

After a moment of silence, one of the men standing around them stepped forward, kneeling.
"Sir, whoever- whatever- you may be, I owe you a great debt for the rescue of my daughter from this flood. If you have been sent to help us by the gods, then this is truly an auspicious beginning."

[Arulean States]

Virginia, Village of Arrohattoc (Norfolk), May 13th, 2915 B.C. Day Forty-One
I watched the men disembark from the boat and form up, clearly trained professionals. Their complexion was clearly European, though they weren’t speaking any European language I was familiar with. They wore light sable surcoats over steel cuirasses, bearing the sigil of a white anchor, as well as light gray trousers and black boots. Their heads were mostly bare, though a few wore slouch caps. They were armed with an assortment of rifles and crossbows.

Once they had finished taking formation behind the shields, the man in charge of the shore party stepped forward and said, "I am Captain Estian of the Far-Seas Fleet, representative of His Imperial Majesty Mikhael Nemtsov. Lay down your weapons and you will not be harmed."

Slightly taken aback by the man's words, I responded without thinking, “Well, they’re definitely European. Only Europeans are that confident in their own power,” then chuckled a little bit to myself. Behind me, most of the warriors had returned to their positions in the fortifications, and I could hear muttering.

“Hello Captain Estain of the Far-Seas Fleet,” I said to the man. “I must refuse your demands. You trespass on the sovereign lands of the Powhatan Confederacy. These warriors only arm themselves because you threaten their homes. Though I hold some sway with these people, they would sooner kill me and die themselves than put their homes at risk.” I shrugged my shoulders and continued, “It should be I who requests that you put down your weapons.” I began to ramble slightly, “Besides, I don’t even know where this Imperium of yours is. Though if i had to guess, I’d say Europe.”

[The Ik Ka Ek Akai]

Prologue
Denim and leather

I woke in the midst of absolute nothingness. Well, perhaps that is an exaggeration: there was me, a bunch of dirt, a lot of rocks, even some trees, but a distinct lack of clothes anywhere to be found. It would've been embarrassing if I weren't more worried about the fact that I seemed to wake up mysteriously in a climate unlike I was used to with seemingly no life around for as far as the eye could see. It was a mess of confusion and disorientation so strong that I nearly passed out all over again, presumably to end up in some other locale ad infinitum until I found my way back home. As tempting as it was, now was not the time for that- now was the time to try to find help. I took my brave first steps in this great new world with caution, but also eagerness, coupled with mental preparation, topped with a sweet and delicate fragile coating, and with a side of eggs.

Meandering through the land, I started to get a sense of just where I was. It certainly wasn't somewhere I wanted to be. It was deserty and mountainous but it still had trees, and that actually narrowed it down quite far. As I walked and walked, cursing the damned hills and rocks that I needed to scale to progress, I hit my toe on a particularly sizable rock. I had no idea how long it'd been since I started, but was it really about to end here? The toe was probably bleeding, broken, a gored mess that would trap me in this spot until I withered away!

No, actually, my toe was fine, but the curious pile of rocks I stood next to reminded me of the old kurgan and tumuli I had read about, learned about, and this narrowed it down even further. I could only be, then, in the Iranian region, parts of India, or somewhere between- these were the kurgan cultures that lived in rocky hilly deserts. Knowing as well that these regions valued a woman covered legally, and that it didn't even necessarily matter the reason she was uncovered, this was an opportune time to get some clothing. Searching the rim and finding the old cave-like entrance, moving some rather heavy stones out of the way with no small effort, I climbed in and searched by daylight alone for what I needed.

I eyed the corpse with nerve and suspicion- it was not a fear that it would come back like some sort of zombie as much as simply it was greatly disturbing. Through luck, I found the clothing I needed off to the side, a spare set buried with the woman rather than needing to take it fresh from the corpse. I uttered a sorrowful, yet weak, apology, taking a handful of clothing and whatever jewelry I could find to sell off later for a chance to get home. Slipping on the clothes, it was all familiar from my studies. Firstly, a caftan- simple enough, a long and comfortable robe despite how old it must be by this point. A belt for the waist came next- likewise, quite simple, actually seeming to lift some of the burden of the not-that-heavy caftan to the point of feeling weightless. After this, I was expecting a nice overcoat or something of the sort, pulling out instead a fine fitted leather coat, quite full in length, that fit snugly but properly. I remembered this as well, and if it was as anticipated, then the whole was made of squirrel. Examining the furry puffs poking out from the sleeves and the fine embroidery, it was perhaps not the kurgan I knew but with similar contents nonetheless. There was a pair of soft knee-high boots with tall wooden heels that, while capable for walking, were clearly meant for riding. This only further confirmed my suspicions as I slipped them on, the flexible material fitting quite nicely and the lacing being done in some haste, that I was within the mountains of Iran or nearby regions. Fully dressed- or dressed enough rather, I began to set out after realizing there was a total lack of head covering to use. Even still, they would be much much more forgiving about that, and especially for a foreigner, than they would about sheer nakedness. The clothing I wore was dated and robbed from a tomb (but not the corpse), but it was my only real option. Sighing, I slipped the jewelry on due to a lack of bag or pockets and made my trek once more.

Now covered, I cautiously roamed the wilds, keeping out for sounds of bears or lions or wolves or whatever beast might stalk and approach, whatever predators may pounce. If there seemed tracks, or if there were noises, I was quick to change my path and get out quickly. Safety first! In any case, I wandered for hours, but as the luminescent orange sun crest over the mountains of the horizon and the clouds turn a lovely violet to match the changing sky, and as the first twinkles began to appear overheard in the glorious glow of the Zun the Justice Giver, I found a village at last. Observing from a nearby hilltop, they seemed quite primitive, living a traditional life- why they didn't even have a mosque! This was certainly quite intriguing, even moreso when the people of the village appeared to be dressed in the old fashions I was myself wearing, instead of the more modern ones many tribal people typically wore. Not as fancy as my own, but certainly of the same make.

So imagine my surprise when I felt a hand on my back and nearly lost my footing, which would've resulted in a long tumble down a somewhat steep hill and becoming maimed. No, the hand caught my wrist before I could take my tumble. He took my other and pulled me back up to the top. I thanked him breathlessly, and in my gratitude failed to realize that he was coiling a rope around them, then around me, and lastly tied a nice knot. I asked what he was doing, and he said simply that outsiders were not particularly welcomed. I asked where he was taking me, and he said to his village. I asked what was to become of me, and he said I would probably be a slave. I asked how he knew my tongue, and he replied that we were speaking the same language.

Sorry, what? He reaffirmed we were speaking the same tongue and made an off-handed but quite hurtful comment about my sanity. I tried to explain that I needed to get back to my home, to which he asked where I was from. I gave him a response, and he simply said he did not know that place. I pleaded with him for release and he said he simply could not until more information was available. I sighed and let him take me to his village, where even more rope was lumped on- really getting tedious at this point- binding me to a pole that I would not run away. Not that I would've- I had nowhere to go it seemed, there was not a better option and I knew not the terrain. All there really was to do was to sit and wait patiently as the village elders discussion the situation, though there never seemed to be any real threat of harm.

A fair while passed, and I was fed some nice spiced meat and some simple plain milk. Delicious. No, really, it was delicious. Also quite filling, considering it was the first thing I had eaten all day. Soon all went to sleep and I sat, barely awake, thinking of all the things that were left behind. My games, a good few unfinished magazines, chocolate milk, honestly plenty of things to miss- the safety granted by my situation, however, was enough to shove these aside and get some sleep already. I closed my eyes, embraced the smells and sounds of the quiet village, and drifted off to sleep.

Waking up in the morning to a strange man staring at me, he simply....stares. Doesn't say anything. Doesn't do anything. I half-expect him to make a move, and prepare to kick properly, but it is just a silent stare. I ask him politely to go away and mind his own business, but he finally asks me a question, a simple question, and that question is what I know. I shrug and tell him I know some stuff, and he asks for a demonstration. I proceed to explain how if one weaves cotton in a particular manner, and at this point I pause to observe that most people appear to be wearing fabric of some sort apart from the old farts wearing sheepskin kilts with the wool turned outward, combed, and dyed, and then I continue with my statement: if you weave cotton in a particular way in that it goes through itself in a particular type of double weave, struggling with the terminology and generally being very descriptive in a roundabouty way that they seem to understand since they lack the terminology anyways, then you produce a thicker and sturdier type that is quite suitable for hard work. I explained how, where I came from, men and women very frequently wore this thick fabric, and that it had since become fashion.

He takes this into account and disappears. The people of the village go about their day, seeming to pay me little mind as I sit immobilized and rather isolated- yet, oddly enough, quite comfortable. I felt no boredom, certainly, and found it quite interesting to watch these people follow their ancient ways, talk to each other, and live their lives. Perhaps my mind was simply too clouded? Aye, it was a rather sudden transition and one hell of a day. I felt not nearly tired enough to rest- it had been not half a day since I had woken, so that was obviously out of the question. Could not go for a run or walk, at least not without a massive amount of effort and angry tribals so as to make it no longer enjoyable. Truly, my fate was to sit, or stand, and wait it out.

As I watch them do crude work, I begin to pipe up a little more, saying 'Do this' or 'you should do that', teaching them all nifty little shortcuts that I learned in my anthropological studies of cultures across the globe. I never realized how much people would sit with inefficient methods just because they didn't care to innovate! I only gave them little things, really, to start with. Harmless, but the sort of things you might not even think about. For example, using wickerwork to carry solids instead of ceramics greatly reduced the weight. Lining a cracked pot with resin would seal the crack and stop leaks. I began to explain about a better way to tie knots for more secure tents and tools, stopping halfway through to remember by own situation, but deciding to continue anyway. I likewise included that resin would help the tools stay together even further.

I soon became known as the wisewoman of the village, despite spending most of my day lashed to a pole. In fact, it was approximately a week after arrival that this happened. As the improvements I suggested began to truly materialize, they decided to at least let me off the pole. With stronger work clothes, more securely bound tools and tents, better pots, and a slew of other minor improvements spouted across the week, ranging from telling them to use small crescent-shaped stones for a stronger point on arrows and spears to ways to burn wood for a superior pitch, none could doubt that my guidance had in many small ways improved their lives.

What I found most interesting, however, was that the people of the village were using bronze. I stood, once again baffled, wondering where I could be that so much as bronze and copper so excited them. They talked all day of this wonderful invention, speaking of how it was their people who had invented it and that it had spread to the distant lands of Uruk and their tribes were to thank for it. They, however, knew not how to get enough tin to keep bronze for more than the wealthier individuals of the tribe. Even the most remote regions of Afr-

did they just say Uruk? That was, suffice to say, quite unexpected. I might've even tossed it away saying they were just being poetic if it weren't for the matter of the fact they were bragging of their bronze being used there, and why not use the more common Assyria or Babylon or... well, something still relevant culturally. I made a joke about how they must've sold it to Gilgamesh himself at this rate, to which a few listeners laughed and agreed with the confidence of people who vaguely knew the reference I had made. I, meanwhile, pretended not to be internally freaking out about what was going on.

Say time travel is possible- just, for a moment, accept the suggestion. I had read many times of stories of people seeming to go backwards in time, sometimes even seeming to switch location, for flashes. I had read stories of displaced people from different times and even realities showing up in our own. I, being the urban-legend-loving person I am, felt the need to connect these stories to my current situation under the assumption that it was, after all, within the bounds of physics. There was one key difference, though, and that was that it had been by now much, much longer than these legends ever told of.

I did not get much sleep that night. I stood by my pole, and yes it was now my pole, having no tent or hut to sleep in, relying on the warmth of my clothing to suffer the mountain night. Maybe, I thought, just maybe I should teach them how to make softer ropes. That would ease my sleep were that the actual reason I could find no rest. No, no, I felt more awake than ever. Jittery, in need of motion I could not do. I began to fight against my situation, to truly struggle, for the first time. I needed to run, I had to- if I ran, then maybe there'd be a way out of this. There had to be a way out. But there was not. I exhausted my efforts and finally found peace.

I woke the next morning with hints of rope burn and a blurred mind. I could scarce remember the night before, but it began to come back as I was let off the pole for daylight time once more. Ah, yes, that's right- I was undergoing an existential crisis about when and where I was, and with this I simply slumped over and sat alone, trying to figure out what it all meant and what to do. I could not help but notice, however, that I felt none the weaker for being immobilized a full week- an odd peculiarity. Furthermore, I'd not gained illness of any sort, not dysentery nor a simple cold. I felt no atrophy but instead stronger than I had in my whole life- or, at least, more alive. What had I become?

Curious as I was about myself, and still feeling quite troubled about my situation, I fell into a slump and simply observed the whole day. This gave me plenty of quiet time to ponder myself, and once more to all the things I had left behind that would never be finished. Quite a shame, too, as so much of it consisted of things I felt that I missed sorely. I would've killed for a computer or a magazine or anything to get my mind off of my situation, but alas, it was not to be- no matter how long I spent the day trying to will them into existence. The only progress I made that day in anything was telling the villagers to bury their rotten meat and their campfire residue beneath their crops for a better yield.

Little did I know the floodgate this would open. Well, I knew, but it was far from my mind at the time and I'd not even decisively located just where exactly I was, so figuring this out would've been quite difficult regardless of the clarity or fuzziness of my mind. This little tip got the villagers talking, the elders went back to debating, and more than ever the children stared at me with a strange curiosity that was, honestly, a little adorable. I'd never been a strong one for children- I did not love them, nor did I hate them, but I never found them 'cute', so this new feeling was quite the surprise to me. It brought, for the first time since arriving, a smile- and that brief little blip of joy almost made up for the confused mild humiliation of being held a public prisoner of the village in a strange land, seemingly in the past, with graverobbed clothes. At least, I supposed, I would not be beaten and beheaded for having hair.

By two weeks in, I was becoming more trusted, and people started becoming more curious. It started innocently enough, asking about my name, where I came from, and like the first man none of them seemed to comprehend anything I said past simply my name. Between pesterings, I questioned to myself why they would not leave me be that I may mope all day about all the things I had lost- it was then, however, I realized what the case may be. This could only be one place- a place to combine kurgans, these clothes, a seeming lack of urbanization, and that particular region had mountain fairies, and of these mountain fairies the women were benevolent and provided benefit to the crops and to the hunts. Realizing that I had, not long ago, just given them tips for better crops, I watched them now following my advice, I began to piece it together. Did they believe me one of their spirits of the land? It would, perhaps, explain why I was found mysteriously lurking in the mountains. I recalled that the strongest presence of these supposed spirits was in the north, but how far north was I? No matter, this seemed like a good avenue to benefit.

It all changed a month into my stay, when the true profits of my guidance had materialized for an extended time, and I was finally asked by a small child if I was a goddess. I laughed and said that if I was, why would I not have unbound myself earlier and simply left? The child said it was because I wanted to help but not be threatening, and that I knew the elders were paranoid. I laughed again. While the paranoia was true, and had been evident from the moment of capture, it made me begin to think. The child meandered off with wide eyes, seemingly content with my vague answer, but I was left behind. Should I encourage such thoughts? Should I take advantage of this mythology to advance myself?

I never liked the idea of taking advantage of tribal peoples, but I was lost, confused, and in desperate need of true hospitality. Word began to spread without me even saying anything, the young child passing rumor to his friends, and them passing rumor to their families. This got more glances in my direction as the days advanced, but I felt okay with it. I had come to accept my new life here, and though I was still missing my modern luxuries, I could make this work. Perhaps it'd be over at some point, and I could go home afterwards, but until then there was no point to moping around. I had some things to fix around here, and they went beyond the physical. It was a little shameful how some people seemed to be coming out on top of others, some having bronze and some having to make to with simple stone tools. This was the home of the bronze age, no? Why did they have to suffer? I knew, for instance, that this region was a massive producer of lapis, and that it was a timeless and sought-after product. This was her first trick- convincing them to take lapis and trade it for better tools with neighbors. The Indus and Persia could not be too far, and both may have made incursions into the land.

They deliberated on this for nearly two more weeks, and all the while I sought to fix what flaws I saw in their village. Here and there, I gave suggestions- some took up artistic ventures at my behest, while I managed to convince some farmers to try things like hunting or leatherworking in their free time, since they had plentiful fitness and an inclination towards efficiency aiding their already plentiful experience with sharp tools. I pointed out how much free time they often had, and that in this free time, they can dedicate to other pursuits if they truly want more benefit. While people tend to err on the side of laziness, those who sought improvement of their situation started following my advice, and there were certainly more suspiciously and slightly suggestively shaped statues floating around the village. By the time the millet started to flower, fed by the nutrition of the meat and charcoal, it was showing very good signs of progress. At this sign, they took my advice and finally started gathering and trading lapis.

When the neighboring outposts, apparently belonging to the Indus, were much willing to give bronze for lapis, the village improved drastically. It could be found on arrowheads and spearheads, there were shiny new knives, and the farmers had tools at last that did not dull and chip so quickly. This seemed, to many, to begin confirming the suspicions they held about me. While my largest following was children, and certainly that meant I might see my unbinding in twenty or thirty odd years, I certainly was berated with more questioning. Most typically, this was the same line of questions as before, but now I felt more inclined to give the answers they wanted to hear- where did I come from? The mountains, of course. It couldn't hurt to implant such ideas, I wasn't disturbing any of their religion or culture by simply implanting the suggestion that I might be part of it, right? It didn't matter, the rumors had spread already and I was hardly going to stop trying to fix this place.

As more people began to ask me, the unwilling wisewoman of the village, the captive spirit of the land, of ways to improve their lives. By this point, I realized how much influence I had gained, and how some had come to see me. I decided to implement abstract ideas at this stage, and the first was the code of Pashtunwali- I called it by this very name, though they understood it not, and thus I simply said that the name was in the language of the divines. I explained the tenets to them- honor, valor, the whole deal. I told them that against their enemies, they must show righteousness so as to be above them. Actions taken against them should be done justly and honorably, not through ambush and trickery. Respect and forgiveness are also valued greatly- if one comes to you seeking asylum, even if an enemy, then they should be treated as an honored guest. To this, many of them nodded, failing to see the irony. Bravery and loyalty were, naturally, paramount, and one's defense of their home was of massive significance. To this, I stated that they had done well with my current situation as an example of such defense. Another tenet to pass was the idea of goodness- to behave and act with good intentions towards the environment, the weak, the downtrodden, their peers, really the totality of their fellow countrymen and themselves. Connection to the land was of vital importance, and they agreed- this being part of their own faith system. I laughed a little, and noted that the people of the village already followed half of these and that their situation had improved greatly. The villagers agreed. The last concept I tried to teach them was great hospitality- a stranger should be a friend, even if one's guard should not be let down. Hospitality was, above all, the key theme of the honor code I bestowed upon them. Telling them to treat strangers as friends and to treat their women well, echoing what I could remember of the code, a few of them seemed a little embarrassed at being told this by a strange woman who was held captive. I, too, realized the irony and laughed, reassuring them that they'd done nothing wrong because they'd treated me kindly beyond the capture and that I did not feel uncomfortable with their treatment. If anything, I told them, it was much kinder than other lands where one such as myself was at quite serious risk from the very start. Elevating their pride in themselves, appealing to their traditions as well as involving new ones, and stating that they had gained benefit already and would continue to do so, they seemed to trust me to an unprecedented degree, taking into their lives my word as law, and many of the nonbelievers doing likewise simply due to their enjoyment of the idea and of my words, regardless of my status in their eyes.

With this much, I told them to keep their hearts true. They went about their day, as they did always. I slowly began to introduce new concepts to their fold, such as new forms of artistic expression. I taught them to paint hides, telling them that stories and aesthetics may be told and improved, and furthermore that it was the will of the divines. I told them to paint their tools, which did provide some benefit by adding an outer coating to their wood, but mostly was because it looked neat. Not that I'd tell them that was the reason, I used the same vague 'it will bring benefit' that I always had. I told them the form of a pickaxe to help them with mining and gathering, awkwardly describing the shape until one that was correct was produced. I told them of swords, seeing them extend their knives to nearly two feet of length. In due time, I was speaking of a world to come, a world of castles and iron. I told them of Europe, and of China. Lastly, I told them that if they were to repeat my treatment in the future, that silken rope would be preferable- not that I believed they would. My captivity, I thought, was soon to come to an end.

By the end of the next month many people were approaching with the same questions- they questioned my divinity. Was I a spirit of the land? Something greater? I told them I was from the mountains, come to bring benefit to them, vaguely hinting at my possible divinity. When at last the millet came into maturity, 80 or 90 days after they first began planting, the harvest had an unknown bounty that solidified my position. More of their ranks were hunters alongside this, and knew combat just as well. More glory and honor to spread around, more food to spread around, and little me sitting in the corner watching it all unfold. I smiled once more, and made a simple request to have my own home to live in.

My followers got to work on it immediately. They seemed to forget to undo my bindings, but I might've attributed that instead to the presence of nonbelievers still wary. I looked at the elders of the village, and their chief, and wondered how many among their ranks had begun to believe in me. I started to speak, directed at them, asking if I had not yet earned my pardon, and furthermore that if I had not, I would prefer the silken binds. Giggling, things were finally starting to look up as I sat in my corner as always, watching as always, but finally with a degree of respect. My bondage was at last undone by a person I knew not the name of nor the face, but I took the opportunity to stretch, to truly stretch, for the first time in months. It was good to be the goddess.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Shores of Unnamed Village, Virginia, North America
May 13th, 85 AG

The captain goggled at the words of the half-naked barbarian that casually stood on the beach near the shield-wall. His face flushed slightly, and the sentences when he uttered them were spat with terse alacrity.

"And I suppose your people were just massing in secrecy to give us a friendly reception, is that it? I see now why the Hind made that shot- we'd have been slaughtered by those archers if they fired while we were on the boats." His glare was chilly as he assessed the pale-skinned native.

"Your people can't win here. Tell them to stand down. Even if they manage to kill my men and I, the batteries aboard the ship will erase this village. You want their families protected? Pull them back from the beach, or I give the order to fire. I will not die to an arrow in the back, and we did not come here seeking war."

Perhaps part of it was bluster. The light helmets and breastplates and padded fabric of the soldiers would stop arrows, probably, but the indigenous had numbers. Estian had fought numbers before though, and numbers broke before trained men as did any warriors of flesh and blood. Here, near the coastline, under the gaze of one of the finest warships in Christendom, he at least had the bravado of a man who would sell his life dearly, if it came to that.

[Arulean States]

Virginia, Village of Arrohattoc (Norfolk), May 13th, 2915 B.C. Day Forty-One
Rather than wither under the icy stare, it seemed to give me renewed strength. ‘Goddamnit I thought. I’m not gonna let myself be pushed around by some European bastards!’

“The warriors of Arrohattoc will not stand down so long as your men remain a threat to their village. Though they fear for their families, they fear the shame of retreat even more,” I shot back at the captain. The fury in my voice rising, I continued, “Though you may destroy this village, the Powhatan are many. As we speak, warriors from across our Confederacy await the outcome of this confrontation.”

I prayed my bluf wouldn’t get everyone killed before continuing, “And though you might have firearms and crossbows and large metal shields, and though I will certainly die, I am willing to bet that none of your men will leave this shore alive, should we fight. Shields will not protect you from the furious warpath the Powhatan people will begin.”

Then, as a carrot to the proverbial stick, “But perhaps we can agree to a mutual disarmament. If you say that your people come in peace, then prove it. I swear on my life and on my honor as a human being that if you put down your weapons, the warriors of Arrohattoc will do the same. Until then, no progress will be made.”

[Alouite]

Tyre,
August, 2195 BCE

Hermann awoke in the shrub by a crude path disoriented. He had just gone to sleep and yet was suddenly somewhere entirely separate from the room he had lived in for so many years. He groaned in slight pain, finding his left arm was partially buried in the dirt. He crouched up, immediately realizing he was wearing no clothing at all. Though now even more disoriented and confused, Hermann dug his arm from the soil, stood up, and began following the dirt road to wherever it led.

He had lived the Afrikaner life, trekked the desert, hunted in the Savannah, and canoed through rivers. But being dropped in such an odd place which hardly resembled anything he knew was to say the least off putting. Not to mention that he was entirely naked. Surely this was some prank gone way too far, or perhaps a failed attempt at a kidnapping, he after all not feel himself. No, none of it made any sense he decided as he continued onwards for what felt like hours in the beating sun.

However, he soon enough could make out what appeared to be some kind of primitive village, nothing like what he'd seen back in his country, something that looked to be out of a fantasy book. The village was quite large, and the people were tan, speaking some foreign language, yet one he somehow understood. The villagers crowded around him and soon one of them called Hermann a 'messenger' seemingly comparing him to stories of others like himself. The town guard soon enough apprehended Hermann who was in no mood for a fight and they took him to a shack that appeared in quite poor condition. He sat in the shack and began to dose off but was soon woken and given a grey robe. Another man, this one with guards in lieu approached.

The man said to him, "What brings a messenger to Tyre? Are you from the West?" Hermann replied, trying to quickly create a story "I am not from the West, and as for being a messenger, in fact I am one, and I carry quite an important message." The man then left the room with the guards remaining in place, and Hermann again fell asleep.

When he awoke he could hear men of seeming importance discussing the situation that they believed they were in. That Messengers had been arriving and spreading great messages, and that should I truly be one I could bring great fortune to their people. However, after a certain point they noticed I was now awake and one of them said, "So then, messenger, what is your name?" I replied promptly "Hermann" I could tell from what they had discussed prior they were afraid of something from the West, and that from whatever was going on, I was no longer in the world I once knew. However, I wouldn't allow the opportunity to learn more through leading these people to pass me by, they believed me to be some kind of prophet, and I wouldn't be one to silence such veneration. I then said "And my message to you is that it is no longer safe here. That it is now time for a great Exodus East to a land free of what danger lurks west. There we shall create a new Dominion, and there your people will find themselves free from fear and in a position to become something more." The elders seemed to believe everything I had said and began speaking to one another about a course of action. And so without a clear image of what lay ahead, I prepared to organize a journey eastward. I did not know how long this would take, only that it would separate me from the threats that lurked west, and would position myself as a notable figure.

[Senkaku]

Mother Ganges, Chapter Two: Mud and Filth

---

It had been the strangest few months he'd ever experienced. Aaron was not entirely convinced that he was not still in a waking nightmare, and he found himself waking in the middle of the night with frequency, troubled by dreams he couldn't quite remember and memories of home. He'd gone walking a lot, guided by the villagers, and he thought he'd established where they were- he recognized the river's curves and a few of the hills to remember Patna, from the trip he and one of his ex-boyfriends had once taken to India. Even if he was wrong, the constellations at least appeared more or less the same as he remembered them- but being able to see them at all, and the general pitch blackness of nights, was unsettling. The villagers were happy to wait on him hand and foot, so long as he pitched in with work, and he'd taken to insisting that torches be kept burning at all hours- in addition to fighting off a little bit of the overwhelming night, the smoke kept the incessant mosquitoes away a bit.

No matter how many torches he burned, though, he could never drown out the stars like the lights of New York. He tried to distract himself by helping the villagers with things- their homes were little more than reed mat hovels, held together with a little bit of dried mud. Aaron had managed, with some trial and error, to make some proper mud bricks, and once the villagers made more, they were soon able to set to work on improving their housing- under his careful guidance, of course. He'd also had to correct some of their horrifying hygienic habits, finally resorting to telling them the gods would be angry if they continued to just shit wherever they liked- there was now a long ditch that ran away from the village a ways downstream to drain into the Ganges. It smelled foul, but it was better than nothing. He'd also gotten them all to begin washing daily- in the Ganges, but upstream of the ditch outlet (for now, it was all he had to work with).

Aaron's sex life had also taken an odd turn. He'd been with women before, but not for some time- until, on his first night, the girl who he'd rescued confidently woke him and took him behind their family's hovel. Since then, and especially since his bricklaying idea and the lack of any cases of dysentery since his arrival- which he attributed to the ditch- the women of the village had been scarcely giving him a night's rest, many seeking to win favor with the strange pale angel who had emerged from the womb of the river goddess to aid them. The men he'd approached had seemed surprised, but amenable to his requests, as eager to please the river goddess's blue-eyed agent as the women. He'd arrived naked, and between the intolerable heat and humidity and all the sex, he was spending a good amount of his time naked as well- the villagers even seemed to accept it when he just walked around without clothes, though his own modesty, the sun, and the bugs often compelled him to cover up. After all, he was not one of them- he was the river goddess's son.

The villagers had built him his own house, the first of the many new, sturdy mud brick buildings. Over the months it had become his custom, as the sun went down, to wait seated in his door for various villagers to badger him with questions, while someone lit torches inside for him. Then he would retire with whoever had managed to jockey into position as his companion for the evening, and sleep fitfully through the night, until woken by the risen sun or the sounds of village life picking up in the morning.

At least, he reflected, staring up one night at the fiercely undimmed stars and the Milky Way, things had not turned out worse. I wonder how many days it's been. When is my birthday?

[The Hierophancy]

Colote

The next day I took stock of my progress in metallurgy - namely, the potato sized lump of black slag and dull iron I gingerly fished out of the water pot. It wasn't much to look at truly - the iron blackened, spongy and rough, the useless material prevalent throughout its structure full of holes and charred the same black as the charcoal it had been molten down in. I doubted that I could separate the two through further melting and reforging and didn't particularly want to, which left either hammering the iron until its less malleable, slag components were dislodged or picking them out individually. I decided to pursue the former, though first I would heat up the metal - a softer iron would, hopefully, be easier to hammer and separate from its unusable brother-material. I kept the furnace's flames relatively low and left my treasure to warm while I went out looking for some helpers - strong, burly men able to hit things with big rocks.

Finding laborers proved easier than expected - the ring of corn, squash, tomato and bean fields surrounding the freshwater lake remained in a general state of disrepair, and although progress was being made in restoring the village's agriculture to it's previous level of moderate prosperity, a good deal of the plots seemed far beyond hope. One such plot was one of the smaller fields clinging to and feeding off of the lake - all that remained of the old "farm" was a whole lot of mud and a few stunted pineapples bobbing about in the deep puddles and ponds which had formed where there was once fertile (but sufficiently dry) land. Sitting by the swampy remains of their field was a man I recognized as Cháalaxa Coqui and, I assumed, his sons - all 4 of them. The entire troop looked quite glum, and the pile of recovered fruit stacked beside them was waterlogged and pitifully small. I greeted the family with a curt wave.

"Cháalaxa, how do you do? You seem in need of some... ah... aid, no?" The man - thickset, muscled and calloused from years farming largely by hand, let out a burst of strained laughter.

"I suppose you could say that, Uikixu - my crop is ruined, destroyed, and with it my livelihood. This half rotted garbage -" he kicked at one of the pineapples floating nearby, sending it spiraling off towards the lake. "- is barely sellable. And even if I could find buyers, I would never get enough in exchange to replant, not to mention feeding my family. Ayyo, what am I supposed to do?" The man's sons looked uncomfortable as he buried his face in his hands.

"Ah, well, funny you should ask, friend. You see, to... erm... utilize... the gifts of the mother-goddess, I will require some aid from strong, righteous men such as yourself, and maybe your boys as well. Mayhaps doing labor for the god's shall convince them to change your fortunes?" Cháalaxa Coqui, his head still cupped in his hands, made a dismissive motion.

"Bah, the god's have already forsaken me - am I supposed to feed my family on their mercy, when it was too that mercy which took away what I needed to live?" I shook my head in what I hoped looked an empathetic gesture.

"You should not speak as such or you will only anger Kurikaweri further, friend. What if I offer you some pay as well, ah? I have not much, but I can afford say... 2 cacao beans for a days labor?" It was a meager wage - the sort slaves generally received - but Cháalaxa immediately perked up at the mention of pay.

"It is not much, but it will keep my household alive - thank you Uikixu-Úrhi. What do you want me to do?" After we'd collected a few simple stone hammers, the 6 of us returned to my little forge, from which I extracted my now glowing metal without even losing a pair of wooden stick-tongs. Placing the lump upon a relatively flat stone two of Cháalaxa's sons had earlier dragged over, I ordered the other 3 to begin hammering, a task which they took up with gusto, quickly learning to time their strikes in a manner which left the metal with barely a moments respite. As I had hoped, the slag began to either become dislodged or shatter, scattering itself about the ground. After the metal had been satisfactorily purified I sent one of the sons off to grab a stone bowl whilst the others tended to the furnace and set about spinning the bellows. I, meanwhile, fetched a few of the simple molds I'd shaped during the weeks awaiting rainfall - crude "knife" patterns dug out of a mixture of sand and clay. By the time I'd returned the fire was red hot, the furnace cracking and the stone bowl at the ready.

Tossing the beaten iron into the bowl and lowering it into the furnace, there was little left to do but wait and, in the meantime, try and craft a better instrument for extracting things from terribly hot furnaces. After about 8 hours of waiting and taking turns spinning the bellows, I had managed to fashion a sort of looped stick, which I used to extract the stone bowl and it's molten contents from where it was nestled among the flames. I poured the molten iron into the molds gently, though despite my caution I nearly dropped the bowl on multiple occasions, and by the time I'd run out of metal I'd managed to create almost 6 liquid knives - a good haul for my first attempt at smithing. It was only after distributing my promised beans and dismissing my laborers that I realized just how late it was - nearly midnight from the looks of the moon - and set off to bed myself, leaving my precious metal objects to cool and harden by the furnace.

I would spend most of the next day sharpening the simple tools I'd created. The iron used was nothing to be lauded - brittle and not particularly easy to work with - but it was functional. The structure of the knives - a simple triangle for cutting and rectangle for grasping. When the instruments had been ground and sharpened to my satisfaction, I wrapped the lot in a scrap of cotton and took them to the temple, so as to show off the boons of Kwerawáperi to Speaker Tsijiari. At first the priest seemed largely unimpressed with my dull blades, but my brief demonstration - simply jabbing the crude blade into a block of wood brought for that express purpose - seemed to pique his interest.

"An interesting material... hard and sharp like obsidian, but strong like stone, not near so brittle as the gifts of Chʼipirijuata. And you say you can make more?" I nodded eagerly.

"Aye, much more - the supply is, for all intents an purposes, inexhaustible, especially if I can receive more aid, more workers." The speaker turned the knife I'd handed him over in his hand, closely inspecting it.

"Yes, yes... you have done Colote a great boon by acting as the gods conduit, Uikixu-Úrhi, and if nothing else they clearly favor you. Should you need further aid, simply ask, and I shall provide - whether it be workers or materials. Whatever is necessary for you to produce more - though I shall, of course, require some of whatever profit you make selling this... bloodstone... and a free allotment to be used for the good of all Colote." It wasn't exactly a bad deal, though a good deal more pragmatic than I would have expected from a priest dealing in a metal deemed, at least officially, divine.

"It shall be done, Revered Speaker." The man nodded and gestured to indicate our meeting had concluded before once more turning his attention towards the knife. It didn't take long for word to spread about town that the Revered Speaker himself had taken to using one of the pale foreigner's fancy metal blades, and by the end of the day I had already sold every single one of my iron knives, even the half-formed sixth knife I'd intended to melt down for the next batch of tools. The prices I charged were quite exuberant, and though I felt a little bad for essentially ripping off a bunch of savages, that feeling soon receded when I took stock of my new stash of beans and various objects used by the natives of Colote to barter for these new blades. It was not only customers who arrived at my door step, however - so too did Cháalaxa Coqui, his sons, and even a few of their fellow farmers now largely out of work. Cháalaxa's family and I began preparing for the next batch of knives that night, whilst the handful of other laborers began construction of a second furnace beside the first. The future was looking bright and, even better, quite profitable.

[Ralnis]

Chapter 1 Part 2: Sweet Imperial Furniture,
Karlburg, Eastern Imperial,
August 85 AG/2915 B.C.

The next couple of weeks were Bob getting accustomed to life in the Imperium, he still had important questions that no one could answer but work put his mind in ease. Working in a factory was tiring, thankless, and provided minimum pay in the way of coins. The bright side was that he was working with someone familiar and even found new friends. Parvan was a master with the machinery and the tools that carve sawed lumber into beautiful chairs and he started to learn how to do it as well. The Imperial man was also more than happy to say that he was a 3rd generational citizen and the first of his family to work in such a industrial place.

Another one of his friends happened to be one of the young technicians who make sure the steam engines are going well and the people were actually skilled in keeping the chugging behemoths going for the economy. It seemed that Bob and the technician had some things in common, mostly being not from the Imperium but he's been here sense he was five, brought when a kingdom called Rhone was taken over by the Imperium and he was shown to have a knack for building things.

Bob felt a spiritual connection with him and asked for his name, his Imperial name was Vlad, which was the name of the village elder that welcomed his family in the Imperium. Bob was happy to actually have someone to talk to and even started to talk about steam works but he had to naturally limit what he had said to Vlad as he didn't know what he was doing still but the idea of learning about the steam engine had made him start thinking about his gadgets again.

Back at the house, he stayed up at night with quill in hand and low-quality vellum to start drawing the steam engine as best as he could. Vlad gave more details than even what Bob knew from his studies but he still needed more info, even get up close and personal to it. One day during break time he went to talk to Vlad, making up a lie that he was thinking of becoming a technician but he actually just wanted to see the steam engine in its glory.

It was a hard sell but Vlad actually was persuaded to see the steam engine. Vlad escorted Bob to the steam engines where the massive machines chug the coal from the Nightfall and beyond to bring out the supply of wood to be manufactured. Vlad went into some detail of what the behemoths used and some practical information that his teachers taught him. Bob drank this up like water, he tried to get a feel for it and continued asking questions about the steam engines, playing on the idea that he wanted to be a technician.

After work, he invited Vlad to a night on the town with him and Parvan, which was only just the tavern. Vlad was more than happy to have a drink. When they had a few rounds Vlad told Parvan that Bob knew a thing or two about the steam engine and wanted to be an engineer. Parvan actually gave him an eyebrow raise but the immortal made up the lie that he was a craftsmen in his tribe and he learned from technicians who were from his tribe that moved their families up north, its what got him here in the first place before he round up naked.

Vlad said he hope to see his people some day where Bob just gave a sigh and say him too. The two Imperials give each other looks and Parvan put his hand on Bob's shoulder and told him that things will get better but he should try and look at becoming a technician if he's good at it. Bob said he would have to think about it but he wondered if the pay was good, as Vlad replied that it was good and he can learn from first-hand experience on how they work.

To Bob, figuring out how the steam engine truly work was something he wanted to see as a fan of the very engine that made the genre he loved so much would make him extremely happy, but he couldn't let his love for steampunk let him go too far and whoever rule this Imperium may have summoned him and looking for him this instant.

So he kept drawing, putting his incomplete steam engine parchment in a bag and started to draw up things that were more creative for him. The moon was met by him playing songs that he could remember of his head, the smell of his plants that came from the Arizona desert, the look of his workshop with his drawings, gadgets and a steam gage assembly.

One thing he thought of that he didn't get to finish were some magnifying goggles with his prescription lenses. That one thing started to become an idea that Vlad did say that technicians did get something similar to it but knowing that they're near boilers all day. He went back to work the other day and saw a big, burly man with a grimace as he looked at other people.

Bob came to work with the man and he came to know him as known as Bittertooth, a recently released debt-slave working in the mines across Ego. When Bob told him his fake tribal name where Bittertooth just ask if he was an alien where the inventor just nod. The debt-slave gave a grunt while he told him " don't become a bandit, isn't worth the labor" which made the worker look at him differently.

" No different than where I come from." Bob said with his eyes rolled.

" Where do you come from Wildman?" The bandit asked.

"South from Gibraltar."

Bittertooth just said that he don't know much of that area but he knew that Bob was something innocent. After work, a man who wore wealthy clothing. He was name Kristoff and he was one of the owners of the factory and therefore one of the owners of the town. Bob remembered that he was one of the people who gave him a weird look and thought that he was a noble but he got a crash course that there aren't any nobles, just snobby rich people that control the town. Vlad and Parvan had different beliefs on how their doing things but some general consensus that they had heavy taxes, provide some comfort, but take a lot from the workers that also produce their goods.

Kristoff was accompanied by Vlad who wanted to show one of the owners of the furniture factory about Bob and his knack of using his hands. Vlad had kept Bob's knowledge of the steam engine hidden to keep his boss from knowing that he allowed a non-technician to get close to the steam engines. Still, he started to tell the wealthy owner that he thought that Bob was a very smart man and that he can vouch for him to be an apprentice technician underneath him and other people.

Bob didn't like the idea of having someone younger than him but it did allow him to learn more about what the Imperium's machinery is and could incorporate it into his drawings, but most importantly it could get him closer to learning about the Imperium some more. He decided to tell Kristoff that he was willing to learn despite him being young. If anything, he learned that the Imperium doesn't care for seniority, but it was based on knowledge and skill and Bob had a long way to go before he could be calling the shots on anyone.

He would start working on his new position next week as paperwork had to be written up and his records updated with the new info. The job was going to pay better and he would be able to finish his drawings and have something he's good at then just making wooden chairs for rich people, now he can mess with gears and automation for them instead.

[Labstoska]

John Collins
The people were up in arms. This rebellion was worse than anyone they had faced before and it had made something snap in John's mind. He now believed that the people of the Khanate no longer wanted a benevolent leader they had quite clearly shown that in these past few rebellions. Some of them had the disrespect to deny the true faith. Clearly this meant that the people demanded a far more harsh leadership and John never being one to actively displease his people elected that he would hive the people of the Khanate the tyranny they so clearly deserved.

The first steps John took to enforcing his iron will was to send the Free company to crush the rebels of course this did not solve the problem as the people were still discontent they just weren't rioting about it so in the middle of the night the Zealous were let out onto the streets with orders to execute any man and woman who were regarded as even remotely threatening to the Khanate. No branch of Khanate society was exempt from this purge, the farmers, the bureaucrats , the soldiers, each and everyone of these people had in some way betrayed John and the faith and for that they would receive punishment. The death toll that night was up in the hundreds. By the end of the night all the people who were left in the Khanate were either gullible enough to believe anything that John said or they were simply too frightened to do anything against him. The bodies from the great purge were gathered up and were placed outside the borders of the Khanate.

The next day John went outside to address those who were left about what had happened the previous night. The story he had spun was that the barbaric savages from further up the river in their ungodly ways had come down to the town of Newholm and performed a genocide that would forever live in the memories of the Khanate. If John's tale didn't convince the people then the heavily armed Zealous surrounding them were definitely enough to convince them. John also made sure that those who had ran like cowards from the Khanate were found by the Khan's guard and were brought back to the town were they would work like slaves upon the farms.

This wasn't to say that John hadn't taken anything on board, he now realized that he needed less of a bureaucracy and more of a farmer population. So he began to strip away from the various bureaucracies that John had created and instead put these people back into farming. Another thing that had been happening across the Khanate was that the people were clamouring for war against the pale skinned barbarians along the Yangtze for the people still believed that the barbarians had been the ones who killed large amounts of the Khanate's population so John decided to send what was left of the Free company resplendent in bronze armour and weaponry to bring these barbarians to their knees.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

The house of Huy-Pinhas could scarcely be called a house. ‘Palace’ was far more fitting. Situated near the temple of Amun, right in the heart of Thebes, the palace was one of the more recognisable structures in town. It stood at the main road leading from the north into town, and had a commanding view over everyone who passed. Its façade was decorated with images of gods, golden ornaments and hieroglyphs telling of the great deeds of Huy-Pinhas and his family. Bruno had seen them on the way in. There were tales in there of great heroics, martial prowess, driving the enemies before you and serving the Pharaoh faithfully. It was almost cynical to put that on the front of your building when inside, it housed the heart of Theban corruption.

The palace also served as a headquarters for Huy-Pinhas. As royal advisor on matters of agriculture, he had a large bureau of magistrate-slaves working under him. In this time, the office of the magistrate had not yet been fully made into a public office. A private person held the post, and that private person employed people who did the job of regular administrators. Most of that work was done by slaves, as many slaves were not just meant for menial labour: foreign slaves were especially well-suited for intellectual work. As Bruno walked through the palace, towards the personal chambers of the priest, he felt himself a slave as well, being forced to do the bidding of someone by a mere threat of force. The longer Bruno walked the halls and corridors of the palace, the more the felt angered by his newfound position of subservience. Wasn’t he a god to these people? His knowledge outstretched bounds these people could not even imagine.

With every step, this rage inside him increased. His mind raced, pounded, his heart rate rose drastically. How dared this man? A priest was supposed to care for and support the people, not squeeze them out of every last bit of grain for their own benefit. Besides that, Bruno was being made an accomplice outside of his own power. He, a man from the future. He knew that the earth was round and that it revolved around the sun. He knew how life evolved to what it was today. He knew that stars were distant suns that fused hydrogen for immense amounts of power. He knew… he knew…

And what good was it, now? Using his knowledge he had increased his own material wealth and the wealth of his subordinates, making him a target above everyone else. He stood out, and now he had to pay the price for his knowledge. The wicked did their best to purge the land of what little good remained, so it seemed. What good had he actually done by trying to do good?

Like a cloud, a thought drifted into his mind at that precise moment. Just as he passed through a corridor, a few soldiers came passing by. These soldiers were men of their time: they bore spears and hide shields, and some wore clubs. What if he was to seize power? With his knowledge, his experience of political history, he could do it. Seize control, overthrow the Pharaoh, reshape the nation, nay, the world in his image. He could kill all those who opposed him, he could raise those who were virtues and true. With one hand he would increase crop yield a hundred fold in a decade, and with the other he would bring destruction to those who were wicked and false. He would be worshipped like a god. Even better, he would be a god, the power of flight and fire at his fingertips. He stood still for a moment. He felt his nails dig themselves into his hands as he closed his fists in fury. His breathing became heavy, and his lungs filled with anxious air.

Suddenly, a cold grasped his heart. His hand relaxed, his breathing normalised. Was this all it took to turn him into a dictator? A tyrant? Absolute power was placed within his reach, was he so eager to grab hold of it? A list of history’s most despised dictators and tyrants shot through his head. He thought of the hundreds, the thousands that had to die before his utopian state was realised. Utopian in his mind, of course. How arrogant was it to think that his utopia was a utopia for the rest of the world?

He then straightened himself, and banished the thought from his mind. At least, he scared it off. Knowing himself, it would eventually come back. Perhaps he would one day convince himself to do it anyway. He knew himself, and he knew that it was well within his ability to convince himself of anything he wanted. However, it would not be today. As long as he still had some power over his own acts, he would not sink to that level.

Thus, with a momentary lapse of morals dispersed, Bruno entered the office of the priest. Huy-Pinhas sat behind his desk, flanked by two topless slave girls. One was Nubian, while the other was clearly Syrian. Their fingers caressed his arms and back, and he seemed totally enthralled with them. The two girls seemed startled when Bruno entered the office, but Huy-Pinhas was unfazed. There was a hint of disappointment around his eyes, but he quickly conquered those feelings, turning it into a friendly smile, be it somewhat sinister.

“Councillor, welcome. Sorry, girls, the gentleman and I have some business to discuss”

The girls smiled, let their hands slip past his arms for a moment, and then walked out the door, winking at Bruno as they passed. Unimpressed, Bruno took a chair on the opposite side of the desk. For a moment, his power-hungry urges lit up again like a kindling flame, but he managed to push it down once again.

“Now, Councillor, I would love to chat a bit, talk about the weather, family, how your day has been, but…”

He seemed to notice that his presence made Bruno highly uncomfortable, and he seemed to want to drag that out.

“But as you saw, I have a very busy day. Stuff to do, places to be… I am sure you understand”

Bruno kept quiet, just staring into the distance. He was not giving this man the pleasure of his anger. Bruno had, over the years, learnt how to deal with people like this. His middle school had been filled with his sort. Bruno decided to be the more advanced human in the room, and kept silent.

“You’re no fun, Councillor. Well, let’s get to business then, if you don’t want have small talk”

The priest took a piece of papyrus and handed it to Bruno, who took it carefully. Unrolling it, he saw that it was a map of Thebes, with the plots of land coloured. He found his own plot, the plot of his friends, the various local farmers… And then, about half of the land was owned by the ‘priesthood of Amun’, directly controlled by Huy-Pinhas. The man nearly had a monopoly on the land around Thebes. At least, the priesthood had, but there was little difference between the priesthood and Huy-Pinhas.

“As you see, we own quite a bit here and there” the priest said, smiling again after his own manner.

“Yet, there is still a lot of land owned by subsistence farmers. Inefficient, I say. Those people could far better be put to work for others. All those tiny plots of land would be better used when combined, wouldn’t you agree?”

Huy-Pinhas was clearly trying to act on the things he knew of Bruno, or the Councillor as he called him. Indeed, Bruno had shown a love for efficiency. However, he was more devoted to improving lives. Apparently, he had not been open enough on that, which he could understand. There was reason enough for people to hate him for being a foreigner, without him also being an insufferable philanthropist.

However, there was nothing Bruno could do. He just nodded silently, knowing that resistance would be futile.

“Good, good” Huy-Pinhas continued. “So, I need one of your clever ways to get me those plots. I don’t care what you come up with, as long as it gets me those plots”

Bruno had actually thought of this himself already. He had made a conceptual plan to integrate all peasant farms into his own, leaving him to be powerful on par with the priesthood. However, that would’ve required manipulation of the markets, possibly causing hunger, and generally causing harm to the people of Thebes. Now, he was starting to wish he’d done it.

“Yes, there is a way” he said solemnly. “In my country, research has been done into this. You know, if there is much grain in a year, that grain becomes cheaper. If you flood the markets with your cheap grain, the farmers will not be able to compete. Eventually, those farmers will have no choice but selling their farms to the highest bidder”

Huy-Pinhas grinned.

“That sounds good enough. How much do you think I can flood the market?”

Bruno thought for a moment.

“Using the temple stores you could do a lot. But, my lord priest, are you not the keeper of the royal granaries?”

The priest now grinned as hard as his skin would allow.

“That I am indeed…” he said, now staring into the distance. Bruno could just hear the cogs turning in his head.

“Alright, Councillor. Thank you. I would like to hear more of you in the future, especially on this plan. I will have to present it to Pharaoh, so you will have to assist me. How does next week sound?”

“Well, actually” Bruno began, “It’s almost harvesting…”

“Splendid!” the priest said. “I knew I could count on you. Next week, same time. Let’s go and meet Pharaoh: the second most powerful man in the kingdom. Bye now”

[G-Tech Corporation]

Shores of Unnamed Village, Virginia, North America
May 13th, 85 AG

Another stare, this time confused, and the captain visibly pushed aside any inquiries before growling in his throat like a caged beast.

"Impossible. Do you take me for a fool?" A thought flickered across Estian's face, and he gestured to one of the crouching soldiers.

"Sven. Take this man. We'll get to the bottom of this back in the Kasr."

The warrior advanced, drawing a shortsword, and grabbed the stranger roughly about the waist before he had a chance to do more than blink in surprise. With a wave of a callused hand, the dour surcoat-clad Imperial gestured his men back towards the shore, and the duo nearly bodily carried the local man back behind the rank of shields. With the obvious practice of training and experience, the shield-wall receded back toward the shoreline, until the waters of the bay lapped against the boots of the hindmost men.

In the interim, the other two boats from the Hind had landed, discharging their cargo of soldiers in gleaming steel with stonelike faces. The captain nodded to one of the other men bearing the silver tabs of a leader, whatever rank the tabs might indicate, and spoke shortly.

"We have a prisoner, a man who speaks Common. I'm taking him back to Restimar to see what in the devil is going on. Natives behind the barricades."

The other man inclined his head in acceptance, and barked a terse command, ordering men into the line of the other military unit, a gleaming mass of fixed bayonets and morions behind the wall of heavy shields. As the native was gruffly hauled into one of the boats, and a few men detailed to row the lightened vessel back to the Hind, the captain noticed that the gunwales of the vessel were crowded with soldiers and sailors, their faces drawn, and the artillery crews positioned to fire. A quiet oath to the Almighty passed under his breath, and Estian nodded to the rowers.

"Let's go lads."

[Arulean States]

Virginia, Off the Coast of Arrohattoc (Norfolk), May 13th, 2915 B.C. Day Forty-One
I had no time to react before the captain gave an order and several soldiers rushed forward to grab me. In quick succession, they dragged me into the waiting shoreboat, and began to row back out onto the water. I looked back and saw that the other two craft had landed, and the troops they carried took up formation on the beach. I didn’t doubt the warriors of Arrohattoc could still kill them if it came to it, but they would take serious casualties. And then there was the matter of the warship waiting of the coast, which could decimate Arrohattoc from afar.

Finally recovering, I said, “You know, you could have just asked me to come with you,” then aside to myself, “I guess it’s a little late to say this, but I’ve always wanted too.” In my best faux-human voice, I said in English, “Take me to your leader,” and crossed my eyes as I did so.

The soldiers in the boat around me looked at me like I’d lost my mind, and tried their best to ignore me. I continued to babble on in English, “Well, isn’t this funny. You can’t understand a word of this, can you? In that case, hey, you Captain guy! Your mother was a hamster and your father smelled of elderberries! Ya hear that? Elderberries!”

I continued on in that vein for the majority of the trip, and decided to test the absolute limit of my apparent newfound profinity in languages. Though the majority of curses were in English, I occasionally lapsed into Algonquin, German, some rough Spanish, and with the occasional Italian swear thrown into the mix. I had just finished calling the entire crew ‘goat-fuckers’ in Swahili with the most good natured tone I could muster when the shoreboat reached the waiting ship.

[The Olog-Hai]

Abraham Meyer,
Somewhere in the Appalachians, Pennsylvania

It had been a few months since Abraham had set out on this expedition, he reckoned, and it had been hard work since the beginning. He and several tribesmen had stocked up on food and tools, and then adventured out until the hit what Abraham believed to be the Appalachians. From then on, they had systematically worked their way through the mountains, and though they hadn't gotten far, they'd covered a lot more ground than when Abraham had been searching for iron on his own, way back when, in Franklin, and he had known the general location of the iron, too. Abraham had no idea where the coal could be, but he really needed it. Hopefully his assistants were making good progress on the boiler design. If that was finished by the time the expedition returned, they could get to work on steel and, eventually, a simple railroad.

The human-drawn carriages they were using were horribly inefficient, too, but unless Abraham made his was to the "Old World," though he guessed it would be a new world for his people, he wouldn't be able to get his hands on horses, and Llamas and Alpacas were much further south. Maybe once he got back to his workshop he could try to put together a bicycle, though that too would likely have to wait for steel. On the matter of steel... Abraham knew that steel came from carbon bonded to iron, and some of the tools produced in the forges of Franklin had steel-like properties, but they could never get steel consistently. He needed to figure out the process but, only knowing of the basic chemistry of it, the fact that it's carbon bonded with iron, and not anything really more than that, this was gonna be tough. Coal was definitely a necessity, though, however if they did manage to find coal out here, making an established route for it was going to be ridiculously hard.

Abraham sat mulling over his thoughts, sitting on some debris strewn about by their excavation, as a few of his men came back into camp with today's catch. A deer, a young buck, a few points on his head. Before he was thrown back into the past, Abraham never would have considered eating meat killed so inhumanely, yet this was the past, and allowances had to be made. He sighed, and reached into the crude sacks to pull out the iron knives for butchering the meat, before getting to work on the fire that they would cook it on.

As Abraham aided in the butchering of the deer, he thought of the other oddities of this occurrence. He knew that there was at least two others who had arrived in the past like him, and one had worked on setting up an organized civilization, that of Ego. The one who had set up Ego had perished from mistakes that he had made, however, but was considered a martyr by the people of Ego. Abraham had also caught speak of another "Outworlder" who had interactions with Ego, besides the man that he had met while there, but whenever he had asked the craftsmen about it while they taught him what they knew of iron-crafting, they tried to avoid the subject. Perhaps it was a touchy one. Perhaps he didn't exist. So there were two, perhaps 3, others, at the very least.

The other oddity was his hair. At this age, of nearly 40, his uncle had already gone quite grey. But at far as Abraham could tell, he had no grey hairs, well, no more than that patch he'd had for a few years before arriving here, right in the back of his head. There were no other signs of aging, either. You'd think after this time he'd start showing signs of arthritis; he had the really bad habit of cracking his knuckles, and his great aunt got arthritis pretty young. Something was definitely up...

Suddenly, a shout of surprise broke his concentration. Abraham quickly looks up, bringing his concentration back to the present, and finds the source of the sound. One of the tribesmen was excitedly gesturing at the ground. Abraham rushed over, and looked down. It couldn't be... it was! They had finally managed to find some coal! He beckoned the rest of them over, and they began to extract the coal from the ground. Finally! He could do so much with this! Modern industry, here he comes!

[The Orson Empire]

Meeting Room

Jeb motioned Turner to the glass window as the woods hid the Skulk ready for anything to happen to their master. He gave a sign and a couple of horses came from the woods, camouflaged in green dye and their natural darken color allowed them to blend in well.

" I have done things I'm not proud of, my death was because that there were enemies at the time that were going to kill me, still plotting the downfall and waiting for you and I to rip this country apart. As for what I see, well there's that." He points to the horses,"and our allies and enemies that I have made and heard of when I was over there."

He sat back down," In Europe, there's great empires ruled by Outworlders or those touched by them. None of them apparently compare to this other nation named the Imperium of Man. Apparently they are some supernation, have Europe from east to west in their grip and the rest of those that they haven't conquered are afraid of them. When Ego sends its traders and everything then I will be resending my spies into Europe in a slow pace to understand just what are they and how powerful."

He took a swig of beer," If these Imperials or whatever they're called that dangerous then they could come over Ego and crush us. If we aren't ripping each other's throats out than two skilled generals could think of something than us killing each other while they come in with whatever and turn us into them. I'm asking you to forgive me, forgive me and pull back your army. Not for me, but for Ego and her citizens because if not than we are doomed as a nation and people.

Iceland and the Faroe Islands

Daring traders and explorers had made their way to Iceland and the Faroe Islands as they were the "true" first wave of colonists who made their way to the Old World to bring trade and explore it for the glory of Ego. Many of them kept to the instructions of the Skulk when it comes to what their supposed to do but others wanted to be more daring and strike it out for their own wealth but all it meant was spreading the Night Owl's Mandate throughout the world.

Never before had Turner been shocked at the sight of horses.

They were, of course, a common occurrence in the old world, but when he looked out of the window and saw several horses trotting around in the woods (camouflaged to blend into the forest), he was speechless. Turner knew that horses were likely extinct in the Americas, as there were none in Ego and the tribes new nothing of them, so Jeb had to have travelled to Europe to get them.

All doubt and suspicion of Jeb was purged from Turner's mind within seconds. Turner was unable to create a response or even sit down as Jeb discussed Europe itself. There were apparently great empires in Europe, ruled by Outworlders like Jeb and Turner, with the greatest of them all being the Imperium of Man.

Turner began to sweat, and his mind continued to race. If there were others from the old world here, perhaps he could finally figure out why he was here in the first place, and possibly find a way back.

Turner spun around quickly, facing Jeb. "Jeb...this is incredible! You must tell me more about Europe! Specifically, this Imperium of Man. Do we have any intelligence on their strength?" Turner at this point had forgotten he even brought an army to Ego.

[Pasong Tirad]

Arsenio Lacson, or Arsenios Thalassos
The river Ilissós, an ippikón southeast of Athínai,
and the Akrópolis
Eleven weeks since his arrival

Αίμα

Aíma Mou...

I left my house early in the morning. I had spent the previous days cleaning it thoroughly, in preparation for the new pups Manila's going to give birth to. Kleomaki and I have a bet on how many pups she's going to give birth to. I'm betting on at least five. He's betting four or less. If he wins, he gets to take home one of the new pups. If I win, I get to choose which one of those pups he takes home. Either way, he gets a new pup. I can't wait.

But today is not a good day, not even the slightest. It feels like something that was bound to happen. It just got delayed. I could feel my skin itching for control. I could feel my mind wanting a release from all the anxiety. Nobody else could know, though. I got the cleanest rag that I have at my house, and cleaned my small copper knife by heating it up over the fire. I'm not going to get myself killed, but I do have to do this right and make sure I don't get infected in the process.

I woke up as I usually did at a little before dawn. It was still dark, but I could see the sky's reddish hue from my window, signalling the arrival of the morning. The nightly fires from everybody's homes were already out, but I could still see smoke coming out of their windows and chimneys. Manila and the goats were, as usual, huddled up by the fire for warmth. I had set up and cleaned out a cozy little space in the corner next to the fireplace for Manila once she gives birth. She would have been given more privacy in my bedroom, but it gets cold there, and I don't think draping furs all over Manila and her newborns would be such a good idea.

I left quietly, making sure that Manila or the goats wouldn't be woken up, and immediately headed southeast of the Akrópolis, by the river Ilissós. The Ilissós wasn't the most used river by the Athínaíoi, so I was going to be guaranteed some privacy, at least. This wasn't something I had planned on doing. I just knew I had to do it. I had to do something. I was originally thinking of setting out to look for wood to turn into charcoal - or, at least, experiment with making charcoal because it's been so long since I've actually made it (okay, fine, I only ever did it once).

But, somewhere along the way, my priorities changed. I wasn't thinking at all. When I was by the river, without another person in sight, I just suddenly felt all of my exhaustion. This is the first time I've ever been alone since before I got Manila around a month ago, and I could finally feel my fatigue. I miss my friends, I miss my family, and I miss my mom. I just miss her so much. I couldn't even cry. I could feel... nothing. Just, tired. I hate being here, I hate that Elder Thespis thinks that the gods decided that this is the place for me or whatever the fuck he believes and I hate being hungry all the time and hunting for my own food. Do you know how many rabbits I've fucking skinned? I can still hear their bones cracking. Jesus Christ, I never thought I'd actually have to learn how to fucking skin something. And do you know how difficult it is to live in a world without any plumbing? Can you even imagine what I've had to do in the absence of toilets?

Sorry, I just miss my mom so much.

I was going to keep walking as these thoughts swirled around in my head, but instead I sat down on a large rock next to the river, took out the knife, averted my eyes away from what I had to do, and just...

I held out my arm after it was over and just watched the blood drip onto the river. It wasn't a quick stream, more like a dripping faucet. It didn't really help. It didn't bring me back to see my mom, it didn't help my fading memories of what my life was like, but my body needed it. It just needed to happen. I don't know how long I just sat there watching my blood drip onto the river, but after a while, I washed off the blood in the river, wrapped up my forearm with the rag, and went on doing what I originally intended to do: collect wood to experiment with making charcoal. So long as people don't ask questions, I'm going to pretend that this didn't happen.

...Aíma Tis

Around a half an hour after Arsenio injured himself, he went off to collect wood - which wasn't really a difficult task. Dead branches and logs were always littered about, and it didn't take him too long before he felt like he had collected the maximum he could collect. He tied them up with straps, hauled them onto his back, and started off to the Akrópolis.

He got back at mid-afternoon, getting some sour looks from the villagers for hauling back firewood, which they regarded as a woman's job, while the other men are either tending to their personal farms, fishing, or are out hunting. It didn't matter. Arsenio felt his senses dulled by what he did to himself earlier that day. He opened the rickety wooden gate and started walking back to his house when he heard it: the whimpering pain of a dog.

"Shit," he said, in English, realizing that Manila's in labor. "It's too early!" He dropped the bundle of wood on his back and ran back as fast as he could. "Shit! Shit! Shit!" Elder Thespis, Kleomaki, Lysistrate, and several other people at the Elder's house looked at Arsenio in curiosity, and then shock upon seeing him run into his own home.

He ran into his own home to see Manila in the corner, tired and in visible pain, with blood coming out of her uterus. Manila's ears went up and faced Arsenio, but she herself couldn't even lift her own head up. There were no pups yet, only two goats on the other corner of the room looking on in curiosity. "Goats, out! Shoo!" Arsenio said, waving off the two goats to give them some privacy. Arsenio went over to Manila's corner and put her head on his leg, stroking her fur and trying his best to calm him down. It wasn't protocol for a dog in labor, but Arsenio wasn't thinking. What would have been protocol would be to just leave her be and let her go through the pregnancy on her own, but Arsenio wasn't having any of that. This was her girl, and this was her girl's pups that are about to be born. They were seeing this through together.

Several Athínaíoi, out of curiosity, were looking on from Arsenio's window and door. None of them went inside save for Arsenio's closest friends, Elder Thespis, who sat down beside Arsenio, Kleomaki, who added more fuel to the fire due to the cold nightly winds that are starting to arrive, and Lysistrate, who got a bowl full of water, knelt down, and placed it near Manila. This shouldn't be a spectacle of any kind, but people were curious. They all had great bonds with their hounds, but never have they seen anybody scream in terror at finding out that their dog was in labor. Perhaps it was just the curiosity of what this brown-skinned man with a fascination for soap would do, or maybe they just wanted to know more about the man their elder turned into their protegè. Or, perhaps they wanted Arsenio's luck to run out and have Manila die right before their eyes.

"Hey, Manila. It'll be okay, it's just us." Arsenio's voice was shaking. Tears were starting to roll down his face. She was weak, and he knew that there shouldn't be blood pouring out of Manila's uterus. He knew this. He knew what was going to happen. He was just wishing that Manila would survive it, even if her pups wouldn't. Lysistrate was putting the bowl of water within the reach of Manila's mouth. She was able to lick some water out, but it didn't seem to do more than tire her out, as she let out some large, deep breaths later on. She was whining again, to which Arsenio responded with more encouraging words as he stroked the back of her head. "Hey, it's just a pregnancy, girl. You're gonna be okay."

And at last, after several minutes of this, Manila's uterus gushed out two pups, still wrapped in their own placenta. Arsenio let out a sigh of relief. "You did it, Manila. You did it!"

But Manila didn't move. There weren't any exhausted breaths, no moving to tear the sacs off of her new pups, nothing. "Manila?" Arsenio tried to move her head to see if she would respond. Nothing. He opened her eyelids only to find lifeless eyes. "Fuck! Manila! Manila!"

At this point, Arsenio was bawling his eyes out to the point of hysteria. He held Manila close to him, not letting go, as his tears rolled down to her fur. "Manila!" Everybody else in the room was deathly quiet. Lysistrate eyes were turning red as she kept her hands on her mouth to keep from yelling, Elder Thespis remained quiet with his head down and his mouth moving, probably in prayer, and Kleomaki stood up, hands still gripping two pieces of wood that he was supposed to put in the fire. The other Athìnaìoi were also silent. Some didn't understand why this death weighed heavily on him, while others were just as much in shock as Arsenio was, but maybe for different reasons.

No more than a minute has passed, and Arsenio was now whispering into Manila's ear in English, which nobody but Elder Thespis could understand - and even Elder Thespis knew only several words and phrases - but most of the people there could hear him whisper. "Stay with me, Manila. Please," Arsenio pleaded. Arsenio couldn't really consider himself to be a Catholic at this point - he hadn't for years now - but this prayer was still directed at his God, a god that he knew nothing of. Arsenio's stakes were too high for him not to do everything. He could feel his own life slipping away as Manila's life did. "I need you, Manila. I'm taking you with me on this ride, dear. We're going to make it back home. But you have to stay with me."

He was reaching out, now. Everybody was deathly silent as another minute passed. Manila needed to take the sacs off her two pups. Arsenio continued to whisper into her ear, cradling her as though she was his own child. "My life for yours, Manila. I would do that. Take my life, Manila. Take me, instead. You need to live, Manila." He thought something would happen upon him saying this. "Manila!" And something did happen.

She let out one huge, audible breath, her tail began wagging, and she immediately tried to get out of Arsenio's arms. Arsenio let her go as he continued to break down, but this time in relief. The Athìnaìoi outside were now murmuring once again, mostly in confusion. Manila immediately did what mother dogs do: take the sacs off her newlyborn pups. Her pups started letting out tiny yelps as she did that, indicating to their mother that they were alive. Manila picked them both up and dropped them near her nipples, where they began to feed. Manila kept on licking them clean as they did this. Arsenio was still in tears, and even Lysistrate couldn't help but cry at what she just witnessed. Elder Thespis was speaking in hushed tones with Kleomaki at the other corner of the house for a minute, until he finally said in an authoritative tone: "Let's give them some privacy," he said as he bid Lysistrate and Kleomaki to leave, who in turn got the other Athìnaìoi to leave as well. "Soon, we shall celebrate this miracle." Before Elder Thespis left, however, he went over to Arsenio and said a blessing to both him and his dog. "You have the gods watching over you, Arsenios. I have no doubt of that. And now, they have decided that you should get to keep your hound." Arsenio could only smile and nod in thanks, too exhausted to speak. "The blessings of Athìnaia go with you." Elder Thespis got up, stoked the fire, put more firewood in, and then put the two bound-together pieces of wood over Arsenio's window and door, respectively.

Arsenio scooted over to Manila's side. She was sleeping now, exhausted. And he, too, was exhausted. For now, he didn't care to think whether or not what happened was a miracle or not. He didn't even care about not having eaten yet today. But, Manila's pups were already drinking their mother's milk. He made a mental note to tell Kleomaki to choose one of the pups for him to take home, but he wouldn't be taking them home until around three months later.

So, he just lay down right there next to his dog, and slept what felt like his most well-deserved sleep since he got to Athìnai, ignoring the fact that it wasn't even dusk yet, and that, just like the rag covering the marks on his arm, the furs they were now sleeping on was also covered in Manila's blood.

[G-Tech Corporation]

The Golden Hind, Shores of Unnamed Village, Virginia, North America
May 13th, 85 AG

Up the climbing nets the captain and his entourage swarmed, the prisoner climbing clumsily hand over hand after being prompted by a cold-eyed soldier who followed behind him. It wasn't the most dignified way to board a ship, but these weren't exactly the dockyards of Cirdan, to have wharfs for a gracious well-built gangplank to span the distance between hull and land. An easy task for the maritime-accustomed rats that were the Seaguard and the white-clad sailors of the Fleet, but Captain Restimar raised an eyebrow in amusement as the Seaguard captain's contingent returned with a distinctly strange man in tow.

Estian strode confidently across the deck to the forecastle of the Hind, where the gray-haired figure of the Captain had turned back towards the shore, gazing at the native defensive works through his spyglass.

"Garivald is withdrawing his men. The locals don't appear prepared to give battle for the prisoner you took- thank the Almighty for that, Captain, and thank him well."

The brunette-headed warrior removed his morion, nodding somberly.

"I did not wish to shed the blood of men defending their homes, but it is well that you fired when you did; they were waiting in ambush, in numbers far greater than our own. and without their warriors being scattered by the threat of cannon..."

Ivan smiled slowly and in part sadly, the Seaguard's extrapolation unsaid. Better to leave such ill omens in the silence of a man's worries, rather than giving them voice. He had never served with Estian before the expedition, but the Seaguard's high casualty rate in boarding actions and naval landings was well known, and he did not wish to trouble the earnest young warrior with talk of death and dismay.

A voice coughed politely from behind the two Captains, and then spoke in lightly accented Common.

"Captain" Hadrian interjected "if you believe we no longer need to stand ready at the guns, the landing party did take a prisoner for interrogation. One of the locals."

Estian turned, gesturing towards the pale man that sat next to the mainmast of the Hind, watched by two blue-grey clad men of his command.

"Your second is right, Ivan. A curious affair indeed; he speaks Imperial, after a fashion, by what happy accident I know not. And a handful of other languages, if his babbling as he rowed away from shore is what I think it was. Crossing the language barrier I thought an important enough outcome to return him to the ship immediately, for your inspection."

Restimar's face betrayed for a moment bewilderment. What in the blue devil was a man of the locals doing speaking good Common out here in the arse-end of nowhere on a continent that had only just been reached by the knife-edge of the Imperium's influence? But he put aside his confusion with a conscious effort of will, and schooled his expression.

"I... I see. Well, we better have a look at him then, no?"

The three men clattered down the wooden stairs from the forecastle, and Restimar examined the deerskin-clad man from under bushy eyebrows that furrowed with the turning of the gears of his mind as he tried to process the man's similarity to a denizen of Europe, here a sundering ocean distant from the lands of the Emperor of Man.

"Do you have a name, man of the New World?"

[Revlona]

Robert
Brittany
Village of Nantes

Robert, dressed in the armor of an Auxiliary Commander stood at a table with a few other men, 2 dressed in the Garbs of Captains, and 1 armored as a Commander.

"Commanders, the scouts have reported the size of the enemy host to be about 600 strong give or take, there was a constant stream of men leaving and entering the camp so it could be more. They are also armed and armored better than any brigands we have seen in awhile, and there leader armors himself in a black plate mail. They are almost all Infantry sirs, though they have a small contingent of what looks like light calvalry" One of the Captains said

"Very well, you are dismissed." Said Commander Nihilius

"Commander Dawn, what do you feel about this? I believe we have the sufficient forces to engage them though I would like your opinion on it." The Commander said

"Aye, I feel we should march on them Immediately, have my Light Calvary deal with there Light Calvary if they decide to use them, and when there light Calvary is dealt with my lancers can crash into there flanks while your infantry holds." Robert said

[Yekrenia]

Eastern Outpost, Yekrenia

The chanting grew louder, more insistent, and the garrison commander looked down in despair at the mob that roared against the light wooden barricade his men had been able to throw up before the storm broke. They were legion, hundreds, maybe thousands. In his room the men were quiet, here at the top of the squat fortified tower, but the sound of the defenses splintering and breaking was more than he could bear.

"Alright lads. They want to have us, they're going to pay the butcher's bill."

A firm hand took the spear from where he had rested it against the wall, the copper tip worn and notched from hard use of late, and with a stern gaze about the barracks the commander frowned and stomped toward the stairs. Footsteps behind him were welcome, but there was little for it at this point, one man against hundreds or a dozen.

"Yamat! Yamat! Glory to Yamat!"

Fucking radicals. The commander hefted his weapon, and then rumbled down the staircase like an avalanche. The first religious fanatic was just stepping over the splintered remains of the garrison door when the commander's spear entered the left side of his chest, rapturous fervor suddenly doused by a length of metal to the lung. He fell easily enough, the commander clearing his weapon with a sucking sound that made his stomach do a slow flip-flop, but through the gap swarmed four more of the ragged mob members, bearing crude weapons and more than game for a scrap even if they came out the other side as corpses.

"Come on you bastards! For the people of Yekrenia!"

It took the better part of five minutes before the garrison were nothing more than spirits sent to the afterlife, but the Yamatzon had taken another outpost off of the hated Politburo, 'liberating' a good stockpile of weapons for their holy crusade against the unbelievers.

Koba Nika Luka
(ქობა ნიქა ლუქა)

State of Hyogo, Yekrenia
(ხიგოოს სახელმწიფო, მტისამეფო)

Private Asago Residence
(ქერძო საგოს რეზიდენცია)

There were many places - in what is now Yekrenia - that have undergone 'Georgization' (aka, cultural blending between Georgian and Japanese culture). What was supposed to be Takeda Castle (later to be in ruins by modern times) now was a secluded village overlooking the town of Asago. A stone wall was built outside of the perimeter of the village to force any invasion force to loss momentum and slide back down the mountain; however, beyond the wall, the village retain its own glamour despite being tucked up high in what was supposed to be Takeda Castle.

Retaining a population of no more than 771 people, most of the people in the village were actually from the upper middle class or were Yekrenese autocrats; however, professions varied among everyone who lived in the village. Everybody either had a family or were simply just couples, and some of these people were either artists (musicians, painters, and writers), politicians (allied to Koba and the Politburo), landowners (loyal to Koba and the Politburo), engineers and scientist (whom are few in between by comparison). The village couldn't build an agricultural base given with its location on the mountains and hills, with the food supply instead provided by the town of Asago down below - whom had undergone the first stages of militarization in response to the ongoing civil war in Yekrenia.

Compared to the original present-day Asago, the Yekrenese version of Asago resembled nothing like its original counterpart, rather it was like another Old Tbilisi. The colorful buildings of Georgian Caucasus architecture and the tile pavers gave a clear indication - to any foreigner coming to what was supposed to be Japan - that Yekrenia was a cultural powerhouse. People were wearing Georgian clothes mixed together with Japanese schemes/patterns and colors, along with any headwear either being an ushanka, a papakha, or a fedora.

Koba metaphorically ingested the view from the balcony of his private residence within the corner of the village, all alone and secluded to himself in his turtleneck (including a white undershirt underneath), brown trousers, white socks, and house slippers. It was like he was back home once again, only this time he rebuilt the world in his own image, with an ancient group of people transformed into a unique cultural entity and nationstate in 85-so-years; however, Koba knew that his handiwork wasn't perfect...if the civil war wasn't any indication. Subsequently, prior to the outbreak of the civil war, Koba had previously attempted to improve the Yekrenese economy via special economy zones (aside from Osaka), and one of those economic zones in mind happened to be Asago - which gained its worth in the Yekrenese economy for its culinary and artistic success.

For now, Asago was neutral and kept out of the civil war; however, while its own autonomy as a special economic zone allowed it to stay away from the fires of the civil war, Asago was politically powerless to do anything to improve the civil war. Asago was neither the capital or a major city, with its cultural achievements and talents being the only saving grace that puts Asago on the map of Yekrenia. Aside from denying refugees and strongly proclaiming its autonomy as the civil war goes on, Asago was a nice and safe place only allows to its native population living there or any upper class citizens seeking to continue their studies/talents throughout Yekrenia.

Much to Koba's surprise as he reflects upon the past 85-years, Koba never thought that he become a novelist, an engineer, a musician, and the designer of multiple musical instruments (the violin, the upright organ, and the balalaika). Though he never built any of his designed musical instruments, Koba was familiar with how either instrument appeared and worked to a basic level; the upright organ being his most difficult instrument to master in both creation and operation. In his entire life, Koba only got close to the organ just enough to hear and watch it be played, which happened to only be in his East Orthodox Church a long time ago when he was a kid, and it was only during high school that he later found out how it worked via the internet.

Elsewhere, as a novelist, Koba had only written and published six books - one of them only being in his private collection and only brought out during religious Sundays. Otherwise, one of his books happened to be based upon one of his most favorite international 3D animated shows, which happened to be RWBY. Although it had been 85-years since he last watched the show, he was grateful that he could speak fluent Russian, since RWBY wasn't available in Georgian subtitles or dub, with the only available subtitles in Georgia being in Russian - the other language choices available being Japanese, Spanish, or English (whom Koba doesn't speak or understand either).

Otherwise, while it took Koba several years to write and then publish the book, he eventually gave the book a distinctive name, BRLS (aka, "ბ.რ.ლ.ს."; "ბროლის"; lit. "Crystal"). BRLS - as the book was called - was a story where the sons from a farmer, a merchant, a bandit, and a soldier separately board a ship to sail beyond the lands of Yekrenia; however, all four men end becoming washed to shore after some time out at sea, and they must survive along with the others and find their way back home if possible. Like the show it was based off of, BRLS contained characters that were based off of those from the original show; however, while the names of BRLS's characters are indirectly color-based (RWBY names being directly color-based), the characters are genderswapped, and the story only ends with the protagonist/deuteragonists making their way across the lands to eventually sail their way back home again...that is for now with a cliffhanger and as well as Koba hinting another continent across the ocean...

[Ulls]

Never before had Turner been shocked at the sight of horses.

They were, of course, a common occurrence in the old world, but when he looked out of the window and saw several horses trotting around in the woods (camouflaged to blend into the forest), he was speechless. Turner knew that horses were likely extinct in the Americas, as there were none in Ego and the tribes new nothing of them, so Jeb had to have travelled to Europe to get them.

All doubt and suspicion of Jeb was purged from Turner's mind within seconds. Turner was unable to create a response or even sit down as Jeb discussed Europe itself. There were apparently great empires in Europe, ruled by Outworlders like Jeb and Turner, with the greatest of them all being the Imperium of Man.

Turner began to sweat, and his mind continued to race. If there were others from the old world here, perhaps he could finally figure out why he was here in the first place, and possibly find a way back.

Turner spun around quickly, facing Jeb. "Jeb...this is incredible! You must tell me more about Europe! Specifically, this Imperium of Man. Do we have any intelligence on their strength?" Turner at this point had forgotten he even brought an army to Ego.

Jeb just shrugged his shoulders," I don't know as of yet, we just started to colonize Iceland and the Faroe Islands but once we have establish ourselves in the Old World and I can send my spies down there. However we have to bury the hatchet and find some peace against this threat and if they have the power to come to the New World then we could be in bigger trouble then perceived."

Twilight's Gate,
City of Ego

Scholars and shipbuilders had came together for months to make such a ship, an oarless ship. As the allocation of advancements of industry and technology the Naval Academy of Twilight's Gate had started to try and make ways to make their ship oarless and larger. Galleys in Ego and longships had oars and even without slaves it was a taxing job. For months the most seafaring experts had put their minds together to put application in the idea of iron and make rigging and allow the idea to flourish in their ships.

Such an idea was still foreign, but not hindering as the use of oarless ships and advance sailing can allocate more workers to improving Ego. Many of the ships would slowly take over of their oar cousins to make a transatlantic passage better and the use of making their galleys bigger and better.

Settlement of the Coat of the Hearth,
Somewhere in Canada

Many alchemists have started to put the explosive mixture to the tests. Smiths and arbalests had been trying to test blunderbuss weaponry. While there were a few of them they did make measure up to the explosive power that they had heard from the California Myths and their Master's stories. Drawings had came from the ideas on how they learned how to recreate the California guns that they called clubs but they also had to understand the expenses.

Guns and cannons were something that can reignite the American black powder tech that had been gone from California for over 61 years. However the Skulk were worried about the cost of black powder weapons as they can be expensive for their growing industry. Crossbows were starting to be seeping into the public as they made the weapon cheap enough to be mass produce in some way, even with their sniper or repeater versions.

The Skulk of the Coat of the Hearth believe that they can give the people the crossbow. It was cheap enough to make and improve the armies and sailors who are traveling to the Old World. The Coat of the Hearth believe that the Skulk should start working on cannons as they can be able to give Ego the use of siege weapons and better weapons for ships than using catapults and ballista.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

“HEY! HEY! HEY!” yelled the charioteer, driving his cart around a the dusty circuit behind the Royal Palace. His cart had been riding in circles for five minutes now, and the horses were beginning to look tired. Still, they had held out longer than most of the other horses. ‘Horses’ here has to be used sparingly: they resembled ponies more than actual riding horses, and they were far from the muscled Arabians that would come to dominate the world later. They were not well suited for riding, even with a saddle, but in pairs they could very well drag a chariot at great speeds.

The show was watched by various members of the Royal Court, including the Pharaoh himself. He seemed intrigued, which was a big step towards gaining his favour: the Pharaoh was known for not giving a rat’s ass about any new development. These chariots, however, seemed to tickle his fancy. Finally, the horses had been tired out, the charioteer carefully leading them towards the side, where they could rest and drink some of the water prepared for them. There were six chariots arranged there already, making for a total of fourteen horses. Most had come from the Councillor estate. As soon as the chariot had made room, the priest Huy-Pinhas stepped forward, taking centre stage.

“My Pharaoh, life, prosperity and health! Thank you for allowing to share my newest innovation with you!”

Bruno nearly tore the piece of papyrus he had in front of him in anger. He had spent three whole days coming up with a light-weight design for an early chariot, giving the carpenters something to work with. The carpenters had given their own improvements, as had the drivers and the horse masters. It was a combined effort of the future sense of Bruno and all the other people that had impacted the final design. Huy-Pinhas had done nothing. Nothing, beside asking Bruno to come up with ‘something military’. Huy-Pinhas knew what Pharaoh liked: soldiers and battles, conquest. Bruno had come up with the chariot because it had great uses outside of the army, which he hoped Pharaoh would understand.

“As you can see, this invention will allow our riders to quickly cross the roads of your Kingdom, cutting in half the time needed to bring around messages”

Pharaoh was not interested.

“More importantly” Huy-Pinhas said, giving a sideways glance at Bruno “It will allow us to crush our enemies in battle”

More important? Bruno was livid at hearing that. The conveyance of information throughout the realm was worth more than pillaging foreign villages could ever yield. Huy-Pinhas knew this, but it wasn’t about being right to him. It was about owing the favours. That’s how he had climbed up so high in the royal court, by slithering through the opinions of the king unhindered. These words indeed grabbed the attention of Pharaoh, who stood up from his throne.

“Huy-Pinhas, priest of Amun, my loyal advisor…” he began, prompting everyone to pay attention.

“You have given your king and empire a mighty gift. I truly am grateful”

He turned to the crowd of land owners and magistrates gathered around the stand.

“Too long have we allowed the Nubian invaders to pillage our southern lands. I have decided to deal with this threat once and for all. This invention, Huy-Pinhas, will be the key to our victory, which will be dedicated to you”

This was bullshit of the highest order. Huy-Pinhas had been pushing for a war for years, Bruno knew. Everyone knew, in fact. The chariot was not the key to success, how could they knew? They had never seen it accomplish anything in combat. It was just Pharaoh giving in to the demands of his advisor, who had grown more powerful with the day. Bruno had taken a close look at what Huy-Pinhas had achieved over the years in his personal archive, through swindling magistrates and corrupting whole provinces. A war would be in his best interest, seeing as he would get most of the spoils. Adding Nubia to the empire would make him a king down there, equal in wealth to even the mightiest of Pharaohs.

“My lord, I am honoured by your words, but…” the priest said, to which Bruno raised his head. This was unexpected. What was to follow behind the ‘but’? A smile formed on the lips of the priest as he gazed in the direction of Bruno, who felt his stomach turn.

“But I feel like I would not be the man to personally lead the campaign. The capital requires my services, even to the point that I would be afraid to leave its people to their fate”

‘What the…’ Bruno thought, before receiving an answer.

“I know, however, of a man who would gladly take on this monumental task. A man who, although we have known him only for the better half of a year, has shown great potential in management and leadership. A young man who is to instil a sense of pride in the new generation. My Pharaoh, I suggest the Councillor of Thebes take on this mighty burden!”

In an instant, all eyes were fixed upon the stranger. Bruno felt like he was hit in the stomach with a mauler. A sudden nausea came over him as well, and his head felt dizzy as he stood up. Slowly he walked forward, his whole world clouded and wreathed in silence. From the distance he could hear whispers, but they were too far away to make out. As he turned towards the crowd, now himself at centre stage, he felt like throwing up.

“Councillor” Pharaoh said, himself apparently unabated by this sudden turn of events. “Do you accept this mighty honour that falls on you?”

No, of course not, Bruno thought. He was no soldier. He was a lawyer at heart, dealing with the nuanced matters of an organised state. He dealt with neighbourhood disputes and farming. He only knew about the many wars he had studied in the past. He didn’t know how to fight a war against Nubian bandit states. Hell, he didn’t even know where he was going, exactly. He could not accept the offer.

Yet, he could not deny it either. If he denied, he would become an outcast, easy pickings for the likes of Huy-Pinhas. He would tear down everything he’d built: his bank, his farm, his guiding hand over the small peasant communities. And if he accepted? If he lost, Huy-Pinhas would brand him a traitor and take away his lands. If he won, Huy-Pinhas would gain a kingdom in the south. It was a win-win-win situation for the Theban priest, whose grin Bruno could feel burning into the side of his skull. The sun beat down on his shoulders as he bowed before Pharaoh.

“My lord, life, health and prosperity: I humbly accept the appointment”

It was his only shot. If he won in the south, the priest would become powerful, but he would survive. He would live to fight another day. If he denied, he would’ve died then and there. No, this was not possible. He would fight; that at least would give him some possibilities. As he rose, he rose to a thundering applause of those gathered there, thundering through his mind with bone-breaking agony. War it was, then.

“You, councillor” Pharaoh resumed “You will go south to our frontier, and prepare the royal army. You will drive your enemies before you, Amun willing, and grant your king victory. This is my wish, and this is as it shall be”

Bruno nodded, and another applause ensued. Huy-Pinhas now stood beside him, taking his arm and lifting it skywards, as if he had won some boxing championship.

“Smile, Councillor. You’re a hero. I will take care of your lands until you return”

“Go to hell, Pinhas. You’ll pay for this” Bruno whispered back. Huy-Pinhas only smiled.

“Perhaps. I’ll be able to afford it” he said dryly.

[Holy Tedalonia]

Scotland, somewhere near Edinburgh, August 15th 85 AG
As Ted woke up he felt his body stiff and exhausted. After escaping the Imperium and going as far north as he thought was necessary Ted could finally relax. The sudden alertness if the locals back in Norsca concerned Ted, but he was able to get up safely. Now he laid against the tree he slept against last night pondering.

What now? He escaped the grasp of the Imperium, but he believed their cause was just, and they were likely the easiest way of returning home if he were to return by sea. Why even bother at this point doing a great deed, he pondered, He did that in the Imperium and look where that got him. He could try and create the kingdom of Scotland, but that requires dedication and work, and why would he do that when he had lost all his progress in the Imperium? Can he stomach doing this all over again only to be forced out like the Imperium did to him? Perhaps it'd be best if he settle down and live a quiet life for now. If he's truly immortal then he has plenty of time, he thought, and if he's not he's got a nice life to live the rest out. Ofcourse Ted knew deep down he was immortal, but was creating a hopeful thought. No one can retain youthful looks like he has been.

As Ted got up he grabbed his imperial blade, Steel Tooth, and begun to head to a nearby village he had saw before going to sleep the night before. He was down sleeping in the forest, and wanted to return from hiding. As he entered his village he noticed everyone looking at him with suspicious eyes. It was clear he wasn't Celtic and while he does not look Norscan Ted carried weapons and armor like a Norscan would. Ted requested the chieftain. The Scottish Celts were surprised he understood their language, but called for the chieftain. A old man appeared from the distance, and walked over to him, greeting him.

He had a grey long beard and hair to match. His eyes sagged as if time itself tore it down. This old man wore a simple robe with little to no extravagant looks except for a circlet that he wore. He was simple man old, but perhaps wise, but only time can tell.

“I am Cynbil, the chieftain of Eirs, why do you come here stranger?” Cynbil asked.

“Nothing more then a place to live, you see. I'm very skilled and have only recently left a great empire in favor of a simpler life, “ said Ted.

The old man eyed him carefully, perhaps to decipher his features and decide what to do with him. He eventually gave up and stood firm as if he was going to give out orders.

“We'll prove your worth. Impress us within a day. From fighting skills to hunting skills, or even something more special, but it must be useful and beneficial for the tribe.” he said.

“Rightly so, I wish to prove myself by showing my strength in fighting,” said Ted.

“You sure? My men are stronger, than you think, and while that blade looks mighty strong I can't have you killing my tribesmen, so it will be an unharmed battle,” said the chieftain.

Ted scratched his back of his head thinking, and concluded it would be the easiest way.

“Sure,” said Ted.

[Leikmis]

There was a time that the pieces fit, but I watched them fall away
Mildewed and smoldering, strangled by our coveting
I've done the math enough to know the dangers of our second guessing
Doomed to crumble unless we grow, and strengthen our communication

Atoyac River, Mexico

June

Outer Atoyac Village

The next day he woke up with a stark determination fueled by his anger and desire to be viewed with some sort of worth and respect. If he were to get the respect he so desired he would have to connect with more of the villagers, find their faults, desires, and sadness; befriend them and unite them under his own ideals. This process would take planning, but first he would start with tool making. He already knew that iron working was required for any sort of advanced society, and since he did not know how to find tin so far this would be the best he would get.

He placed on the only other tunic of cloth he had been given, the other one would require washing due to the added stains of mud, water, algae, sweat, and rust. While it sat in a small pond of water to soak out it's disgusting entails he attempted to ignore the itching and scratching of the coarse clothing that the natives wore. Because of yesterday all of his skin was bright as a tomato, another source of ridicule from those who he wanted kindness from, but besides this it made his clothing even more horrible to wear, so after a few hours of wearing it he instead decided to take it off, opting to take a while to peel off some of his flaking sun burned skin.

First order of business for the day was to wash off the ore he had collected. It was covered in loose mud and still sat in the skin back he had brought along with him, soaking stains into it. He grabbed the heavy bag around his shoulder and walked out of his hut, heading to a nearby pond bed to wear he would kneel down and take the next hour washing off mud from the sharp red rocks which he planned to, by his own degrading thoughts, ‘enlighten the bastards.’ He took the time to watch some animals drink at the pond bed as well, attempting to catch a bird near his trip to the pond’s end because it tried to peck at him.

He brought the bag and his newly cleaned ore back to his home, placing them out on a piece of cloth in the sun outside of his home to dry before he began to create his ‘forge’ of some clay that also came from the nearby pond. While this drying process occurred he gathered the required clay, a large amount that took over ten trips of carrying several large armfuls of wet clay. It proved advantageous that he ditched the upper part of his tunic. He stacked the clay in the shade of his small hut, hoping that it wouldn’t become too dry before he had a chance to build the ‘forge’ needed to smelt his iron. In the ground, with a stick and his hands, to the best of his abilities he dug a small mold, flattening the edges with the cloth he had set the iron ore on to make as smooth of a surface as possible. From the main hole, shaped like a rectangle in the ground maybe as lengthy as his index finger, deep as big toe, and as tall as the top ligament of his thumb. From this he stuck two holes about a three-fourths in apart and an upper index ligament long into the walls of the hole he dug. From there he dug another, irregular hole nearby, to which he dug down to form a shorter rectangular hole, connecting to the other via the two finger tunnel. He took all of the dirt and sand out and then sanded it to the best of his ability. He then placed some clay from his stack of clay into it and flatten that out as well, creating thin walls of clay within all of the hole except for the two tunnels, which had their holes revealed through the clay. The end ‘mold’ looked like the resulting object would be a small rectangle with a handle on it of sorts, although crude.

From there he moved to creating his forge. To do that he began to stack clay and mold it as one does with one's hands, creating a circular chimney of clay with walls a few inches thick. He built this up several feet, eventually using a large rock as a stool to make it just above his own height of 5’7”. He dug two holes into the bottom of it, not near the theoretical placement of the iron ore, but near the lower half of the chimney, where air would go into the forge. This process of building took several hours, and multiple times the clay collapsed because he had forgot to score the clay he was adding with a stick or properly add it on correctly, causing it to tumble down to the ground. With his forge now done he now had to heat and dry the clay before using it. To get the charcoal needed he headed out to the inner village, but not before bathing in the clean end of the pond to get all of the clay that had accumulated on him off of himself, he also began to dry his old change of clothes, placing the rest of his current one back on.

Inner Atoyac Village

As he walked into the inner village he once again got looks and glares, both of disgust and piety as he passed the many villagers. Only a few thought of him as truly human. He sought to find Gozio or Chieftain Irepani, maybe both, they would know where the spent firewood was collected. They were probably the only ones who would talk to him anyways. Because of this he headed for the chieftain’s hut, which was at the center of the village.


He moved the curtain that served as a door to Irepani’s hut past him, walking half inside to peer at who was inside and what they were doing. To his luck both Gozio and Irepani sat inside, messing with the beads that served to calculate how much maize and food stock was needed for that year and how they would harvest it. Unbeknownst to him Gozio was paying for his lies about demons.

“Hello, Chief.” He said softly

Irepani was looking down at his beads, not paying attention to who was in the door. “Not now Masawa, me and Gozio are doing business, come back later if you have a question, else if it is a concern say it now or keep your piece.” He moved one bead over to the right side of the line and sniffed. Gozio turned around to look at who was in the door.

“Father, it’s him.” Gozio said to Irepani, turning his head back around quickly.

Irepani looked up at the door, his expression changing from boredom and cynicism to mild joy. “Hmm, do you need anything my boy? I thought your glyph teaching was in a few days.” He placed down his beads very very carefully onto a piece of cloth behind him.

“Yeah, do you know where you keep your spent firewood?”

“Why would you want to know about spent fire wood?” He said, surprised in a slightly comic way. He chuckled to himself.

“I’ll show why by the next few days.” He stepped into the hut fully now.

Irepani sighed, “Gozio, you know where the fire wood scrap is, yes? Go show him where it is, try and find out why he needs it also if he won’t tell us.”

“But why,” Gozio said in a long drawn out statement of displease.

“Because I told you to,” He said sternly. “Now show him where the firewood scrap is. Give me your band carefully before you leave.” Irepani held out his hand.

“Fine.” Gozio gave in and got up off of the ground and walked past Zachaios and out of the Chieftain’s hut. “Follow me green eyes.”

They walked across the village, to a large mound in the distance behind a hill and near the main area of farming along the coast of the river.

“Why do you even want the burnt wood anyways?” Gozio didn’t look at Zachaios.

“How ‘bout I show you like I will the Chief after we get it.”

Gozio let out an exasperated sigh.

Compost Hill

After a few minutes they finally reached the back of the hill. Before them was a large black mound of rotting, burnt wood that was the cumulation of a months or more worth of spent firewood of the huts of the village, over five hundred people. The wood was covered in dirt, a measure to preserve it and make sure it could still be used as compost to use for crops when it rotted. It smelled god awful, like burning a corpse infested with maggots and then pouring compost on it. The middle of the mound was wet due to rain and natural outdoor forces, but the outer part, some of which had not been covered by dirt yet, was still very much dry and sometimes very much hot.


“This is it.”

Zachaios threw up in his mouth a bit due to the smell.

“God, what do you use this shit for?” He admired the ability to stack so much rotten wood into one place with a purpose.

“We put it there and it turns into damp mush, then we put it on our crops. Have you never done that before.”

“Why would I.” Zachaios covered his nose with his tunic.

“To each his own pansy-thing.”


He went forwards slowly towards the pile, searching for a spot with very very dry pieces of burnt wood that looked similar to charcoal. He was decently accurate with picking and choosing what to place into his bag, he had seen charcoal made before in a mound and knew what it looked like. He took as much as possible from all around the edges of the mound, quickly placing the pieces into his empty and now quickly increasing in size bag before covering his nose again to guard from the smell that Gozio seemed to be resistant to. Gozio followed him all around, asking him over and over why he needed the burnt wood.


“What are you going to do with it, try and burn it for whatever is left in it’s body?” Gozio questioned again.

“I swear, if you ask me another question about the charcoal i’ll shove it down your throat, so shutup and watch when we get to my hut, got it?” His voice raised higher than his normal soft tone, mocking Gozio’s constant questioning a bit. Despite this Gozio only lowered the frequency of his questions as they returned back to Zachaios’ hut.


All during their trip through the heart of the village and back to the outer part where Zachaios lived they were given strange looks, especially Gozio. What was he doing hanging out with a demon, some thought. What was he doing hanging out with a messenger, a smaller other thought. The signs of offense began to show on Gozio’s face and so he spaced out his walk, farther distance but near Zachaios.

Outer Village

They reached Zachaios hut. “Now you know how I feel every time I exist here.” He kept his angered tone that he had expressed when Gozio asked questions.

Zachaios inhaled deeply and then exhaled equally as deep. He walked behind his house, motioning for Gozio to follow him. Behind the house was a large chimney tower of thick clay walls, partially dried by the sun's heat but not scorched into brick. A few meters beside it was a small rectangular hole.


“Now you will finally show how this thing you said you would show is going to work, this clay tower and hole in the ground, pansy-thing?” He sat down on the ground, supporting himself with his arms.

“I already said I would, don’t call me that.” Zachaios kneeled down, standing on his kneecaps.

He picked up a piece of iron ore. “You see this stuff, this is called ‘Iron ore.’” He threw the piece underhand to Gozio.

Gozio caught it. “Yeah, so what pansy thing, it’s just a rock, a very itchy and scratchy rock.”

“Not all of it is metal, I’m going to get the metal stuff out of the rock with this tower thing. I’m also going to harden the clay while doing it.” He stood up and unloaded his back of charcoal onto the ground next to the small pile of iron.

“So, whenever I’ve done this before, or seen this before, usually the Iron is surrounded by the burny bits.” He started placing a layer of charcoal worth half of the pile into an opening of the forge, “then I think the Iron should go in the middle with the charcoal around it and some more on top, maybe on the sides.”

“Thanks for naming burnt wood.” Gozio mocked Zachaios effort to burn rocks. “You know, the villagers are wrong; you are not some demon, you are a weird pale man who burns rocks for fun.”

“Shutup.” He finishes putting in the Iron and charcoal layers.

He sighed, “This isn’t going to work without bellows, charcoal doesn’t burn that hot. Does your village have bellows.”

“We don’t have, ‘bellows’ pansy-thing.”

Zachaios let out a growl of displeasure. “Well, then I’ll just make one. Can you go get a thick stick and a flat, round stone?”

“Why should I?” Gizio grumbled, “This probably won't work anyways, you said so yourself.”

“Actually, I don't even need a rock, just get me a thick stick, you have nothing to do anyways sitting there.”

Gozio looked around the area for the closest ‘thick stick,’ running over and grabbing the closest one near by, throwing it either at or to Zachaios.

“You bum.” Zachaios went over and picked up the stick.

“Still works.”


Zachaios went over to the furnace and began to dig two holes of similar size next to the furnace, the sides where the two input holes were. He dug about a foot deep each side. He then used some clay to create two thick disks of the same radius within the holes. He stuck the stick into them so he could raise them out and cook them on a small fire of charcoal and leaves. He then tied a stick to each using some fabric from the sleeves of his tunic, creating two plunger like devices.


“What are those for?” Gozio got up, grabbing one of the finished plungers from the ground.

“Air pump things, if I push it into the hole all of the sir in the hole will be forced somewhere, like the furnace.”

“Is that what a ‘bellow’ does?”

“Yeah. Problem is I need you to do something really boring with me for a while; help me push the plungers when I light the charcoal and make some pipes out of clay to funnel the air.”

“For how long though?”

“I dunno, maybe till midnight prob, seeing as the sun isn't at the top of the sky, not sure how a bootleg furnace like this works.”

“Midnight! Counting beads with Father is probably funnier than that! Well then, what do I get in return if I do it?”

“You get something better than rocks. I can also probably try and convince the Chief not to make you count beads anymore.”

“If this doesn't work I’m telling the villagers you are insane and not just a demon, sound fair?”

“Doesn't sound fair but what else can I do.” Zachaios grabbed his plunger and some clay and began to make clay tubes leading from the inside of the furnace to holes dug to the bottom of the plunger holes, Gozio watched.


Later that hour Zachaios lit the charcoal coals within the furnace, smoke beginning to fume out of the top of the furnace en mass, causing a great heat that kept them warm as they sat on either side of the furnace, fanning it using the quickly crafted bicycle pumps that used the ground and clay to funnel air quickly into the flames, ever increasing the temperatures of the coals and the flame they produced over the hours until the ore began to become moldeable like caramel. Eventually, some of the impurities within the ore began to separate from the iron, sticking to the coal and contributing to the smoke that came out the top, turning it darker and darker and also creating a significantly worse smell.

They didn't know when to stop pumping the air into the furnace so they continued longer than they had to, several hours longer in fact, so much so that eventually both decided they were not going to pump anymore due to how tired their arms were. In combination with fatigue, some of the clay was starting to crack. It was just past midnight and the fire within the furnace lit the area.


Zachaios got up and and grabbed a sharp looking rock from beside his house. “We should probably open it now.” He yawned.

Gozio yawned as well and then rubbed his eyes. “With a rock, you didn't put an opening on it?”

“Didn't know where to put it. We can’t use the top since we had to smother the fire by placing dirt in it.” Zachaios smashed the rock against the mid-body of the furnace, creating cracks and then an opening. Steam and smoke poured out, causing him to erupt into coughing.

Inside was a mix of hot coals and orange sponge iron that moved a bit but did not pour like a liquid.

“Something is wrong, why isn't it pouring? Fuck.” Zachaios began poking a stick at the metal, pressing it in slowly.

“Is it supposed to pour out?”

“Yes! It's supposed to pour out!” Zachaios voiced was panicked and angered. “Why did I even try, this was never going to work to begin with.” He sat next to the hole in the furnace. His stick caught on fire and his threw it to the side angrily.

“We wasted the entire night doing this, you might as well take it it and try to do whatever you were going to do with it.” Gozio poked Zachaios with his plunger.

“Fine, I guess you are right.”


Zachaios went over and got his stick and rock and then began to dig out the iron slowly with both and the help of Gozio’s plunger. Eventually there was a pile of caramel like metal, still very hot, and slag on the ground. They used rocks to merge the individual pieces of sticky caramel like iron together, knocking off impurities when they could. Eventually they had a lump of cooling but still malleable iron. Zachaios pushed it over to his mold with the big rock he had used as a stool and then used the same rock to try and pack it into the rectangular hole. The problem was that they didn't use all of the iron they had made, much of it was still by the furnace in either slag filled form or in ball form. Although this iron could be reheated it was a big waste.


In the end, when the iron had cooled and was not longer malleable, what was left was a very basically formed hammerhead of basic rectangular shape, covered in dirt and stuck into the ground. They had to dig it out and then wash it.

“I’m going to make a hammer with this so I can make better molds.”

“So you can make better tools?”

“Yeah.”

Zachaios untied the stick and rope from his plunger and tied it to the hammer head, thus creating the first metal hammer in the area that he knew of.

The first innovation was made.

[The Orson Empire]

Jeb just shrugged his shoulders," I don't know as of yet, we just started to colonize Iceland and the Faroe Islands but once we have establish ourselves in the Old World and I can send my spies down there. However we have to bury the hatchet and find some peace against this threat and if they have the power to come to the New World then we could be in bigger trouble then perceived."

Twilight's Gate,
City of Ego

Scholars and shipbuilders had came together for months to make such a ship, an oarless ship. As the allocation of advancements of industry and technology the Naval Academy of Twilight's Gate had started to try and make ways to make their ship oarless and larger. Galleys in Ego and longships had oars and even without slaves it was a taxing job. For months the most seafaring experts had put their minds together to put application in the idea of iron and make rigging and allow the idea to flourish in their ships.

Such an idea was still foreign, but not hindering as the use of oarless ships and advance sailing can allocate more workers to improving Ego. Many of the ships would slowly take over of their oar cousins to make a transatlantic passage better and the use of making their galleys bigger and better.

Settlement of the Coat of the Hearth,
Somewhere in Canada

Many alchemists have started to put the explosive mixture to the tests. Smiths and arbalests had been trying to test blunderbuss weaponry. While there were a few of them they did make measure up to the explosive power that they had heard from the California Myths and their Master's stories. Drawings had came from the ideas on how they learned how to recreate the California guns that they called clubs but they also had to understand the expenses.

Guns and cannons were something that can reignite the American black powder tech that had been gone from California for over 61 years. However the Skulk were worried about the cost of black powder weapons as they can be expensive for their growing industry. Crossbows were starting to be seeping into the public as they made the weapon cheap enough to be mass produce in some way, even with their sniper or repeater versions.

The Skulk of the Coat of the Hearth believe that they can give the people the crossbow. It was cheap enough to make and improve the armies and sailors who are traveling to the Old World. The Coat of the Hearth believe that the Skulk should start working on cannons as they can be able to give Ego the use of siege weapons and better weapons for ships than using catapults and ballista.

Turner was disappointed. Information from the Old World appeared to be very scarce.

Turner sat down in his seat, as he began to calm from his initial excitement. Suspicion and doubt began to creep back into his mind. Jeb had been gone for 10 years, presumably spending a large portion of his time in Europe, and this was all he knew? Jeb evidently wasn't telling the entire truth, and his journey to Europe only scratched the surface of all that occurred during his time away.

Turner's attempts to find answers only generated infinitely more questions. What was the real point of Jeb sending him the letter in the first place, at that exact time? Why was Jeb so desperate to seek reconciliation? Had he known the central government was about to try something against Turner, and intervened at the last moment?

Turner suddenly began to believe the whole meeting was a set up to have him killed, but kept his cool, and his expression remained calm and focused.

"Jeb...before any reconciliation can happen, I need you to do something a bit weird." Turner would speak in English instead of the native language, so that Jeb would listen to him carefully and know that Turner was serious. Turner stumbled a little with the words, as it had been years since he spoke the old tongue.

"I will admit, before I saw those horses, I believed this may have been a set up to have me disposed of. But, the sight of those horses is among the most incredible things I have witnessed in years, and I knew you had to be on to something. If this Imperium is truly the threat you say it is, then I am more than willing to help defeat it. However, I am not sure if those serving under me are as willing."

Turner sighed, fearing a negative reaction from Jeb. "I want you to give the order to open the city gates and let my army march in and stay the night at any barracks or inns in this city. If my soldiers are to believe that you are not conspiring against them or me, then letting them into the capital is the best way to do so."

[Ulls]

Turner was disappointed. Information from the Old World appeared to be very scarce.

Turner sat down in his seat, as he began to calm from his initial excitement. Suspicion and doubt began to creep back into his mind. Jeb had been gone for 10 years, presumably spending a large portion of his time in Europe, and this was all he knew? Jeb evidently wasn't telling the entire truth, and his journey to Europe only scratched the surface of all that occurred during his time away.

Turner's attempts to find answers only generated infinitely more questions. What was the real point of Jeb sending him the letter in the first place, at that exact time? Why was Jeb so desperate to seek reconciliation? Had he known the central government was about to try something against Turner, and intervened at the last moment?

Turner suddenly began to believe the whole meeting was a set up to have him killed, but kept his cool, and his expression remained calm and focused.

"Jeb...before any reconciliation can happen, I need you to do something a bit weird." Turner would speak in English instead of the native language, so that Jeb would listen to him carefully and know that Turner was serious. Turner stumbled a little with the words, as it had been years since he spoke the old tongue.

"I will admit, before I saw those horses, I believed this may have been a set up to have me disposed of. But, the sight of those horses is among the most incredible things I have witnessed in years, and I knew you had to be on to something. If this Imperium is truly the threat you say it is, then I am more than willing to help defeat it. However, I am not sure if those serving under me are as willing."

Turner sighed, fearing a negative reaction from Jeb. "I want you to give the order to open the city gates and let my army march in and stay the night at any barracks or inns in this city. If my soldiers are to believe that you are not conspiring against them or me, then letting them into the capital is the best way to do so."

Jeb gave it a thought as he tilt his head sideways. He knew that Turner wanted his army inside as the ultimate sign of trust but he also expected the worse as well. He walked to the window and gave another hand sign, one that Turner didn't know and the figures raced across the city. He then turn back and sat down to Turner.

" The army will be let in and will be quartered at any inn or barracks, but they must be separated in equal measure because of how everything is spread out. I warn you though that I may want peace and wish to bury the hatchet, but if your army attacks or tries to advance as a means to capture the capital, then all bets are off."

The gates of the city opened for all three walls and sections. The garrison of Ego met them and told them by the will of the Messenger that they were allowed to be quartered but the army was separated by their high-ranked commanders into three groups that allowed them to be equally quartered. The Skulk were on the scene in secret to be ready for anything to go down. Many of them didn't want war among the streets but were ready to try and help out when needed.

A messenger came at the door of the Meeting Room," Messenger, the army is being quartered but some of the garrison commanders wish to speak to you. They said they're concerned about this maneuver."

" Just tell them that as long as the army doesn't do anything then there's no need for concern." Morning Star spoke.