A Strange World: The Strength of Empires [IC|Closed]

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Wed Sep 11, 2019 7:57 am

| The Strength of Empires |
A Strange World RP
OoC Thread

The dawn has risen upon a new world - a world unlike that you may know. Shattered by a catastrophic impact not long after the extinction of the great thunder-lizards, Earth is not as it should be. This impact, a star falling to earth, changed not only the shape of all the lands, but also their contents. This star bore strange lights and queer crystals, changing and warping the planet on which mankind slowly arose. Continents were broken, minds shattered, even animals and plants twisted and changed. It is a strange world now - one in many ways hostile to humanity - but in the end, it is your world still.

You stand forward as one of the leaders of a growing empire of men. No longer mere tribes, nor polises, far greater than humble city-states; the mechanisms of nations in truth, of crowns and kingships and bureaucracy and the force of arms - all these things have been manifested upon the world. In fire and blood and bronze have the states of the world been forged, some using peace and the strength of their industries to grow and expand, others conquering at the point of the sword. No longer do men live in kindreds and humble hovels. Great cities of stone, populated by thousands, teem at strategic rivermouths, sprawling across fecund plains and in the passages of glowering mountain ranges. It is a time of instability, but also a strange promise. Man has come into his own, and his threat is no longer the dark things of the world, nor the brutes of the field, but his fellow humans of flesha and bone and arcane might. Will you lead your people to greatness in this new age of war, conflict, and competition, or falter and be forgotten by the histories? Come, and tell the tale of the Strength of Empires.

Straits of the Whitehills
12th of Longnight, Year 495 of the Common Era

"Signal the second to break off pursuit. We won't catch them, not unless the Father sends us the swiftest wind I've ever seen. And that would founder the Murmur, which would be a tragedy itself."

The stern sea-captain spoke brusquely, but his eyes were glad even as the ensign hurried off to run up the colors. A half dozen ships, captured or sinking, out of the ten that had come against Rivermouth. Their colors were unfamiliar, but raiders were raiders the world over. They might have made off with some loot from the shoreline, but it would be some time before they thought to engage in such foolhardy behavior again.

It had not been an engagement without loss. Despite her larger size, the Murmur of Depths had been holed in multiple places by ramming actions from the swift raiding vessels, and was being towed back upriver behind two of her sisters, deck bestrewn in corpses. Fortunately whatever the raiders had hit first had been less well defended, and so the raiders had been languid in their passage, and inclined to flee.

A new danger for the Hierarchy though. Captain Galesworn gazed after the retreating sails, sure he would see them again one day.

Year 495 of the Common Era Dawns

Coastal Raiders!
Mysterious ships bearing unfamiliar colors have struck both the Arameri Dominion and the Stalheim Hierarchy, making off with significant loot, though much of their force was destroyed by a skirmish off the coast of the Hierarchy with a Stalheimadrin naval squadron. One Farm in the Myth Allanor Agricultural District has been sacked, and an Elven Peasant carried off into bondage. An Irrigated Farm in Rivermouth has also been sacked.

Tribute Collection Rebellion!
A small military force from the Midnight Empire has been ambushed by Saladonian rebels near the mountains of the Spine, and destroyed. Emissaries to the city itself have returned with only words of defiance in their ears, and the rumble of war drums echoes in the hills and broken lands the black-skinned warriors of the Birthright call home.

Heaven's Bounty!
Great storms wrack the southlands, bringing much needed rains that cause a flourishing of both grassland and forest. In the north, unseasonably warm winter winds have led to less harsh snow-seasons, a time of plenty for all to enjoy in. All settlements produce 3 Bonus Food for the next four years.

by **Olthenia** » Wed Sep 11, 2019 9:43 am

Fᴀsᴛᴀǫᴜɪ

Queen of the Skazad Delta
________________________________________
The First Matriarchate of Kemkasa
The Fourteenth Day of the Arch of Reeds, Year 495 of the Common Era

«We’re going to be late. We’re going to be late!” Thovan huffed, his every step a complaint as the Quaymarket crowds heaved and bustled.

“Thovan, son of Aghra, calm yourself!” Meekra’s chiding voice was still mild enough to hold a smile. “We’ll be there on time, you’ll see.”

“With these crowds?” Thovan groused. “Mothers have mercy, we’ll barely be in time to have standing room if this crowd’s going to the House.”

The sun was high in the sky by then, and the market was especially thronged; almost in spite of the river’s stink. Or perhaps because of it? Here were mudmen hawking siltfish and spine-coddles, ambermen’s wives haggling over gimlets of the Skazad’s tears – fewer each year, some said; and all the more valued for it – and broad-faced farmers with their bundles of quinoa. Beyond it all, the thin, coppery jingle of a drover’s bell mingled with a forlorn camel’s bleat and the chatter of riverfolk and fishermen. War-women with their shaven heads and tall bronze spears stood shoulder to shoulder with soot-haired forgemothers and fresh-faced scribes from the House of Wisdom. Even a knot of Sogoi – wanderers and rivermen – in their tassled tunics, stood chuckling at a booth where Meow-masked men aped and frolicked.

Fastaqui – proud and gleaming – lived and breathed for such crowds.

In any case, the warm, brown walls of the House of The People still rose tall above them all. Its name was a relic from a younger, smaller Fastaqui. A city where all the mothers of all the city’s families could sit in tiers under one roof. That was a long time ago, however – and by the time Thovan and Meekra took theirs seats, the crowd around them was great inside.

“People of Fastaqui! Honored Mothers!” Jacora of Kont shouted his words with a theatrical grimace, his body ramrod straight and one arm aloft as though accusing the vaulted ceiling above. “Heed my words – and heed them well!”

“Oh, this should be good,” Meekra murmured – eyes narrow with amusement. “Jacora’s always good for a show.”

And to be fair, he had to be. Jacora of Kont, with his bald head and wide mouth, was what Fastaquians called a ‘sell-tongue’. When the Many Mothers gathered in the House of the People to sit in the tiers and vote on issues, yes – the laws, and votes, were theirs. No men were to be found amongst their numbers; not since that infamous trickster Mother Dobfyrah. But men could still speak to them and for them – and when the Mothers of Fastaqui voiced their causes to the commons – they often hired men to do just so. With flair and zest. On this occasion, his face was painted like a zondu-cat’s – his cheeks split by lines of thick, black kohl from eye to chin. A serious face for a most serious speech.

The commons loved it.

“As all here no doubt know – the issue before us today is a grave and serious one. Punishment! And sedition!” Jacora drawled those last two words from the very edge of the stage. Before him, the upturned faces of the commons watched like a dark, attentive sea; a sea the bald man mastered as well as any Meow-masked entertainer.

“We people of Fastaqui are a just people! A fair people! We heed the wisdom of our mothers’ laws! And we know well the Plaques of Punishment! But what, then, shall we do when we are faced with a crime so harsh and so obscene as to be unknown, even to us?”

“He’s getting dreary,” Thovan murmured – and his wife shrugged. “He’s just setting the stage. You’ll see.”

The commons, it seemed, agreed with Thovan. No sooner had the khohl-faced Jacora spoken his question before a ragged flurry of shouts rose. “Throw them in the Skazad!” and “Banish them! Banish them!”

A loud THUMP! from the dais of the Many Mothers indicated the First Speaker’s displeasure. Although Nelandi was every inch as old as her iron hair and wrinkled face looked, her voice still cracked like a whip. “Or-der!” called she. The commons ceased their shouting; at least momentarily. “Or-der! Let the address continue.” With a nod across his shoulder, Jacora of Kont did just that.

“SEDITION!” he jeered, and once more raised a hand in that ludicrous gesture. “Sedition to our laws stalks our very squares and quays! It poisons our children! Today, Fastaqui – we must fight it! The followers of the so-called Red Consort, and all that would abide by her treason, must be stopped!” And there it was. The Red Consort. The boogeyman of Fastaquis alleys and ill-lit quaysides, and byword for murder and lawbreaking. A poor man's goddess from who-knew-where, whose gospel sanctioned the rabble-rousers dream: theft and lawlesness. The misdeeds of her supposed followers were a source of dread for some, and a convenient scapegoat for others.

The House of the People rose like, well, like a flock of birds on the wing – a rustle of half-heard shouts, questions, applause and jeers. It was like a stormy sea and herd of irate camels all at once.

“Bondage!” Jacora’s voice shrilled above it – barely. “Bondage is the only answer!”

“Oh, like kop it is! You just want to fill your Mothers’ pockets!” Meekra was on her feet like something powered by springs.

The dais THUMPED. “Who speaks?” demanded Nelandi – and suddenly the commons were silent. When a woman of the Tiers spoke, even one as unknown as her, the rabble knew not to interrupt. “I… Meekra, daughter of Brena!” Goodness. She was actually speaking, wasn’t she? With every eye upon her – including her astonished husband’s – Meekra continued. “It is not the way of Fastaqui to enslave her own! What Mother can place her own children in chains?”

“What Mother can not?” countered Jacora – tone measured. “If your child threatens to burn your house down, you restrain it. The cruel thing to do would be to banish it! Or give it to the river! By rewarding treason with bondage, we punish them even as we hold them close. Bondage, then, is an act of love.”

Later, much later, Meekra would remember that moment. When the Commons bayed approval.

And after it was said and done, when the House had emptied, her husband had left and the Tiers cleared, the weight of old Nelandi’s hand on her forearm. “A proper argument needs a counter-point.” The old woman had smiled then. Thinly. “Well played.”

“Thank you, First Speaker,” Meekra breathed. “…And the debt?”

“Your mother’s debt is forgiven, by the largesse of the City and the Tiers. Now…” The crone’s words hung in the air for a long moment, and Meekra’s eyes held hers. Unblinkingly. “Stay in touch, yes? We will need you soon.”

by **The Knights of Azorea** » Wed Sep 11, 2019 10:43 am

The Slope of Khuf, Usirian

"No endeavour may begin without the first swing of a hammer"
-13th Wisdom of Djehuti.

It was these days, Khurmont reflected, that made one understand why so many llamas had to be sacrificed in the temple. Days when the mountain sun beat down upon your back more alike to a mason's chisel than a master's whip. Only the work kept him occupied, and kept him from thinking of the shade of his hut. It was needful work, at least, it had been done since blessed Usir had shaped the valley and would still be done in the days of his grandchildren's grandchildren. His lot, as had been his father's lot, was to carry the great soft stones used by the masons for the terrace walls in sections of loose soil. To others it was a triviality, or at most just another component of the greater work, but to humble Khurmont it was as noble a purpose as could be hoped for. Like almost every other serf in the valley, he had been raised to revere his work, and he lacked the king od rebellious intellect needed to do otherwise. He, after all, bore the stones that would bear the whole terrace. On his back, and through him the backs of his forebears and progeny, were the hearts of terraces centuries old that had fed thousands in their time.

He could not now recall how often he had thought so, but it buoyed him as he heaved a great softstone onto the mason's mat. The lad was too young to be anything but an apprentice, and so he did not have to bow, only to incline his head before sitting down in the shade of the next terrace-level up for a short rest to watch the fellow work. It was a curious task, and a technique the folk of Usir were deeply proud of. Great softstones of approximately the right shape would be found to fit into the patchwork of stones that made up each terrace's central bulkhead. They would be treated with water and carefully shaped using harder stones until they produced an almost perfectly smooth rectangle, but for a few outcrops of stone that would lock into the blocks above and below. It was time consuming, certainly, but it meant no plaster or mortar would be needed at all, and the impression it produced was distinctly impressive. From the artificial hillside of the terrace Khurmont and all those with him could see the other bulkheads of the valley, even at some distance, and could note quite well the way the layer after layer of polished-smooth marble made the valley seem an inherently orderly place. Where once had only been the loose marks of Usir's fingers as he pulled the valley from the earth, now were straight, clean lines.

Of course, not all of the valley was terraced, at least not yet. Even for the workers of many centuries the entire valley remained too much. Plenty was pastureland or rough scrub, and still more was simply empty mountainside, dotted with small, gnarled trees and home only to beggars, gleaners and escaped serfs. Still, this terrace was new-carved. For many years the people had been too few, after the wrath of Sehut, to expand the farmland. Djerhotep willing, though, there would seen be another length of blossoming potato plants along the valley's edge come the harvesting season.

by **Holy Tedalonia** » Wed Sep 11, 2019 11:47 am

The Deepwood
"May his eternal eyes watch us as we do his great works."
- Shaman Hans Graven

As the world beyond deals with complicated times and constant war, the endless branches of the deepwood beckons back to simpler times, when men merely survived and was isolated from war, chaos, and destruction. For those who travel into this strange lands, are welcomed with a strange unsettling silence. These woods were not meant for civilized men, their instinctual gut would tell them, and dared to go no deeper. However beyond the reach of the scholarly man was a realm in the heartland of Ampen forest, known as the Deepwood. Had they gone any further they would have met the dwellers known as the Varevians, men more beast then human some might say. They dwell in the Deepwood, as it is the region they have known all their lives. Few have traveled to the outreaches of the Ampen forest, but times are changing and soon the dwellers of the Deepwood would have to change with it.

As the years have gone by the growth of the shamanistic faith has grown ever stronger, creating a large amount of shaman and priests. Bringing in new methods and tricks to aid the Varevians. It was no doubt the Grand Chieftain had turned to them for aid when the population exploded. Most shamans grumbled at the prospects of assisting the tribe, and abandoning the research on the great ritual. It was however the more savvy and elderly shamans who understood the importance of weighing in on domestic matters, and set that as the shaman circles number one project. To first understand how to deal with the problem at hand though they must understand their surroundings. Opting to choose to study how the Blossomvines work and seeing if they could be used somehow to aid the government. Knowing the cost of research many acknowledge that the government may finish the problem quickly, so this was proposed as a way to focus on the long term solution.

For the peasants and artisans they simply must continue their simple lifestyle of farming and crafting. As it is necessary to ensure the stability of the tribe. They are at the mercy of what the Grand Chieftain and his shaman advisers in matters of government. Through their great wisdom prosperity of those who dwell in the Deepwood.

Glory to the Varevians. Glory to Varra.
May the Lord bless our loyalty to him.

by **Saxony-Brandenburg** » Wed Sep 11, 2019 11:57 am

The Puqina was a society engrossed by the idea of sport, that which allowed both youth and adult alike to exercise their strengths and even to settle disputes. Indeed, the various arts of wrestling, sparring, Tlachtli, and races were exceptionally common, and a part of daily life for the Puqi, even being an important aspect of religious rituals and festivities. Some of which are as follows:
Inti Raymi – Celebrated on the winter solstice, the 21st of Aucaycusqui, Inti Raymi marked both the beginning of the year, and the revival of the sun into the world, as the days began to grow longer, and the land less inhospitable, as the days went on.

One of the sports associated with this day was Tlachtli, in which players attempted to pass a heavy rubber ball through two vertical hoops opposing eachother. The game was played in one of two ways – Zuma and Rema – meaning war, and peace. Under Zuma, both hands and feet were allowed, aswell as physical contact. Priest-judges monitored this game for any excess violence – as only tackling was allowed, and grabbing, hitting, kicking, or any other form of roughhousing not explicitly permitted beforehand was subject to punishment. This was strongly opposed to Rema, in which neither physical contact, nor the hands could be used, which proved to be much more skill-based than Zuma, although oftentimes much less entertaining for the wider public. Both kinds of games were practiced by both nobles and slaves, although rarely for the common free man. Upon this day, three games of four teams composed of slaves played throughout the morning, competing in two rounds of play. The first round consisted of two matches, with the winners of the two games moving on to a second round, in which they’d play one final game. The winners of the small tournament would be given their freedom, becoming free men of the empire, even given the honorary rank as warriors, although without the wealth or power associated. The losers on the other hand would all be sacrificed at the end of their respective game, being strangled with rope, and having their blood anoint the field for the next game, or the game later in the day. The later game being played between two teams of noblemen’s sons, all of the warrior class. This event was what drew the largest of crowds and was often used as a crucial method of dissolving disputes between families or pulling one’s name out from disgrace. A fight or die game, with players often training for years for this one day, the losers would be sacrificed, while the winners given honors, and paraded through the town as champions. The losers, because they were men of status, would be taken in the same parade up to the temple complex of the sun, and as it set for the last time on their lives, the men would become intoxicated, before having their hearts cut out, and presented as offerings to the sun God.

The other sport associated with the day was referred to as “La Warachikuy”, a display of military prowess for those who just graduated from the mandatory schooling of the warrior and priestly class. The two sides, one of each class, would fight only in their underclothes, carrying wooden shields and clubs – taking those defeated on this mock-battlefield “captured” into their mock-temple on either side. The game lasted potentially the entire day, with the most proficient boys in their classes acting as commanders, directing the war that played out, and appealing to the mediating adults should they suspect foul play. Beginning at sunrise and ending at sunset – the victors would be decided by whoever managed to “loot” a banner from the temple of the opposing side, or if that could not be achieved, whoever had the most of their enemy’s team captured. The winning team would be lauded as heroes, and were allowed to wear a special headband that marked their prowess for the rest of the year, and being put on the front lines during their first raid – while the loosing team would be laughed at, shamed, and given the much less prestigious position as rear troops and skirmishers in their first raid, expecting little to nothing in terms of loot.

Qhapaq Raymi celebrates the summer solstice, on the 22nd day of the month of Raymi- the longest day of the year. They honor the moon goddess Mama Killa, in the hopes that she will return to bring balance to the days and nights. Although sacrifices of gold and other material offerings occur at sunrise and sunset, the most important sport that occurs is called the Killa’ham – literally the “Night run” – a relay race through the mountains, on a designated path, between two teams – a team of noblemen and a team of slaves. Should the nobles win – all the slaves will be sacrificed, and they will be treated to honors for the rest of the season. Should the slaves win – all the nobles will have to make a sacrifice of blood to the gods, and all the slaves will be made free men, and given the chance to serve the city as incredibly well-paid couriers.

Upon the two equinoxes – which marked near perfectly the rainy and dry seasons for the Puqina, a very specific ritual sacrifice occurred on this most holy of days – when sun and moon were equal – all things were balanced – and the future would be told. The dry season, Ch’akiy started in the month of Coyarraimi and praised the Coya, or queen, casted out evil spirits from the city and neighboring valleys and prayed for a short dry season. A couple – both of noble birth, would have been selected two years prior to be sacrificed upon this day. Treated like royalty, with the upmost honors, they would be married on the day of their sacrifice, and be made drunk off the strongest of wines, before being strangled to death, clubbed, and then buried upon a mountaintop as an offering to the gods and spirits of the rain. A golden llama would also be buried with them, made by the finest craftsmen in the city as payment for their year’s taxes. The wet season, Poqoy, started in the month of Pachapucuy, and praised the gods and ancestors, calling upon good spirits and memorializing those of the past. Dead relatives, ritually mummified and taken incredibly well care of, groomed even, throughout the year – would be brought out to eat with their family, just as if they were alive. One person would be selected to drink for them, one person would be chosen to urinate for them, and seers would divinate their will on various matters. The various past kings and priests of the past would be brought together with those of the living into a diet of sorts – to ask for their blessing for the year to come, and the best oracles of the city would look for their advice on the innumerable troubles which faced them.

by **The Empire of Tau** » Wed Sep 11, 2019 12:13 pm

Year of 495, Common Era

Khadan Ulm Bahadur, the man who lives to see the many events of history. One hundred sixty-eight years it has been. From a general of the Shambling Legion to the overlord of Xcotl, Ulm is among the few of those who had witnessed the beginning of civilization - from the Ascendant of Man to the growth of early Empires. The former rulers of Xcotl, which there are many, have either left or are destroyed, although the records are a bit fickle in their dates and descriptions. The Magocracy Council has supposedly left the rule of Xcotl to become some form of assassins, leaving the Magnum Opus to administer Xcotl. Other records tell that the Magnum Opus performed a coup against the Magocracy Council, executing the whole Council and every known family tied to the Council. Those are the two most popular theories, among other records trying to recall the fall of Magocracy Council. There are multiple documents that conflict, contrast, and cause much confusion in trying to find the truth. In the end, the true end of the Magocracy Council will always be a theory. Rumors of the old Magocracy Council has surfaced. Supposely, they are the Uusharan doing what best suits them, raiding, raping, and whatnot.

In contrast, the Magnum Opus has been more successful in their record keeping. Piling over the many tax, labor, food, goods, and mystic research papers, the Magnum Opus has been in the rulership of Xcotl for thirty-six years. Not surprisingly, Xcotl under the rule of Magnum Opus was more achieving then the Magocracy Council, only because of their time difference. The Magocracy Council only managed to get off twelve years before kicking the bucket. Sadly, the Magnum Opus fled from Xcotl after the battle of Sun's Height and then the processing battle of Xcotl, althrought records conflict with each other as there may or may not have been a battle within the city. Either way, the Magnum Opus had to leave. Today, the Magnum Opus is, or what remains of the original organization, are now a new species called “elves.” Left behind mystic research papers shows that the Magnum Opus have been working on this magic for some time now, with their results showing after the exodus of Xcotl.

Xcotl maintains distance relationships with the Arameri Dominion. Their common hatred against the Midnight Empire and their inherited backgrounds are the only thing maintaining relations as both powers don’t really Interact very much.

With the Magnum Opus gone, the Midnight Empire shortly took over. After a year, the Lord of Earth placed the Shambling Legion as the new rulers of Xcotl. After-all, the Magnum Opus took almost all vital personnel with them, the mages and bureaucrats. The Shambling Legion were the last of educated people and mages able to take over administrator duties. Now, Khadan Ulm Bahadur sits on his throne, althrought less of a throne and more of a desk with paperwork on it. Aged, Khadan Ulm Bahadur’s body and mind has been sustained by the life essence of others, mostly convicted criminals and other unlucky souls. Even then, Khadan Ulm can be clearly seen as an old man, struggling with the tribulations of back pain and weak body. Oddly, Ulm’s eye sight is still perfect. Mentally, Ulm is still fresh as a twenty year-old would be. It would not be long before Ulm’s body would give in and die, with his soul leaving the physical realm. When Ulm kicks it, someone else has to rule, but sessions of rule will be addressed when the time comes. For now, the coming years will be quiet and eventless as bureaucrats keep records of stock like food, labor, etc.

by **Novas Arcanum** » Wed Sep 11, 2019 3:05 pm

It happened the raiders came from the seas. They bore banners never before seen in these lands, wielded blades and sailed in great ships. They swarmed the farmlands that were nestled outside of Myth Alinor like locusts rapid and ravenous they devoured everything in their path. Their appetite was as infinite as the void itself and they consumed the land in a bath of fire and blood raping and pillaging to their heart's content.

A thousand elves seized and taken from their homes. Wives, husbands, and children chained and scarred taken to barbaric lands. The Elves were shocked to the core and couldn't believe that this had happened. First came sorrow than anger over the crisis that occurred. Queen Fey addressed the Elves, on this Day of Infamy, to turn their gaze southward, to hate the men who did this with all their hearts, to never forget and never forgive, to wield their pain and scars as twin blades to fight with, in the battles and wars to come.

A powerful energy and vibe filled the air. Elves lined up to be trained in the ways of war. Never again would something like this occur, next time the Elves would be ready to defend their lands and their people. Mer male and female took up arms and trained hard. They knew that peace could only be forged in the fires of blood and war. Meanwhile, the Magisterium was in an uproar. Queen Fey addressed the magisters and vowed that the Elves stolen would be returned to their motherland, to their friends and family. The Arameri Dominion would build a powerful navy and sail southwards and destroy the savages who did this.

They would kill everyone who dared to disturb their peace and tranquility, whoever did this would have a price in blood to pay and they would burn in the fires of hell for all eternity for the chaos and violence they had created. The Endless would bleed with the blood of the barbarians who committed this grave crime.

In the meantime, the Elves would quickly recover their numbers. A blessing of their heritage the bureaucrats noted that they would enough people on the census next year to replace those stolen by the Cartel. Still a hot fire burned in the hearts of mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews, and friends. A burning desire to bring back the people torn from them in the fires of infamy.

by **Aidannadia** » Wed Sep 11, 2019 4:58 pm

In the Cartel, the kind of formal government you would see from other civilizations is lacking. Instead, it is a civilization founded on blasphemy, a home for former dissenters and bandits. Despite lacking a formal government, everyone knows who is in charge. Everyone knows that the Castella is at the head of the power structure in Barbados. Not a thing happenings without their blessing. Their rule is more complete than some kings in their own lands, because they do not rely on the fairness of blood to decide their rule, but by fear and raw power alone. At the head of the Family sits Constance Castella, a crone far surpassing most in years. Rumor has it that her husband died young of mysterious circumstances, but not before she had children. Her older, Fernando, is a party boy and thrill seeker. He is quite the lady killer and is supporting multiple illegitimate families despite being a bachelor himself. The second oldest is her daughter Grabriela, whom takes after her mother, though has not chosen a suitor despite her age. Instead, she runs an establishment in the red light district, which comprises the hearth of the settlement. Finally, their is the young Baron De Soto, a younger gentleman that took his skills in management and leveraged them into running a small fleet of coastal raiders that were just now coming back from their plunder, spending their riches at various establishments. The money all made its way back to Constance in the end though, as did news of their travels.

In the far North, an ill equipped paradise of pointed ear academics. Apparently the crew had taken a liking to them, because many had been forced to return with the raiding party that day. Additionally, a stalwart empire of the Northeastern Coast, the Stalheim Hierarchy was much more prepared than initially seen by the raiding party's observations. They put up a fight, but in the end many of our own raiders arrived home with plenty of riches in hand. Indeed. this was a profitable year for them, but the taste of foreign goods had not been sated by the meager riches of the pair of civilizations. Constance told her son to look Eastward, this time taking his time with the planning. They wouldn't want another Stalheim incident on their hands with their lowered forces.

Barbados: Population: 9 - 2 Scholars, 1 Artisans, 6 Peasants (1 Elven) | Military: 1 - Militia | Public Order - 7 | Resources: Armorwhales, Singseed, Blackshells, Lead | Bonus Food: 3 | Danger: 1 | 1 Small Squadron (Biremes) | 22 Riches
Government District | Cracked Stone Wall
Industrial District - 2 Artisan Quarters
Agricultural District - 3 Farms

3

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Thu Sep 12, 2019 12:06 pm

The Sky-Predator

Pinnacle of the Windforge, Kharbarinth
7th of Frosthearth, Year 495 of the Common Era

Across the gangplank into the drydock Kulimos shambled, the heavy chest in his hands carefully held away from the narrow drop. The radiant heat of his burden warmed him even through the apprentice's leathers, and the nod he gave to the several military men was labored, if polite. They wisely stood at a distance, respectful of the volatile he held in his hands. It was less mercurial than it could have been, but that didn't mean it wouldn't take off a man's arm in an instant if it broke loose of the hefty lead drape that trammeled the pale violet material.

"Still need two more units under the starboard bow." came the gruff voice of the master engineer from the stern of the curious vessel, and Kulimos nodded once more. After a moment and a pointed glare from under the old man's bushy eyebrows, the youth from Cadmus remembered what they had talked about.

"Right away, Master Engineer."

Too shy by half, that was what they complained about in the Hall. You had to be expected to stand on your own two legs, both socially and professionally, if you were going to make it as an artisan or engineer here in the City of Bells. A shrinking craven who couldn't even string five words together to communicate with a client was a man who would end up a mediocre rote-fabricator, or deep under the forges breathing coal-dust until his lungs gave out.

So Master Slagbiter was making him speak whenever spoken to. A social agony for Kulimos, but no less a necessary part of his training than had been the incantations to waken the Earthpyre and draw luminous Aetherium from the coals. Where words and rituals compelled rock and stone to obey the mage, the same sped one's passage through life with men as well, buying compliance or at least comprehension. Until Kulimos understood that, it would be many years until his elevation.

The Master Engineer shook his head as the young man slowly slotted the glistening Aertherium plates into their housings aboard the Northwind's Fury. Runes pulsed to life there, spreading the unnatural power of the eldritch substance through the wrought metal and graven timbers of the aership. Soon, they would have enough to send it to the heavens, to join its brothers and sisters at the Anchorage. But not today.

"Back to the forge then. Give my regards to your commander, Captain Silverside."

Apprentice in tow, Gregorian Slagbiter set off for the endless staircase of the Windforge. With any luck they would be back in the Academy in time for evening meal, and a hot bath.

by **Ralnis** » Thu Sep 12, 2019 7:51 pm

The Emerald Plains,
495 Year,
Banner of the Firstborn

It took a century for the Wandering Grey to rise themselves up like this. Traders, raiders, and scavengers all the same. They tend to their cattle their horses, the herd were worth more than gold and silver. To the Uusharan, the herd was blood and blood was power to the Masters of Blood. They all sat around their totem battle standard and the wagons that contain their commercial strength but they were all pastoral people. In the center of their large encampment was a very large tent that held multiple people in it.

All of them had tattoos that marked them from old Xcotl script, those of the former Gate Council of their great city. Now they are nothing more but a mass of people raping the land for their growth. They had been able to score a raid from a weakened settlement before they moved to being north of the Saelings. Growth and food was good, especially being near the emeralds was a good source of wealth till they move.

"It seems the Saladonian people have chose to rebel." One of the blood-shamans spoke as he looked at the fire around the others.

"I can hear those drumbeats through my bones. They will be no doubt marching en masse to sack the city for more than its tribute." Another spoke.

"Such a shame, we thought we could at least grow off of their fat for some time. It would be unjust to see such lives being wasted but such is the price for defiance I supposed." A third one huffed.

"We could try to help them, marshal our warriors in exchange for bounty and the alliance of a desperate people." The first one spoke.

"With what? A few hundred warriors who are good for pillaging caravans and homesteads? We couldn't even raise enough puppets to provide fodder for the defense of their pitiful walls! We should wait and take what we can from them. Not raid their scraps but trade until we're strong enough such services, to spirit such numbers of bodies away." The second one got angry as he spilt his beer in the fire.

"Of course, we should at least know the lands we're in. Even if the hordes of Bloodright smash through the wooden city we could try to trade and figure out what duties there will be needed besides just being dogs of war."

An envoy was sent to the Soldier Council for jobs and to buy maps of settlements or regions around them. The Council itself was beside themselves on what to do but they wanted to do. One thing that they knew was that they needed more tools to build more things for their encampment. However the bounty that came from the rains was a blessing of the Ancestors. This made them focus more of the land as the food could bring in more people for their people.

The sheep and the outlaying regions can provide a massive bounty for the people to feed off of the land. Such things came in massive bounties that people can eat without worry. It would feed their bellies as they sit and wait for the Saladonian response.

by **Theyra** » Thu Sep 12, 2019 8:44 pm

The Ngolo
Ankandriana
Miatanana

It has been many years since the Ngolo came to Ankandriana to flee their ancient desert homeland on the mainland. Rather than be buried in their homes by large sandstorm, they followed a vision given by a priest of Votaris and soon discovered their new island home. Since coming to Ankandriana, The Ngolo have not seen any other civilizations since and not much knowledge survived the crossing to Ankandriana. But, the Ngolo survived and have thrived in their new homeland. Building a city called Miatanana in the center of the island and leading it was King Tsiraka Vaovason. Only twenty-five years old, unlike his father King Tovohery who built the grand Temple of Votaris(Temple of the Prophet). That was dedicated to Votaris's glory, Tsiraka had yet to prove himself to the people though they trust his leadership. Though why they trust Tsiraka's leadership is because it was Votaris who blessed Tsiraka's bloodline when the Ngolo first came to the island. It was his ancestor that was chosen to lead the Ngolo by Votaris and Tsiraka feels that because of this he must do what is best for his people and do what he can to lead them to a better future.

Tsiraka has several plans to spearhead the Ngolo future, one of the first is to build more housing for the city. Not all of the citizens of the city live in proper housing and live in makeshift houses in Miatanana. Construction has started though it will take some time before the homes are ready. In the meantime Tsiraka has the scholars focus their efforts on a project that will come in handy once the Ngolo start to expand throughout Ankandriana. Which the first location he would like to settle is somewhere on the coast. It would be good for the Ngolo to venture out in the sea. Perhaps even return to the mainland one day. But, that is far into the future and for now, Tsiraka busy himself with ruling the Ngolo and undergo the process of finding a queen.

by **The GAmeTopians** » Thu Sep 12, 2019 8:53 pm

The Forge
Year 1

[OOC: I really want to put a long IC post here, but I'm exhausted and don't want to miss the update. With luck, there'll be some story here on the morrow.]

by **Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States** » Fri Sep 13, 2019 10:46 am

The Vranapola

Research started on highway networks

Building started on a mining district

Post to be added later.

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Fri Sep 13, 2019 11:46 am

Year 496 of the Common Era Dawns!

The Deepwood
Natural philosophers of the Varevians clamber through the low canopy, studying the strange plants known by the ancestors as the Consuming Blossomvine. Their initial inspect determines that the luminously beautiful flowers, each the size of a man's torso, sometimes migrate at night - and their entrancing elegance is a danger to unwary minds who occasionally lose limbs to the flowers' razor-sharp spines. More research might yield a use for these mystical creations. [2/30 Science]

Elsewhere in the Deepwood, incurious youths have disappeared chasing fey-lights. Though cautioned against such foolhardiness from the cradle, the brave and stupid don't always listen. [-5 Growth]

The Arameri Dominion
A time of good tidings. Though the people mourn the loss of their kindred, the ancestors have looked upon us with favor, favor directly from Arkane. A secret has drifted across the narrow straits from the Great Zhou Imperium, a whisper which those humans in our midst take to with aplomb: the School of Dao, the practice of personal energy which the Zhou perfected into an art. Its secrets are now ours to unravel.

The Puqina
A raid! West and north the brave warriors of the Pyramid City rage, to known lands of weak sheep. This year the sheep are better prepared than might have otherwise been the case, but still the spoil of outlying homes and a few unwary caravans is nothing to be despised. The packs of tools and precious things carried back bring joy to the hearts of those who sent fathers and brothers to seize such treasures. [+5 Wealth, +2 Food, +1 Industry]

The Cartel
High rise the sails, and over the waves they leap, bearing men to the distant land of Nekhen to seize foodstuffs for their kindred. Far afield lay the desert kindred, and it will only be after many moons that the raiders return, victorious, or defeated. For now, the Cartel waits, raising a harbor to reinforce their maritime might. [Raid Dispatched - Long Distance]

The Uushuran
Merchants from fair Saladonia balk at the price demanded for the emeralds by the kindred of the Firstborn - they prove willing to offer eight wagonloads of riches and goods for the green gems, not two dozen, as the Uushuran barterers demand. Inquiries after nearby cities, though, prove more fruitful. The Saladonians are positively eager to sell to the Grey Kindred a map to a nearby Midnight Empire outpost, which they claim might be easy pickings for the raiders - they ask for merely two Wealth for this information.

The Ngolo
Dire news. A fire has broken out in the Temple of the Prophet, and scorched many sacred mosaics. Until they are restored, our people look upon this as a sign of disfavor of the gods, and question our leadership. The Temple must be repaired with 4 Wealth - until it is repaired, it produces -1 Public Order, instead of +2.

by **The Empire of Tau** » Fri Sep 13, 2019 12:10 pm

Year of 496, Common Era

Khadan Ulm Bahadur sits upon his old wooden chair. In-front of him is a desk, stacked up with papers. A white candle burns, providing a dim light for the old man to work with. Another man, assumedly young and human, stands front and center at the desk of Ulm. The mysterious man has brown robes that covers him from head to toe, unwashed and infested with dirt and grime. A rusty and old bronze-cast helmet with a human-like face mask shrouds the man’s facial identity. “Penitent One,” Ulm speaks, his voice deep and raspy. “Your service is in need. Bear your belongings and seek the individuals on the list. The slums and shadows are your friend. No one can find you or your intentions.” Gripping his short-bronze spear, the silent man nods. Ulm pulls forth a golden coin with sophisticated engravings from under the desk, giving it to to the Penitent One. “This is your identity. Lost it and no one will recognize you. Hide it from the horde, or face an existence worse than death.” The man grabs the coin, holding it tight in hand, nodding once more before leaving.

Unfolding a scroll out in the field, the Penitent One stares at a long list of names. First was Quaticol, the herder of Uusharan. Exiles and former citizens of Xcotl, Uusharan was known to be a roaming war-party of raiders and exiles. The Penitent One had a tiressely quest ahead of him. The world was a dangerous and unpredictable one, especially when alone and solely walking on two feet. A horse could make the Penitent One’s quest less time-consuming, but such beast of movement would be too cumbersome to hide, feed, and manage. From dust to dawn to the pitch black of night, the Penitent One traverses the vast stretches of land to find the Uusharan war-band and its herder in the deep south of the known world.

Eventually, out in the fields of grass and grain, the Penitent One met the boastful pillagers and soldiers of the Uusharan horde. Without hesitation, the Penitent One walked himself to the Uusharan party with coin in hand. Some did not understand, but some did. The golden coin, etched on its walls with craftsmanship of the highest degree, caught the eyes of former Xcotl blood-mages. Escorted to Quaticol, the Penitent One kneeled down before the Great Herder of Uusharan on his own. Standing, the Penitent One spoke words in a monote calm voice. “Blood Shaman and Great Herder of Uusharan, your vast sum of men are needed for a great-event.” The Penitent One pulls forth a map, giving a detailed and descriptive directions on where to meet. “If you wish to end its own rule then you know where to go.” The Penitent One says, quickly leaving as he showed up.

Out in the south once more, the Penitent One sought after the next name in the list, Matriarch Kemkasa, Mother of Fastaqui. Traversing the high-mountains of Skazad passage-ways and going through the lesser dangerous hills, the Penitent One arrived at the high-walls of Fastaqui. Fastaqui soldiers requested what was the man’s business here, and the Penitent One showed a golden coin. Many eyes were placed upon the Penitent One, for him was man walking within a culture dominated by females in the halls where their highest leadership rested. Arriving at the steps of Matriarch Kemkasa, the Penitent One kneeled down for a few moments before standing up. “Great Bearer of Civilization and Child. Mother of Many. We are in need of your most resilient and faithful soldiers that stopped the Lord of Earth’s Horde at your gates.” The Penitent One, as he once did in the Uusharan, showed a map along with instructing where to meet. “If you wish to aid others in breaking the shackles of the Horde then you know where to go.” The Penitent One swiftly moves out.

Within the east, the Penitent One moved about in the vast steppes to find the Huasca. The warbands of Puqina were bold and ferocious, raiding and taking what they wanted. The Penitent One had no trouble in finding the leadership of the Puqina. All it took was a golden coin to allow the Penitent One see them. Thus, the Penitent One would continue his line of work, kneeling, and requesting for aid, and then showing where the meeting were. The Penitent One would do this to every known civilization that were relatively hostile to the horde in secret, except for the horde itself for obvious reasons.

by **Novas Arcanum** » Fri Sep 13, 2019 1:14 pm

The world continued spinning onwards, nations competing and vying for power through whatever means necessary, some through war others through trade and commerce and the Elves were no different. On their island, they had built a society from the ground up under the light of Auri-Al.

The Elves were not ignorant of the cultures and nations that surrounded them. They knew that there were men out there who would want to kill them, men who would bring violence and destruction to their pristine shores, to seize what was rightfully their's but the Elves had believed that they could live at a distance separated and free from the rest of the world.

The brutal invasion of the barbarians in Age 107 shattered that belief. To defend themselves from the creatures that wished to kill them, they needed to grow strong. Thus the Elves continued their training in the art of war honing their skills to defend their land and protect themselves from those who would seek to harm them.

The Arameri Dominion aloof of continental affairs did not attend the great council of nations that Xcotl had called for.

by **Holy Tedalonia** » Fri Sep 13, 2019 1:18 pm

The Deepwood
"These are the lands he provided, we must treat them with both respect and reverence"
- Shaman Lucius Froye

The Deepwood have suffered a terrible loss, a large sum of the Varevian youth disappeared last year under mysterious circumstances. Creating a concern not just to the Shamans who provide for the growing society, but to the Grand Chieftain himself. This has caused a immediate reaction from the government bodies, and a investigation into the matter began.

Lucius entered into the meeting and glanced around. His brethren, robed scholarly men were sat around a fine mangrove table. brew within fine wooden cups sat on the table flanking each shaman. At the very end of the table sat Hans Graven, Head Shaman of the True Faith. Hans impatient eyes beckoned Lucius to a seat. Lucius who cared little for idleness quickly sat down.

Head Shaman Graven began, "As many are aware, the recent disappearances are important concern for the future of Varra, and the Grand Chieftain desires us to deal with this problem immediately. To deal with this problem we are to begin delving into the matter. Here is the information on the matter," Graven passes a document pertaining to everything they discovered so far. As each shaman reads it and passes to the next grimaces, and disappointment shows on their face. When the document finally reaches Lucius he was stunned how little information they knew. That's all? He thought to himself bitterly, he had half the mind to crumble up this poor excuse of a document. Instead however he passes it on to the next shaman.

As the document passes on Lucius glances around the table, this was a important issue no doubt and everyone had attended, save for one entity, the Grand Chieftain. This wasn't surprising, it wasn't the first time the Grand Chieftain didn't attend a important meeting. As the society was managed by the scholars, the Grand Chieftain would be the one making the major decisions. However as the years gone each generation of Grand Chieftain grew less interested in managing the populace, leaving it a matter to the shamans. As the final shaman finishes the document he tosses the document in front of the seat where the Grand Chieftain would reside, leaving it there for the rest of the meeting.

"Bottom line is, that we know to little about the disappearances, and they expected to continue happening at a alarming rate," said the Head Shaman, "I want us to interview the missing children's parents and friends, and see if there are any potential leads on locations where they were last seen."

"We could try and keep the kids safe by restricting their movement," suggested one shaman, a bearded fellow who looked to care little for hygiene.

"They are not ours to care for, that duty relies on the parents," counters a more hygienic shaman.

Lucius frowned, "I suggest we advise the parents on restricting their children's movements and keeping a firm eye on them. I agree it'd be silly and bureaucratically impossible to manage the youths of Varra for a long period of time."

"Hmm, that could work but what would be the advice?" the Head Shaman asks as he lifts a brow, intrigued.

"During the day, we can advise parents to keep their children close to them, and by night implement ways to restrict them from sneaking out at night," Lucius suggested lightly. What he meant by restricting movement was to lock them into their rooms to keep them from sneaking out. Excessive, but necessary.

"Very well, that is what will do, Lucius Froye, I want you leading the investigation, Sivert Beringer, you will advise the parents on precautionary tactics, and Alke Reimers you will sniff out trails on locations last seen. We will reconvene next week to present the results of this weeks findings," said the Head Shaman as he stood up. The Shamans left seeking to do their duties. This was what it meant to be a Varevian Shaman, to use their educated prowess for the future of Varra, the civilization of the Varevians.

Glory to the Varevians. Glory to Varra.
May the Lord bless our loyalty to him.

by **Saxony-Brandenburg** » Fri Sep 13, 2019 2:20 pm

The city was abuzz with the thousands of voices, screams, moans, cheers, cries. All coalesced as one in the dense streets of Puqina, each sharply dedicated to the task of his work, the task of his fathers, the task he was told unto do. The very city was founded upon a lie – a lie which allowed society to flourish. A lie that all men were born of Bronze, Gold, and Silver within their soul. That the laboring classes were born of a bronze soul, and it was their destiny to devote themselves to the ethos of self-discipline, to maintain their position in society. That those born of a gold soul were to commit themselves to the ethos of courage, their highest calling to train and learn what to and not to fear. That those with a soul of silver must attain the highest ethos of reason, and by which stand paramount above all the others, and rule by the side of the more passionate warriors – lest their emotions drag the city to anarchy and disaster. Nowhere was such an ideal republic ever more seen than within the walls of this city, nowhere did the authoritarian weight of one’s class have such a stark and ever-present face in life, than among the Puqina.

As one walked through the streets – through the incomplete urbs which remained starkly overcrowded and poor – could one smell the stench of refuse which clung to every city in the world – the salty musk of human sweat, the iron-tipped scent of blood, the noxious gas from the pits of feces yet to be cleaned. The innumerable slaves, which almost equaled the number of freemen within the walls, kept brutally obedient, did not have the means by which to groom themselves, and so remained covered in mud and filth, for their only day to wash was the monthly celebrations, when even cruel gods took offence to brutality. That which was cleaned even less often – and by which was both stained permanently black and with the stench of death, the temple altar’s macabre presence over the city, as if to tell all of the authority of their betters, as if to tell all within these walls that the natural order of things cared not for their humanity, little more than fodder to quench the thirst of more powerful beings.

by **Aidannadia** » Fri Sep 13, 2019 2:26 pm

Barbados: Population: 9 - 2 Scholars, 1 Artisans, 6 Peasants (1 Elven) | Military: 1 - Militia | Public Order - 5 | Resources: Armorwhales, Singseed, Blackshells, Lead | Bonus Food: 3 | Danger: 1 | 1 Small Squadron (Biremes) |
Government District | Cracked Stone Wall
Industrial District - 2 Artisan Quarters
Agricultural District - 3 Farms

by **Theyra** » Fri Sep 13, 2019 7:17 pm

The Ngolo
Ankandriana
Miatanana

Disaster for the Ngolo, the holy Temple of Votaris(Temple of the Prophet) has caught fire and several priceless mosaics have been lost. King Tsiraka was saddened and angry at the news. How did a fire break out in their sacred temple? No one had an answer to what caused the fire. The Priesthood is always careful with managing the duties of the temple. Could have this been a simple accident? Tsiraka thought was he look over the remains of the temple. Or maybe this was not an accident, maybe someone purposely set fire to the temple. But, who would commit such a heinous thing? Surely no one would ever think to commit such an act. However, He had to be sure about what caused the fire, Tsiraka ordered an investigation into what caused the fire and in the meantime, repairs will be made to restore the temple to its proper glory. Luckily, there was enough in the royal treasury to cover the costs of the restoration and still be able to spend funds on the new housing district.

With the temple's restoration and investigation underway, Tsiraka focused on his kingly duties though one task he had to deal with. Finding a wife, his advisors insisted that he find a wife soon and offered to find potential matches among the nobility. Tsiraka rejected this as he does not wish to marry someone that he had just met. He had other ideas mainly the women that he had his eye on. Razia Rakoto, one of the priestesses that tend to the temple. They had met a year ago when he was at the temple celebrating the temple's anniversary. The two had hit it off and had been seeing each on and off since. Tsiraka thinks she may be the one but, she has been focused on her duties to the temple. He needed more time with her to see how she would feel being a queen and giving up some of her duties as a priestess. Time will tell how that would go and Tsiraka hopes that one day, Razia will be his queen.

by **Olthenia** » Sat Sep 14, 2019 5:58 am

Fᴀsᴛᴀǫᴜɪ

Queen of the Skazad Delta
________________________________________
The Second Matriarchate of Kemkasa
The Seventh Day of the Arch of Nets, Year 496 of the Common Era

“The world knows us as the people that stood up to the Midnight Horde. We fought them. We denied them. With our blood, and the blood of our children, we turned them back.” Faya mo Hondar was in a narrative mood, yet her tone was bleak. Almost sombre.

“Yes...” Across the smouldering firepit, Jeneba the Crone looked positively aglow with amber light. “And since then, we have proudly sat on our hands and done feck-all.”

“The Plaques of Punishment are not feck-all!” opined Banoda, Voice of the Commons. “The mines of Karowa are not feck-all. Listen-“

“Oh, don’t you go on about Karowa," Jeneba groused. "They’ve been digging up in those mountains since my eldest son was a squalling baby, and I’ve yet to see even an ounce of tin.”

“The shafts aren’t deep enough yet," commented Faya. "Come time and effort, we will-“

“Come time enough,” drawled Banoda, “We will all be dust. The Book of Bronze says so, somewhere. I think.”

Yet the Book of Bronze was not what any of the three tierswomen had to mind just then. Three days had passed since a queer messenger had come to Fastaqui. Three days since a golden coin had granted a bronze-masked stranger an audience with the First Speaker. And now? Well, now the First Speaker’s council was left to ponder his words – few and cryptic as they were. Faya, for one, liked them not at all. They tasted silt and ashes.

“Look, are we children?” Faya’s face was a pale as her tone. “Is that what we are?”

“Not for a while now,” remarked Jeneba. “At least, I don’t think so.”

“I don’t know about you two,” Banoda chuckled. “But I’ve too many wrinkles for that.”

“Then what, by all the Tiers, do you make of this so-called Masked Messenger?” Faya demanded. “He did what, exactly? Flashed a golden coin, held his little speech and then just… wandered off?” Her tone may as well have been suited to berate an obstinate child or arguing with a particularly difficult fishwife.

“So it seems,” remarked Jeneba – tone pithy. “Like one of those meow-masked actors down in the market, he never even showed his face. Not once”

“He did show the First Speaker a map, though,” Banoda cut in. “I distinctly heard her say so.”

“Yes, and that all but proves it right there,” Faya drawled. “It’s a trap. It has to be.”

“A bit elaborate for a trap, if you ask me,” groused Jeneba, and you could practically hear the smirk in her voice. “I mean, come on, if someone wanted to-“

“The Midnights-“ Faya interjected. “It’s got to be the Midnight Horde.”

“Well, whoever-” Jeneba went on, unruffled. “If the Midnight Horde actually sent some masked messenger to parley with the First Speaker just to lure our war-mothers away, it’s a damn convoluted way to do it.”

“As twisted as a mating water-snake,” Banoda observed. “Or some Sogoi scheme. When last those monsters came here, they tromped up to our gates in full view of anyone with eyes to see and called down blood and lightning from the sky! Tattling about with masks and mysteries just…”

“It isn’t their way,” Jeneba agreed.

“Well it might not be – but the results are the same!” Faya groused. “Our warriors march off into the unknown on the word of some masked messenger, get slaughtered – and then what? We’d have no one to defend our walls but smelly Sogoi and feckless fishermen.”

“We’d be as defenseless as a mud-bound camel,” Banoda remarked. “For that matter, the Midnight Horde wouldn’t even need to thunder our walls down. The commons would do the job for them.”

“True, that!” Jeneba laughed. “They’d batter them down with our heads as mallets!”

“Look, we can’t even present this to the Tiers.” Banoda’s voice was sober. Completely so.

“Why not?” wondered Jeneba. “You know they’ll reject it outright. They have to!”

“Will they, though? Think of all the cantankerous old crones and forgemothers up there in the Tiers. Wouldn’t they just love to boast that their daughter, niece or a girl from their household wet her spear in Midnight blood?”

“They’re not stupid,” Faya contended. “They’d never reach for that kind of glory if it meant leaving the city defenceless.”

“No, but they are bored,” Banoda reminded her. “And ambitious. And as thirsty for glory as a camel for water.”

The bronze-masked messenger may well have heard of Fastaqui. Of course he had – or he wouldn’t have come. But by the fates, he had not heard of their ways. The First Speak of the Tiers was not some petty tyrant, who ruled her subjects with blood and bronze. By the vote and voice of all the Tiers were the people of Fastaqui moved to action, and to appear before them to merely speak and leave was… Well. It was not the way of the Many Mothers.

“The real question here,” Jeneba mused – her voice distant. “Is if we can afford not to.”

by **The GAmeTopians** » Mon Sep 16, 2019 9:59 am

The Forge, Ironblade District

Despite the burning summer heat, the new district of the Forge was crowded with people, hard at work for the High Hammer's will. He had determined that a basic military force must be formed, lest unknown men of the world beyond seek to covet the Forge's treasures, to take them for their own. For such a force to thrive, however, a base of operations was required. The Ironblade District was hence formed, managed by House Ironblade, the obvious choice for such an operation - they were the House that favored combat and military might of all else, so in this endeavor they would doubtless thrive. For now, though, their military exploits have yet to begin - for any army requires soldiers to fight in it.

by **Ralnis** » Mon Sep 16, 2019 12:45 pm

Encampment of the Firstborn

The grumble of merchants and the joy of scouts reported to the Gate Council. The Blood Mages sent the Wandering Grey out to do business with the Saelings before Bloodright to crush their resistance but they came back with a fourth of what the merchants demanded. This was met with a chuckle from the other raiders as they didn't get what they wanted but there was something more interesting at the balking of uncut gemstones.

The information of a Midnight outpost. Now a Midnight outpost in of itself was a small, but profitable blip on their notice. Such a thing was close to the Saladonians, no doubt it was part of tribute collectors who were attacked by the rebels and it would further wound the Lord of Earth to have an outpost sacked and razed. Of course this would mean that Bloodright would start looking at the Firstborn for vengeance. To the Gate Council, they had a want to destroy the Bloodright and decided to try and test the waters by attacking the outposts and help further free the lands.

It was with this that everyone worked grabbing as much food they could bring in and start marshalling the warriors for a good raid. They don't care about how many hundreds of raiders they had to throw at the outpost and feast their eyes on the tributes from other settlements or any warriors that they can enslave and sacrifice to the Ancestor-Spirits. What they wanted more was information on other settlements and outposts around that one they've raided.

Information on top of all things allows them to keep moving as horde will have the ability to keep raiding the Bloodright and their vassals to keep their numbers growing. An envoy was sent to get the information so they can scout the outpost out and prepare the raid against those who seek to plunder the city. As the envoy left, another one came.

This one was a surprise, one that made them laugh very haughtily as they saw the gold coin of Xcotl. Xcotl itself was calling their exiles for help, enough help to break the chains of Midnight from the world. It was an ambitious goal, one that could make the exiles to get much from the dealing with the Shambling Legion. Many had remembered when they were nothing but an extension of the Gate Council, one that expanded their short-lived empire before they were exiled.

Quctaol, the voted leader of the Gate Council, decided to go at this place and elected a regent who the Council becomes their leader should the Herder died or didn't come back. However the Council was still making plans to raid the outpost and begin in pushing against the obsidian shackles of bloodright.

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Mon Sep 16, 2019 3:15 pm

The Merchant's Repose

Bessemer Way, Hammertong Square, Kharbarinth
22nd of Slaughtercall, Year 496 of the Common Era

"...literally for iron armor?" The voice of the first man in his thick cloak was incredulous as he sat smoking in the late evening. The street normally bustling with activity and the cries of salesmen and artisans was quiet this late at night, save for low conversations that lubricated the wheels of commerce like this exact interchange.

The second man nodded invisibly, before blowing a light smoke ring into the sky to commingle with the soot of a thousand forges. The coals of his pipe glowed cherry-red briefly as he inhaled once more, letting the first tradesman contemplate the information.

"Perhaps. A tale tall. I have never heard of this... this Forge. But an opportunity like this is not to be despised."

Still the second man sat silent, and with a smooth movement the first trader leaned forward, busying himself with topping up his pipe.

"Very well. 60-40?"

"My favor, you mean."

"50-50"

"55-45"

"Deal. I'll get in touch with my contact on the barges from Steelsworn. We're going to need a lot of metal."

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Mon Sep 16, 2019 8:52 pm

Year 497 of the Common Era Dawns!

Saladonia
The Free City burns. A mighty host out of the west has overrun the ancestral home of the Saladonians, turning the traitorous Soldiers' Council into so many corpses for their failure to pay fealty to the Midnight Emperor. Whatever defenses they might have mustered have been crushed underfoot by the warriors of the Bloodright and their slave-soldiers, and the Lord of the Earth's banner waves over the ashes. Her people are slaves, and her mighty edifices cast down. A sad end to a noble tale, men stood alone finally beaten down without allies...

Xcotl
An emissary comes west. His mien is dark, his words filled with wrath. Dire portents he speaks - through a source unknown the Obsidian Throne has heard of a man moving in the wide world, bidding men meet with the lords of Xcotl to build an alliance to rise against the Midnight Imperium. His tone is venomous, his disdain a blazing blade in his eyes. Tribute Xcotl shall pay, or the Lord of the Earth promises that this time no stone will be left standing of the city of those men who would break their oaths scarce years after they were sworn. Tribute Demanded: 20 Wealth, 1 Peasant

The Deepwood
No news is good news. For now, the disappearances appear to have halted. This year, at least.

The Puqani
A good raid. Men and women in chains the brave warriors of the step-pyramids drag back to the mother city in the heart of the mountains, their wailing no barrier to the lusts of the blood-hungry soldiers. They will labor until they fall dead for the growing city, or their children will. More hands to put to the grindstone, a paean of human misery to suffer for cruel gods. Raid Results: +1 Slaves, +2 Wealth

Within the city itself though, all is not well. The rains of the past have withered away, leaving the skies barren and dry. A lack of rain on the mountains on which the Puqina defend is beginning to bite, a drought which is a danger to civil society. Climate Change: Bountiful Harvests replaced by Drought - -3 Food/Year. This drought may end soon, or continue for some time.

The Fastaqui
Good news from Karowa - a mine being cut into the southern mountains has broken through into an immense cavern where a strange sight can be seen; luminous balls of otherworldly energy nestle in what appear to be man-sized flowers of iridescent brilliance. This uncanny sight enthralls men with the terrible beauty of its floral display. They may be worth as much as a Crone's ransom, or a danger of otherworldly provenance.

The Cartel
The naval raiders have returned at long last. Though storms delayed them slightly, and some of their loot had to be tossed overboard to lighten ships threatened with foundering, their takings are immense. Timbers, exotic gems, and the riches of those who could not defend them have been taken by force. +1 Timber, +2 Whitesilver, +5 Wealth, +2 Industry

The Firstborn
The maps from Saladonia come at a good time - and the trade of food at one which could not have been worse. Only a few days after the delivery of the food, as bidding is going on for the meats and fruits the Uushuran look to sell, a mighty host descends upon Saladonia. Those traders who were within the city at the time are not seen again - either slain or taken as prisoners by the Bloodright warriors ill concerned with distinguishing their enemies. The refugees of Saladonia though, fleeing south, give the Firstborn the location of the Bloodright outpost freely, begging them to attack it and save friends and family being held there. It stands but one region north and three regions west, and should be swollen with the loot of Saladonia's demise.

A Strange World: The Strength of Empires [IC|Closed]

A Strange World: The Strength of Empires [IC|Closed]

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