New Civilizations ( IC, Open )

[Ah-eh-ioh-uh]

He found the food singularly underwhelming. It wasn't so much BAD... As... Undeveloped. The fish was the highlight of the meal but even it had no garnishings, no spices, no zest. It was just... Fish. Not even salt. The boiled vegetables were meh. It wasn't so much vegetables as some starchy tuber or root. The berries were tiny and they hadn't even been introduced to the carbohydrate that made japan what it was in his time, rice. No dairy, not even oil. Just roasted tuber, fish, and the berries. The berries themselves were not even part of the family meal. They got them especially for him as a delicacy. He had had worse meals but he could definitely stand better. All and all, the family had scrounged to provide the extra offering so that he was full, themselves deciding to eat sparsely as was custom at the time.

Marcio refused any more after seconds on the fish, full ENOUGH (though unsatisfied) and unwilling to abuse their spirituality too far. He was shown to a stuffed matt of sorts that he would later need to bear with and was told he should sleep there. The rest of the family were going to need to sleep even closer together as they had sacrificed space and mattress to give him his own private one. He found the house unsanitary and the village STUNK. The clothes stunk and the children and the old grandparents and even the family's wife farted with few qualms about it. The family luckily put his matt in a different place in the house than them out of reverence.

The hunting dog was a flee-covered thing and he was horrified to see it bumpy with ticks. The family was in fear as they could see the more he saw of the village the less happy he seemed. He saw children urinating and defecating in plain view in the village hub on his way to his appointed home. This did not help his sanity when the family he lived with already stunk and their skin was ashier than the cooking fire used to cook his food. He was certain to dilute his displeasure the villagers were already attempting to figure out who would be the "pretty" virgin "sacrifice" to please him as a wife. Of course seeing the unkempt, greasy looking hair of the women he saw he was quite sure that even if he did not predominantly prefer the company of men, these women were entirely unsuitable.

The dog had bounded up to him, incapable of manners as an animal is and attempted to lick the life out of him, much to his own and the horror of the others.

"Get it off!" He said, pushing the dog forcefully but not violently away and scurrying back.

"Get it off! Get it away!" He yelled as the family yelled frantically as they fought to get the dirty thing off of him.

"It stinks! It STINKS!" He screamed, the family not knowing his exasperated yells were referring to more than just the dog.

The dog whimpered with its feelings hurt because the odd looking man didn't seem to like him or want to play with him. The children were of course no help in getting the dog back in order, they merely giggled but then quickly cracked up at the scene of the dog attempting to lick the guest's face off.

"Toshio-kun wants to play! Toshio-kun wants to play!" One of the children giggled while the baby began to wail miserably.

Suffice to say they were shackled with fear on the subject of what to do with the dog and the Yokai that was having none of it.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Part 4, Chapter 20: Regrets Unnumbered

June 22nd, 21 AG

I dabbed the cloth in the tin pail and tried with a light touch to spread the water over the forehead of the aged man, but at that moment he coughed and convulsed, and so I did a better job of soaking his hair that applying the liquid to his brow. The rag fell back to the pail forgotten as I surged to my feet, sharp breaths coming sluggishly through the mask, and pinned his shoulders bodily against the mattress.

"Orderly. Orderly!"

The voice was not mine, but I had thought it, and Maria's hands struggled gamely on his torso as the old man writhed in his fit, brow suddenly standing out in sweat, half-conscious moans of delirious pain coming from between his drawn back chapped lips like old paper. For a few stretched seconds our muscles strained against his, the thin man with barely any fat on his bones shockingly strong at the involuntary movements of his illness, and then one of the heavily built physicians placed beefy palms on his chest.

Popping sounds came from his legs, his feet, his hands as he thrashed - but importantly his neck and head we held steady, and gradually the thrashing subsided until he was once more limp, the main change how his think linens were soaked in sweat.

"That's not good."

The voice was wintry, and but for a subtle intonation of the darkest humor, I could have mistaken it for the tones of my wife. I merely nodded at Maria's words, and frowned. They didn't tend to last long once they hit the convulsions - a sign that the fever was beginning to effect the brain, and few indeed came back once they were that far gone. I muttered an oath lightly under my breath, then laid the man's head back down. He had lapsed fully into unconsciousness, and there wasn't anything more I could do. Not here.

"I need air. You need air. Walk with me."

My eldest daughter thought about refusing. The notion flashed through her eyes above the mask as I glanced over, before dissolving as quickly as it had appeared. I hadn't always been the kindest of father, always pushing, always demanding, but we were slowly starting to grow beyond those years of proscription relationship. Begrudgingly she nodded, and with that sewn up I made my way toward the doors of the ward, careful not to obstruct the volunteers and physicians that were still bustling about the line of beds.

Breakbone fever. That's what they called it - because you felt joint pain like your very limbs were being systematically shattered, and indeed some sufferers perished when the convulsions beat the life out of their own brains on rocks or bedposts. It had appeared during the planting season in a small town outside Junction, near the eastern silver mines, and done its best to burn a way through the civilized heartlands of the southern Vale despite the efforts of local physicians and herbalists. To a certain extent it was our own fault it had gotten as far as it had. Initial reports had been dismissive of the danger it posed, and there were a hundred different diseases busy burning their way through Europe at any given time. If we treated each one with the urgency of an epidemic, I should be doing nothing except training physicians until the day I died.

But the severity had increased once it reached urban regions, places where the very old and the very young were found in larger concentration. The most severe form, hemorrhagic fever, feasted on such victims, while those with decent immune systems and tolerable nutrition were more or less untouched. An elevated temperature, vomiting, and joint pain were the most obvious signs - but Lord knew enough things caused fevers and stomach expulsions in this unclean world.

I stepped around an orderly departing with bloody sheets, careful to give her a very wide berth, and my daughter wisely did likewise. At a crossing to the outside we removed the surgical gowns, casting them into an old bin, blood-spattered and marked with all too many chemicals. Only after passing through another two doors did we remove our masks, and I rejoiced to be able to fill my lungs anew. The hospital here at Junction was a fine affair, for all that it was, but this had only illustrated the need for more beds - and for more laborers. It was a familiar refrain in the back of my brain, and one which oftentimes decorated my nightly notes. More professionals. More specialists. More education. More training. Knowledge was the one thing that this world would benefit most if it could be transposed more swiftly, and knowledge the thing that seemed to be most difficult to inculcate into the hunters, gatherers, wanderers, and trappers which teemed with every passing day into the settlements of the Imperium. You could print as many books as you wanted - paper was cheap, and ink not desperately expensive - but if only one man in twenty had even the faintest idea what reading meant, all the training guides in the world were just valuable firestarters.

"You need to send to Mara for more men."

Her voice was reasonable, level-headed, but her standpoint entirely wrong. I turned to face my daughter, only to see her in her mother's favorite pose, hands on her hips and eyebrows drawn dangerously together over flashing green eyes. My eyebrows quirked up in amusement, a fact which only sent her brow lowering deeper like a thunderhead. It was almost comical to me, save for the fact that I understood exactly how annoyed she must be.

"We have plenty of people here for quarantine. And there's no point in drawing down more doctors from the Order just for this season. By the time they get here, we'll have probably burnt out the worst of things, and then they won't be up north where something worse might happen. You know that as well as I do. What's bothering you?"

Too much like her mother. That facade I had learned to deal with a decade and more in the past, and I could tell when the very valid request was masking something deeper. Under her dark hair the defiance and mask melted away, and Maria sighed long and loud, before speaking softly and stepping closer to me.

"Why don't you... why don't you know how to cure this?"

Ahhh. Whatever I had been expecting, it wasn't that. The question made my eyelids blink rapidly, and I started, staring down into her face for the second time as if only just seeing how old she had become. No, my daughter was no longer a child at play, not even an older child pursuing her dreams to the watchful eye of a doting father. She understood, perhaps better than many in the entirety of Europe, exactly who I was and what my existence meant.

And I didn't have an answer for her. Not a good one. It sounded so trite and pointless in my head even as I considered voicing the words; where I came from there were other people to handle the medicine, to heal the sick, to cure the lepers. I hadn't had to do that. I was the son of a surgeon, the type of person in this timeline who would almost without question be destined to take up his father's profession... and instead I had chosen a different path. One easier, less fraught with peril for the lives of those under my knife. One where I could indulge my whims, dream my dreams, and ignore the mortality of those around me.

Such a funny thing modernity would have seemed to the no-nonsense men and women that stood at my side here, called me Hegemon, looked to me for guidance. There we had pushed death to the side as much as possible. We powdered it, denied it, guarded against it, dressed it up, and pushed it across oceans. Death was an unfortunate accident that befell those who weren't careful enough, or who abused their bodies, or who had lived the fullness of their time - and even then, we still mourned lives cut short, even if they had had seven decades to their names. It was a clinical thing that stank of chemicals, of perfumes, and of carefully starched suits and polished wood.

Here death was unvarnished, stark, and ever-present. My efforts were a sieve before the tide. Childbirth? It killed day in and day out, the giving of new life shrouded in a fear of danger to the old. Plague? It stalked the forests, the camps, the bivouacs, the towns, a sudden shortness of breath here, a cough and choking there, and before the week was old another body to return to the soil. An infection untreated, a broken limb during a journey, the goring of a boar, a brigand's cruel knife. They took and they took and they took, and those they spared could only count themselves blessed that the gaze of Death had not fallen upon their shoulders.

And then I came. The sieve, against the tide, which to their eyes seemed a dam indomitable. A sewer, to hold back the diseases of filth. A tea, brewed from just the right bark, to break fevers. Sulfa, inoculations, soap, lye, clean cloth, stringent linens, antiseptics, cauterization, even surgery - and the pallor of Death receded, his breath a bit more distant, his reaping a bit less poignant with every passing year.

But I didn't have all the answers. I seemed like I did, but I didn't. I could recommend, could speculate, could guide, but mine was not the mind of a physician - it was the mind of a modern man who decided to waste his career studying weapons of war, of construction, of politics, of the stewardship of a dying world. All so very useless at just the wrong time when set against the need to stop fathers, brothers, wives, and babies from the grasp of that pale walker which stalked the streets so callously.

Why don't I know how to cure this? I couldn't answer that question. She knew the answer. It betrayed the desperation she felt that she had asked at all. Instead I merely stepped forward and held my little girl to my chest, letting the tears she had been holding back for days soak into the front of my greatcoat. There was only so much we could do. Only so much I could do. I told myself that every night. Perhaps one of these years my God would give me the grace to believe it.

[Elerian]

Danial Adiputera

Some days later, he left Teluk. Slip out through a side gate of the palisade when the hubbub of the village dies down, past the watchful eyes of the locals. Past the huddles of dwellings and drying racks of the fishermen who live nearest the village. He followed a well used dirt path marked by small stone piles that lead him along the coast Southeast. After reading the stars for some nights he felt confident of his general location in relation to his home, or so he hoped. It had been sometime since his boating classes so many years ago. All he could do now was keep moving forward.

Most of the villages around had sentries. They watched for raids from rival villages that occured so very often. Or so he’d heard. Teluk would know he was gone soon enough, so he needed to make good progress before they sent their headhunters after him. That aside, there were also numerous other villages and predators between him and Singapore. He was hoping against hope that if he reached the tip of the Malasian Peninsula this nightmare would be over, even if he knew deep down that it never would.

Darkness covered the jungle like a shroud: the inky, premodern, primeval, eternal blackness of unelectrified night, unrelieved by lightbulbs or neon or street lamps. The moon was a dim crescent, half-veiled by scudding wisps of grey cloud. The ocean wind blew, unseasonably cold, through the bush and palm that might have been urban sprawl in another world. Here and there, the night wildlife made itself known to Danial as it set about its usual routine of survival. That’s really all anyone or anything could do out here, survive.

He was attempting a feat that he guessed no one else had ever accomplished. He would have to traverse over a hundred kilometers of hostile terrain to try and get home.

And he had no real idea how.

---

Never in the life of Danial Adiputera had he felt such gripping terror. He’d been running through the brush for what seemed like an eternity, shredding his clothes on thorn and briar. He wheezed heavily as his body demanded respite, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop running yet. In all his years in the ring he’d never witnessed such a fearsome foe, not no one could compare to the terror that came from being hunted. Danial had prayed to any God that would listen for help and safety, and mistakenly believed he’d been saved when his pursuers had seemed to fall off.

He’d barely been able to catch his breath and take a drink of water before they had found him. His brief respite hadn’t lasted longer than thirty seconds.

Looking back, Danial couldn’t see his pursuers, but he also couldn’t know if they still gave chase. Nothing seemed able to deter them. He simply ran and they followed.

His terror came anew as leaves began rustling back the way he’d come. Danial let out something resembling a whimper and pressed on harder. Unfortunately, after only a dozen more strides, his feet snagged on a root and sent him sprawling. Danial quickly scrambled to his feet, but he knew it was too late. The rustling had been too close for him to escape now.

Turning towards the rustling only several dozen meters distant, he used the last of his energy reserves in preparation for what was to come. The rustling grew closer and closer until It could only be a few meters distant. Danial firmly planted his feet in the dirt, readying his spear for whatever crashed through at him. Finally, and to his genuine surprise, none other than a lone Tapir came crashing through the brush ahead of him.

With the same terrified look as a deer running from a pack of ravenous wolves, the Tapir saw Danial and scurried off in another direction. Confused and dazed, Danial lowered his spear for a moment, thinking he was finally safe. But to his dismay, Danial was far from safety.

Just then, a shape appeared from the dark jungle. Without a sound, a pale and thin native stepped from the bushes a handful of meters from Danial. He wore a thin and ragged shirt, and little else. From his appearance, Danial thought he knew what tribe was hunting him. His people were known as hewers of wood and cunning warriors. He deduced this from the stone axe the man was armed with.

Coming to his senses, Danial readied himself for combat. He thought this could very well be where he’d die. If he let the other man take the initiative, Danial was dead. His only shot was catching him by surprise. He started a slow gait forward, the ocean breeze swirling the bits of torn cloth that still stuck to Danial’s body..

His steady gait evolved into a headlong sprint that covered half the distance between him and the man in what seemed like an instant. Truth be told though, things seemed to be moving at a much different pace for Danial. The man swiveled clumsily to meet her, and in that brief span, time had become irrelevant to Adiputera. He measured his progress not through minutes or second now, but through raw emotion and pure focus, something he’d learned during his time as a professional fighter.

A fresh wave of adrenaline surged through his body as he slipped well beyond the halfway point between them, his mind almost unconsciously recognizing its cue just as he saw the familiar tell of tensing shoulder. With the robotic precision of a fine tuned machine, his spear moved almost on its own, rising effortlessly to bypass the man’s hasty block. In the next instant, Danial brought his spear to bear on the tribal.

Letting out a blood curdling war cry as he rushed his opponent, he came crashing in on the native like a meteor streaking through the atmosphere. His spear clutched firmly in a two handed death grip, the elongated shaft came from left to right in a vicious stab of death aimed at the man’s clothed midsection. In that one fluid motion the spear connected with flesh and organ as it impaled itself into his soft belly.

Danial let go of the spear just as more tribals came crashing through the underbrush. Suddenly unarmed, they rushed him before he had a chance to react.

[Plzen]

Camp of the Skåne Regional Guards, South Jylland,
Commonwealth Year 18, 12th Winter Saturday,
Jórunn "Stjarna" Raginaharjasdóttir af Roskilde

After the clashes of the early months, the war seemed to have settled down into a sort of quiet routine.

For what must have been the hundredth time in as many hours, I stared upon the walls of Tharinsford in the distance, gritting my teeth. The unassailable, brick-and-stone walls of the Tharinsford keep, built on the Commonwealth's riches, by the Commonwealth's workers... now shielding Imperial troops and their sympathisers within.

It was the assessment of the coalition forces' leadership that the castle couldn't have more than a thousand Imperials inside - the keep was built with the settlement of Tharinsford and potentially five hundred defenders in mind, and while barracks could do some degree be overcrowded - it wasn't like our own camps were the height of sanitary practices - it couldn't be overcrowded that much. A night attack could probably swarm their camp and overwhelm their forces before reinforcements could be delivered from across the river.

Except - the fortification. Even if there were only twenty soldiers inside and we outnumbered the Imperial forces a hundred to one, those walls were a daunting prospect. If there really was a thousand Imperials in there, throwing two thousand Commonwealth soldiers against those walls would result in two thousand Commonwealth casualties. There really was no way around that reality.

The Commonwealth could not breach those walls. The Commonwealth could not even approach those walls without having its soldiers turned into pincushions. But after the first few skirmishes, the Imperium, too, learned that the shadows of these forests and swamps contained nothing but death, and those that emerged into the open ground learned that the Commonwealth, too, had heavy crossbows. Hence, the long siege of Tharinsford. Hence, a war that devolved into a slow grind of raids and counterraids in the east, where the border diverged away from the river.

Behind me, I could hear the siege bombards firing. The whiplash of tightly coiled ropes suddenly unleashed and the whistle of a 27-kilogram shot flying towards the town. I doubted that it would do very much good. Even for those heavy shots, those walls would take years to breach, if it could be done at all... no doubt effective at terrifying the Imperial troops inside, though, what with the shots overflying the walls into the town itself every so often.

The same effect was achieved when an Imperial shot managed to land on one of our tents, of course. It was lucky that the ground out here, away from the farmlands that directly surrounded the town, was so poor. If it wasn't for the forest, grazing shots from Imperial bombards would have cleared us all out of the woods months ago.

Conducting a siege of a riparian settlement when we did not control the river it sat on was a tricky proposition, and possibly the only reason why the siege had been doing on for so long. While our siege bombards and the bombards assigned to the other keeps of the Danevirke did its best to sink the supply barges that occasionally came up the river to provide the food and ammunition that the town was unable to supply itself with, in this the darkness of night benefited the Imperium more than it did us. The Eider was a narrow enough river that ships could be spotted even in the night, but it was not so narrow as to make that a reliable process.

And so, time passed... sooner or later, something had to break, and I could only hope that it wouldn't be our own forces.

---

Danish Academy of the Sciences, Roskilde,
Commonwealth Year 19, 9th Winter Thursday,
Clara Axinite Juliansdóttir Rose af Toronto

The reed pen scratched away. Here, in Roskilde at the seat of the Press, I had access to the finest paper in the Commonwealth, perhaps in the world. It was a pleasant feeling, scratching away at paper.

I address Turner Jackson, aðalþingmaður Landsþings Svíþjóðar, I wrote. Since the letter to me was drafted in the familiar English of the 21st Century, I responded in the same. It was an awkward, stilted process - I have barely used the language in over two decades, and people have forgotten more over shorter. But I managed.

What a fascinating letter it was that I was responding to! I knew that there were others like me, of course, Viktor, Connor, Pat, the mysterious founder of the Icedonians... but as far as I could tell we were all awakened at around the same time, twenty two years ago.

But first, Mark turned up just shy of a couple years ago, and now this... it was becoming clear to me that whatever mystery was awakening people from the 21st Century into this far-distant time that have already had all traces of information-era civilisation erased, it was not an isolated event. It was an ongoing, continuous process...

Perhaps I should inform the Committee of Public Security that they ought to dedicate more resources towards finding such people, both at home and abroad.

You are correct in guessing that I come from similar circumstances as you do, I acknowledged. I woke up here far earlier than you did and have already been here for some twenty-two years, far greater than your own two years. But your story of drifting unconscious and waking up in a strange and unfamiliar land, helpless but for the assistance of the gracious people who are now my neighbours, is a familiar one to me.

I debated whether I should volunteer my own personal information. Since this Turner did the same for his, I figured, it was perhaps worth the risk to reciprocate. If the aðalþingmaður Svíþjóðar really was someone just like me... I expect that I would be working with this person for very many decades to come. Building some rapport early would be worth much.

Naturally, I started with the same sort of things that Turner had already told me about himself. Nationality, some history...

I was born in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, in what you would call 1999 Common Era.

Then, the next part... was this really the past? For all this time, I had assumed that I had been hibernating for a long time, that this was to my time of birth a far future, not the far past. I had never even considered time travel, but what evidence did I really have to believe in what I do? I was already ready to believe in the existence of some technology or some natural phenomena that would keep me both unconscious and safe for the untold centuries it would have taken for all traces of civilisation to be ground away from Scandinavia, then wake me up with no evidence of its presence, naked but seemingly unaging.

Compared to that, was time travel really so far-fetched? And if it was in fact time travel, why not the past instead of the future?

Well, because of all sorts of paradoxes I could think of. Time travel into the past had some obvious causality problems. But that was a line of thought that could really be left to another time. For now... well, I was "there," in Canada, and now I am "here," in Roskilde. Exactly how "here" relates to "there" was unimportant.

My transportation is too far in the past for me to remember what I was doing before I came here, but I do remember that it was abrupt and unexpected as yours seems to have been, I wrote. Like you, I woke up with nothing on me, and was it not for the hospitality of Roskilde I would surely have died. I also woke up with the ability to understand languages that I had never learned before.

Two years... probably was not enough to tell whether he was as seemingly invulnerable to the ravages of time as Raginaharjas and I seemed to be. But there wasn't any cost to asking. I decided to leave off the issue of Raginaharjas, and focus on myself. The entire debacle was mystifying enough without the added question of why my man, who was seemingly an unremarkable local from this time and not a traveler between worlds as I was, seemed to be as unaging as I.

Seeing how your circumstances are so similar to mine, and seeing how you have one of the abilities that I seem to have gained by this event, I would be interested to see over the coming years whether you also have the other gift I seem to have received from this event. It has been over two decades, but I do not seem to be aging. I feel younger and healthier than ever, and my peers tell me that I still look like someone in her adolescence, not someone passing from middle age into the elderly.

I hesitated, for the next part. I debated, and eventually decided against, telling Pat and Connor of these parts. But their stories were so similar... perhaps, just perhaps I was being too cautious. Perhaps reality really is as it seems, and we are all collectively clueless here. If that was the case...

I am afraid, however, that I cannot answer your great questions, I responded. I am as clueless as you are as to the cause of all this. I do not know by what means I was transported here, nor do I know how I gained the abilities that I now seem to have, nor am I able to tell whether we will ever end up back in the world of our previous lives.

Poor lad. I knew exactly how he must be feeling right now - after all, I went through the same things myself.

I have no advice to you, except to try and make the best of what you have now. No doubt this country, the country that I have built and have come to love, will be all the richer for your presence.

I wish you well,

Clara Axinite Juliansdóttir Rose af Toronto, aðalþingmaður Stórþingsins

[Guuj Xaat Kil]

Johann Sebastiano, Day 0 (Worries)

They had sailed- or rather, rowed- up the coast of Haida Gwaii for about a few hours now, and the sun had already tilted to the side slightly signifying the start of noon. "Must've sailed sometime in the morning." He noted to himself, rowing along with the rest on the canoe and filling his eyes with the sights being presented, of wooded isles, cold beaches, and the smoke of homely villages, the canoe rowed through all of them, and each one had its little differences making them distinct from the last one. "Your islands are beautiful when they aren't at war." He notes loudly, eliciting a few smiles from some of the rowers, and a neutral sounding grunt from Jaahguhl who was guiding the ship at the rear with a steering oar. "Indeed they are stranger." A rower replied, and would've added more when what would be the coxswain of a racing boat at the front suddenly spoke up. "Hey outsider," he called out to him, "We're drawing close to K'uk'áal, better get your eyes ready for looking." And readied his eyes the outsider did. A few minutes later the canoe would be landed on a beach beside a forest, and already was a pit forming within the Filipino-Canadian’s stomach, "There's supposed to be no forest here, there should- there should be a clearing here for the- the airstrip or something. His mind stuttered slightly every time he looked at something too hardly, overturned a rock, or many other things in his search for Sandspit Airport

"No, perhaps- Perhaps I've been thrown into a-" He interrupted himself as he searched the forest floor for any evidence of a airstrip, digging up holes with rocks to find some evidence that an airstrip once existed here, be it concrete, some shard of metal, a skeleton if need be. But alas, all these things eluded him. "No... No! No! No!" He slams his fists and pushes things aside violently, all the while the rest of the canoe's crew who were looking over him had shifted their faces from indifference to worry, the stranger was becoming odder by the second. As for said stranger, a million thoughts flew through his head: why him, why now, why this, why that. WHY? WHY? "WHY!" He bellows out, causing someone close by to simply scoot away as much as possible from him without him disappearing from their sight. A rock is thrown and strikes Sebastiano's feet, hitting him squarely in the heel and hard. He quickly does a 180-degree turn and finds out that a worried looking Jaahguhl had thrown it. Most of the group were slowly backing off to the coast by now, "Hey, what gives?" He loudly shouts and one of the rowers shakes his hands as to beckon him into silence. "We aren't welcome in the chief of K'uk'áal's lands," Jaahguhl speaks up and pulls the old man back to the boat, "Listen to the forest, all silent no? They're spotted us, and thus we must leave as soon as possible before this spirals out of control."

The slow retreat turns into men rushing forward for the beaches and for the canoe. In a few minutes all had been embarked on the ship, with Johann and Jaahguhl being the last ones jump aboard, and in a few moments they're rowing with speed southward. Its all silent until the stranger speaks up once more, "What happened there?" he asks, his eyes glistening with tears threatening to spill from all the revelations of earlier, "Wha- What do you mean not welcome in K'uk'áal lands?" The axe chopper/rower shook his head sadly at this, actually being the first one to initiate a conversation. "For someone who speaks like a native of our lands, you still are a stranger at heart," turning his head back to Sebastiano, and his voice laced with the slightest bit of condescension, "That damnable Chief Cuneah Xuut had let a small slight to make his emotions spiral out of control, and the result? He raids our lands, and has killed many of ours." His fists are shaking as the small peninsula disappears from sight with the rowing. "And he has the gall to decry us as the aggressors?" this he says angrily, and his rowing is fierce, "And what's worse, his people are dull enough to believe him!" A few nods all around, and a face of understanding from Sebastiano.

Soon the silence returns, and once more Sebastiano is given the sights from before but from a reversed angle. Somber, he looks away, mind deep in thought, "Could it be that I am on another world?" he thinks to himself as the sun above tilts more and more towards the sunset, "Or am I in the past? But that's impossible, causality would be grossly violated." He looks once more at the quaint wooden villages on the coastline, his mind a storm of questions. "But the latter just seems," another look at his surroundings, the men, the coast, the canoe he is on, even his clothes, "It just seems like the right scenario in spite of causality..."

Time flies, waters shift, and soon the group is back, and there's the chief, waiting for them on the coast. "I suppose you haven't found the thing you wished to find?" he simply smirks at the stranger's hesitant nods, "Thought as much, you had confused and distraught eyes. Come, you know what you must do now." He gestures the group to follow him into the village, and that they do. "Do know this stranger," the chieftain suddenly speaks up while walking, "You are quite the odd situation, for one, you speak a rather strange dialect of our tongue, which I can't help but conclude, is more elegant than ours. Then there's your general mannerisms, simply odd I say." And Johann Sebastiano could do nothing but nod meekly in reply. "I'm too old for this shit," he cusses to himself mentally as the chieftain begins to negotiate with Jaahguhl to allow him to live under the logger's roof, which he can hear strong objections to, "I should be writing my magnum opus by now, and yet God has decided to place me here of all places... And no pen and paper too..." That last one was truly nightmarish for the temporally displaced man. "Perhaps a small g is in order for whatever god placed me here." He mused humerously.

Sebastiano's train of thought is derailed with Jaahguhl approaching him with a disappointed face, "I have negotiated with Chief Hluuwee, and we agreed that you'll stay with me," a nod in response, "But, you shall work for your own food whilst working for me, I am not feeding some stranger with my own work. We can renegotiate this or end it by the end of the five winters that you'll work for me, and I hope you'll choose the latter."

An odd silence.

"Alright then, where do we begin?"

[Ah-eh-ioh-uh]

Marcio got to work immediately on the long list of things and concepts he needed to introduce these villagers to and eventually to all surrounding areas. He thought about it for some long time and decided to fix the most obvious of them. Making his way through frightened stares and even some screams, he decided to visit Sato, the local shaman.


"What can I do for you, mighty spirit" the man said apprehensively.

"I would wish for a knowledgeable escort through the woods to examine plants and the like" he explained.

"I am unfamiliar with these woods and plan to bless this village with a gift I hope they will appreciate. However I would wish to have someone to help me steer clear of any plants or wildlife that is best left alone" he said.

"Well you have come to the right person" Sato said, rather flattered at Marcio thinking of him when looking for expertise.

"If it is indeed for the intent of a blessing upon the village as you say, I would be more than happy to accompany you on this trek" he said.

"I think another person to accompany us would be prudent as I do not know the local wildlife and, please take no offense of it but I do not know if I will be enough to fight off any wild animals if we come across them" Marcio says, hoping the man wasn't wounded in pride at the insinuation that his age made him subpar when it came to physicality.

"Well that's all well and dandy but if you are truly a spirit of nature, then surely there is nothing to fear from the wilderness is there" the man retorted, not offended at the idea of his age but more so doubtful of Marcio's supposed nature.

"Well perhaps the local wildlife is different than the kind from back home" Marcio sung quickly.

"My powers may be enough back home but this is an unfamiliar land to me" Marcio said as he felt the web of deception he spun sticking to him now.

"Well perhaps that does make some sense" the man mused with furrowed eyebrows.

"Your nature and supposed origins confuse me, spirit" the man said grumpily as he got up to gather a hunter from the village.

"Well when you see the things I can do perhaps my origins won't be mattering quite so much as what I am at present" he said as he followed him out to get some help.

[Europa Undivided]

Sasha

---

Sasha Sapohznik growled at the phone with visible irritation at whoever was on the other side. "What do you mean by 'they deny it happened'? I have a million pictures and documents that can prove that this... this atrocity is a fact of history!"

"No can do, Sasha.", the other person on the phone replied. "It appears that they've been brainwashed for a generation."

Sasha rolled his eyes as he reclined on his chair, snorting with no small amount of dismissiveness. "Ugh, whatever. I trust that you can find a different publishing house to talk with?"

"Yeah, yeah, I guess. Its just that... Well, recent developments have been bad for historians. YouTube demonetized AlternateHistoryHub for crying our loud!"

"I feel like I have to record a video every time I interview these people.", Sasha sighed. "Problem is that they don't a camera on their faces!"

"The memories of those terrible times are still fresh, Sasha. Now, what else can I do?"

The Russian Jew rubbed his eyes, as he was feeling sleepy so late at night. "Keep your promise of getting me a Starbucks tomorrow after class."

"And you'll get me a large bubble tea. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Alright, good night, moi droog."

"Guten nacht, mein Freund."

With that out of the way, Nikolai Aleksandr looked back at his bed. It has been a year since he started renting this apartment, and it was really good that housing prices in Vermont have gone down so much recently. Of course, it was pretty challenging for him to juggle his responsibilities as a teacher for senior high school students and his second course, but he was confident that he'll finish in time.

---

"Дурак.", Nikolai muttered as he felt his consciousness slip back into his mind. "Mom, why did you not wake me up?"

No answer.

Sighing, he opened his eyes, revealing a cloudy sky in his sight. What...

Addled by his long sleep, he stared into nothingness for a few moments. His eyes looked out into the river in front of him... until...

"Where... Am I...", he muttered to himself lowly as he slowly turned his head to look around the relatively flat plain that extended as far as the eye could see. At that moment, he realized that he was completely naked. Outwardly, he seemed to remain calm. However, inside, he was going crazy. What's this? What just happened? Did someone kidnap him and throw him to this place naked?

"Who are you, and why are you lying naked in this field?"

Nikolai slowly turned to see the stranger behind him. The man was clothed in a brown tunic and held a bow in his right hand. He was unkempt, with long hair that reached down to his shoulders and an unshaven face that spoke of hard times.

"Uh... Hello?", he said to the stranger. "My name is Nikolai Aleksandr Sapohznik. Do you have... A phone?"

"What is this 'phone' you speak of, stranger?", the man answered.

Then it dawned upon him. The man was speaking some sort of Proto-Slavic language, though it sounded like it was mixed with Balt and Finno-Ugric. "What year is it?", Sasha asked.

The man shrugged. "It is the one hundredth moon of the thirtieth cycle. And..."

The strange man leaned closer, examining Sasha's face. "You look like the rest of us... if not for your shaven head and face. Are you hungry? I'm sure you're cold since you have no clothes."

The stranger removed his outer coat and handed it to Nikolai, offering a small smile as he did. "Come with me to the town."

"The... town?", Sasha asked, confused. "Where are we anyways?"

"The banks of the Yauza River.", the man simply answered as he motioned for Nikolai to get up. "Now, I see confusion in your face. I also have some questions for you right now... But we can give each other answers when you're properly clothed."

"Right, right...", Nikolai answered as his inner panic subsided. Why was this guy so kind at first contact?!

As the man led him to the town, or whatever it was, Nikolai was still deep in thought, processing everything that has happened so far. "Ah, right. The Yauza. The name that the Moskva River had in ancient times. Of course..."

---

The town, it turned out, was a settlement with at least 400 or so people quietly nestled near the banks of the Yauza/Moskva River. The man explained that the settlement was named Yauzagrod after the river on whose banks it was founded. The town was a humble one, though it did boast some commerce and cultural color. The sound of music wafted out of the houses while men and women danced on the wooden floors. Vendors sold fruits and vegetables to other people, who bought their goods with other goods. Cats meowed on every doorstep while proudly presiding over the corpses of the rats that they slaughtered. And perhaps most importantly, a priest of some kind sacrificed a bull in front of a pagan idol. Was that... Perun?!

"Alright, here we are.", the stranger said as they stopped in front of one of the larger houses. "Chessa, you there? I've brought a visitor."

Apparently, Chessa was this man's wife. She soon opened the door to usher them in. She was a pretty young woman, around 18 or 19 judging from her lithe appearance. "Yaroslav, who is this? And why is he clothed only in your overcoat?"

"I found him lying near the riverbanks, naked. I was kind enough to lend him this so that he didn't shiver to death."

"Ah, I see.", Chessa nodded. "Come in!"

Nikolai was soon ushered inside the house by virtue of a kind stranger. It was a spacious one, with ceilings pretty high at around 12 feet above their heads. Five children, two boys and three girls, frolicked on a soft wool rug like... well, children. "Danek, get this man a change of clothes.", Yaroslav said just as a teenage boy rushed into one of the rooms to fulfill his father's command.

After a few moments, Danek returned with a bundle of suitable clothes, which Yaroslav quickly handed to Sasha. "Put them on. Those are mine."

One minute passed. Nikolai was now wearing a simple green tunic, but it was better than nothing.

"So...", Nikolai began as Yareslav motioned for them to sit in the communal space. "Your name's Yaroslav, right?"

"That is correct.", he answered. "So."

Yaroslav leaned forward, his piercing blue eyes staring straight into Nikolai's grey. "How did you get there on that field?"

Nikolai hesitated. Would he tell this tribesman that he went to sleep after writing a book? No, a terrible tale would be better. There's no way that this person will understand what a phone is. Heck, it seemed that this was a different time entirely...

"I was kidnapped by slavers, but I escaped. Problem was we were all stripped beforehand, so that is why I was lying there in such a state..."

"That's terrible indeed...", Yaroslav answered sympathetically. "However, here in Yauzagrod, we do not have slaves. This is a place where all men are to be free."

"And the women?", Nikolai asked.

"Same goes for us.", Chessa answered in turn. "We realized long ago that slavery was such an unprofitable business when one really thinks about it."

Progressive ancient Slavs? Huh. Neat.

"So.. err... What exactly do you do in this city, sir Yaroslav?"

"Me?", he laughed. Yaroslav smirked, apparently humoured.

"I am the eldest son of the Lord of Yauzagrod, Jaromir the Builder!"

[Ah-eh-ioh-uh]

Marcio, Sato and one other set out for the wilderness to gather greenery. The three of them mostly gathered what they were missing or low on in their stores, baskets between them filling with plants. Sato kept both others safe from picking the wrong plants, avoiding anything that would adversely affect them with rash symptoms or stinging. Sato kept them from nearing nests of sting insects or dens of territorial animals. Much of what Marcio was familiar with was un-applicable save for a few species that were everywhere or invasive species of plants.

Marcio asked them about what plants they thought smelled the best and how they felt on the skin. They were of course puzzled by this and answered to the best of their ability. Sato being the most knowledgeable had rather lackluster experience with this, mostly familiar with the supposed medicinal properties of them, ignoring sensation altogether. A little disconcerting it was, seeing as the expert seemed to know little. If the expert knew little, Marcio being the lesser of them in this environment knew hardly anything.

Marcio mentioned to Sato that it might be prudent to broaden Marcio's knowledge on herb-lore with Sato's own wisdom, a suggestion which flattered the healer. Eventually they gathered all they could of local flora and headed back to the village. Marcio and them set their baskets full of plants in the shaman's work station and got to work devising how he should go about this.

After some time of thinking he decided on what to do. He cringed inwardly at what he had to do but doubted his gods could (assuming this wasn't all just some elaborate joke or illusion) send him back in time to live in fear of every danger and shy away from all risks. That's why he decided to make an announcement to be heard by the nearest villagers (Sato and the hunter) and the word spread about.



It soon was known that Marcio was in search of a brave youth, as the younger has better physical senses. Possibly more than one. Brave youths with good noses and dogs too. People with an interest in home crafts and healing. They had to be people who were "in tune with nature" (ie people with an interest in plantlife and herblore). They should gather to the healer's hut and he would choose (randomly really) any who would join him in the hut and experiment with gathered herbs. The stated purpose was to prepare to conjure up some strange "magic" of Marcio's and cast "blessings" on the village to improve health and vitality.

People were to volunteer their dogs who should have strong noses, Marcio thinking that maybe dogs could identify good smells and dangers that humans would miss. It was understood that these people were to be volunteers who came of their own free will and were to be in no way pressured by their parents or anything of that sort. He swore that failure to volunteer would not be counted against them or anybody in the village.

He also let it be known that there was a small danger in these experiments and it was unknown what might happen with rubbing sometimes scarcely understood plants on the body could do. The inhalation of herbal residues and concoction could have untold dangers that could not be understated. All people volunteering must do so at their own risk and he would be rather displeased if he were left with someone obviously pressured into his service.



Sato and the hunter began making trips throughout the village telling them of this plan, urging them to tell others in the village and spread the word. Calling on different huts and houses, the village would soon begin volunteering aspiring experimenters.

[Orostan]

Luoyang City - Aaron Dawson

The tax collection group rode down a thin dirt road through the forest, Aaron holding on for dear life to the back of the tax collector's horse as the rough ground shook him around. The collector had forced Aaron to get on the horse behind him, and the little cloth excuse for a saddle provided little comfort. Aaron guessed it was too early in history for a proper saddle. The laborers pushing the carts were struggling to keep up, the crude wooden wheels their carts were using doing them no favors. As they preceded down the road they passed other groups of tax collectors with carts. These collectors had only copper weapons and much more simple copper weapons. The carts they were supervising were also loaded with only copper items and pots, presumably containing rice or animal products. The use of bronze might be a lot less common then Aaron had originally thought. Now that he thought about it, Aaron had never seen bronze ingots ever made in the village. He'd only seen merchants come in with them. But Aaron didn't have much more time to think as the horse suddenly began to slow, along with the carts. The group had entered a large clearing, and Aaron could see to his sides that they were approaching a large wall, or what passed for a large wall in bronze (copper?) age China. The wall was only about two meters high, and was made of rammed earth with a spiked wooden fence along the interior providing a disincentive to anyone who would try to climb it. The tax collection group was passing the other groups, who were waiting in line in front of a wooden log gatehouse. The gatehouse was nothing too ornate, but the building had a few green and rough silk banners with the Dai symbol on them hanging from its sloped roof's sides. The building itself was only about four meters tall and five meters wide. The gap in the middle and gate itself were barely large enough for the carts to fit through. The guards at the gate house were also armed and armored only in copper, their equipment looking much more crude than the equipment of the collectors that Aaron was with.

Aaron's collectors passed through the line, one of the men ordering the carts to pass through quickly much to the annoyance of the cart pushers and collectors already waiting there. Ordering everyone else to move aside, the collectors went right past the gate guards. They were clearly superior in rank to them, and bureaucracy didn't apply to rank. Aaron caught a glimpse of a clay tablet and long thin writing stick on a simple table as they passed through. At least someone was literate in something that wasn't the word "Dai" around here. The group was now passing through a series of closely packed clay brick and wood log buildings. There was some metal work going on along the road - but Aaron could only see the color of copper on the simple anvils of the city's blacksmiths. There were also carts from tax collection passing through, heading in the same direction that the tax collectors were taking Aaron in. It was only now that the true reality of Aaron's situation was hitting him. He'd been thinking of this as more of a vacation than anything else, a break from the drudgery of job seeking. He expected to wake up on the train again after going to sleep some nights and had avoided thinking about what living in ancient China would actually entail. The government was to him an abstraction before now, and only now did it also begin to settle in that he was now living in a place where slavery was practiced and where brutality that would've been unimaginable in the USA was commonplace. Would he be stuck here forever? Had he died, and was this some version of hell?

The tax collection group was now passing through another wall. This one was made of logs, and was much higher than the outer wall. At least four meters tall, the entire wall was wooden logs with ends sharpened to form spikes. Here the tax collectors were let through without much of a fuss by the guards, who were again holding simple copper weapons and in simple copper armor. Inside the wall though there were much better armed soldiers in bronze armor and with bronze weapons around a large and ornate wooden log house. Aaron recognized the hilt of some of those weapons as the type that one of the craftsmen in Tan's village would make. He was too engrossed in his observation to notice the tax collectors getting off their horses before he was pulled off of the horse by the lead collector, almost falling to the ground. The collector was handed one of Aaron's iron swords by one of his men as he turned to Aaron. He'd probably gestured for it earlier or something, Aaron hadn't seen.

"Come on, come on. You've got to meet the Emperor."

Aaron was practically dragged towards the large log building, which Aaron now noticed featured copper and jade decorations suspended from long plant fiber ropes along the side of the building. The building itself had no door, and instead had a series of curtains and a jade bead curtain that Aaron didn't get a chance to look at before he was forced down into a kneeling position in front of a throne by the tax collector, who shortly afterwards knelt himself. The man on the throne was very old and quite a bit chubbier than anyone Aaron had seen so far. He was in red silk robes, which while rough and unevenly colored were certainly finer than anything else available. The only lighting in the room was two

One of his servants introduced him to Aaron.

"You are in the presence of Emperor Hui of Dai, who is descended from the great Yellow Emperor himself." said the servant, very matter-of-factly.

The tax collector, with his head bowed, then spoke to the Emperor. Aaron kept his head bowed too, for fear of the two men with very large bronze spears behind the Emperor.

"I have brought to you, my Emperor, a foreign metal worker who was employed by Tan Jun capable of producing a new and strong metal. The strongest metal in China, according to his smith Bai."

The Emperor coughed into his hand, and stood up with some difficulty. For a moment the light coming in between the gap between the entrance curtain illuminated the Emperors pale face. He didn't look very healthy to Aaron.

"Then show the metal to me, collector. I do not have all day."

The collector silently presented the iron sword to the Emperor, who then picked it up and turned it over in his hands.

"It is... unique. But I require proof of its strength. Prove it to me, outside."

The collector nodded, and the emperor's guards moved after their leader towards the curtains and off of the wooden platform that elevated the throne above the ground. After the Emperor and his guards has passed, the collector stood up and followed. Aaron, who was unsure of what to do, went after the collector. The Emperor hadn't even bothered to address him, was that a good or a bad thing?

Outside, the Emperor gave the sword back to the collector.

"Bring one of the training dummies, and demonstrate the sword" ordered the Emperor. Aaron examined him, careful to make sure he didn't look like he was staring or doing anything else that could have offended any of the very well armed men around him. The Emperor's skin was pale, more so than normal. His gait was also unsteady, and he relied on a cane at his side to walk anywhere. It wasn't long before one of his servants brought him a wooden stool to sit on as the collector brought in a dummy made of straw. The collector put the dummy in front of the Emperor, and put himself a few feet from the dummy. A few of the Emperor's servants had gathered near their leader to watch, and the guards were also paying attention to the demonstration. The first thing the collector did was put the iron sword on the ground, and use his bronze sword to cut a bundled straw arm off of the dummy. The sword cut through fairly easily, though Aaron could tell that the cut was rather rough as the bundle of straw fell to the ground. Next, the collector put his bronze sword down and picked up the iron one. He aimed for the other arm now. This cut was much smoother and quicker than the last, and resulted in another bundle of straw falling to the ground. The collector stood back and put his bronze sword back into his scabbard, and presented the iron blade to the emperor again.

The Emperor picked up the sword and looked to Aaron.

[Lazarian]

---

Mark Hoffman
Day Seven
Akershus, Republic of Norway

---

The only constants in this new world, Mark found, were exhaustion and hunger. Stirring fitfully on the dirt floor of the cabin, he closed his eyes, trying to fall back asleep. It wasn’t dawn yet. He still had a few hours of respite. Inwardly, he dreaded the sun's eventual rising - because at dawn, the real struggle started.

The last couple days had been a whirlwind. He’d managed to stuff his emotions deep inside and keep himself together, for the most sort. Ivar’s sons already thought he was a nutcase, and it wouldn’t help his cause for the other citizens of this town to think so as well. After his meeting with Skald, they’d left the market with a haul of dried fish in exchange for the fresh game, as well as Mark’s new citizenship. Apparently, these citizens of the Commonwealth had some sort of a bureaucratic democracy, with a parliament and written laws. Incredible. Beyond that, slavery was outlawed (to his great relief), and a man could speak his mind with few repercussions. For barbarians, they had a surprising amount of pride in their “rights” and “democracy”, which...was strangely inspiring.

Oddly enough, these primitive Vikings knew no organized religion. Ivar would occasionally mention spirits or folk gods, but the official decree of the Parliament and the Committee was that there were no such things. When Mark had pressed more on the subject of faith, Ivar quickly shut that avenue of discussion down. Apparently, speaking of such things was a good way to draw unwanted attention.

It was likely due to Imperium. From what he had gathered, the Imperium was another large nation. Most likely located around northern Germany, perhaps. They were likely relatively advanced, considering that they were large enough and populous enough to be deemed a threat, but Ivar claimed they were “an oppressive and foreboding presence on these fair lands”. And apparently they, and their strange religion, were completely unwelcome here. The topic seemed to trouble Ivar, and Mark didn’t want to endanger his relationship with his new...family, of sorts.

The aging farmer was a simple man, not overly focused on the geopolitical struggles of the day. He was illiterate, and since he lived a few miles out from the city, he wasn’t very involved in local politics either. His main hobbies were drinking in the pub with his friends on weekends (leaving his sons to run the farm) and hunting. Ideally, Mark would have chosen a different guide to this new world, but Ivar was better than nothing.

In retrospect, he'd really taken modern civilization for granted. He stank terribly. Dried sweat clung to his body like a disgusting coat, combined with a healthy sprinkling of dirt. It was impossible to avoid. They worked from the crack of dawn until evening, most days. Ivar was relatively wealthy, as far as the farmers in the hills were concerned - he had three cattle, a healthy flock of sheep (43 head), goats (22 head), and an ox. There were also hogs in a fenced pasture, as well as two house dogs that accompanied Ivar’s every footstep. There were two other farmhands, but they were shepherds with their own small residences, whose main responsibilities were maintaining the flocks. They grazed up further towards the mountain, and Ivar had dragged Mark up there to show them off.

Every day, the farmer (with Mark following close by) started the day off milking the cow into a wooden bucket of sorts. This was followed by bringing it for his wife to churn it into some sort of butter or cheese, followed by watering the barley fields, followed by checking the herds, followed by removing weeds, followed by going out into the woods to hunt for game, followed by endless task after task. It was brutal for Mark, who was completely unready for such labor. Every muscle ached and begged for relief, and he felt like he’d aged ten years in the last week.

It wasn’t all bad. There was a sort of sense of satisfaction to the work that he’d never had at the accounting firm. It was easier to work when your next meal depended on it. The food was mostly bread and root vegetables such as turnips, with some occasional dairy product, fish, or meat added in. It lacked seasoning and was quite gamey, but he wasn’t complaining. If he hadn’t stumbled into this settlement, he’d have starved to death or frozen in a day.

Ivar’s wife Frida was working on sewing him properly fitted clothing. The main material they used in their clothing was either skin from the rewards of their hunts, or flax linen made from bushels and bushels of the plant. She worked just like the men, although mostly on domestic tasks such as washing clothes or cooking the morning and evening meals. She didn’t like Mark at all - she was a bit of a bitch, he thought. Very sour and unpleasant, although Ivar treasured her deeply. Perhaps living in such standards your whole life would sour you a bit, Mark mused, but still. She was always unnecessarily rude to him, and it wasn’t his fault that he’d been naked when she arrived.

He didn’t feel very helpful - he lacked any real farming knowledge or skills, and the only thing he really contributed to the farm on a day to day basis was raw physical labor. And he was weak, compared to Ivar and his sons. But there was one area where he’d been able to excel. Their gardens had been, quite frankly, lazy. They’d scattered seeds into a plot, watered them, and called them a day. During his spare time, Mark had begun to construct a raised bed square foot garden. He’d had one of these in his own yard back in Hastings. These people had some brief understanding of composting, thankfully, and they’d collected manure for him to use. The soil here wasn’t terrible, although it wasn’t very rich and a little rocky. Ivar and his sons didn’t understand the point of what he was doing, but they’d understand when the harvest time came.

He’d managed to get the first plot constructed. It was about twelve feet long and four feet wide, raised about six inches, bordered by small logs and stones. They were hardly the Home Depot 2x6s he was used to, but the borders were functional enough. Then, he’d marked the square foot plots carefully, seeded them about an inch deep and two to four inches apart, as well as constructed a makeshift trellis with branches. Ivar and his family certainly had some stores, but Mark knew beans were a great source of calories that they were really underutilizing.

Internally, the wait for Clara’s letter was driving him insane. Skald had mentioned that he’d come up to the farm when he heard back from the other committee members...but how long would that take? He had no idea where the capital of the Commonwealth was, and no real understanding of how long it would take for a boat to transport that letter and make it back. For all he knew, it could be months before he heard back from another person like himself. Assuming that he wasn’t alone, of course. Maybe there was some nation that happened to be named Canada. He certainly hadn’t remembered any ancient civilizations named the Commonwealth, and surely he’d have heard about them if they’d developed crossbows so early. It wasn't out of the question that this "Canada" Clara hailed from was just an unlucky coincidence.

Regardless, he may as well do something useful while he waited. Ivar’s farm wasn’t bad, but there were a lot of areas for growth. He might not have been able to hunt or fish very well, but agriculture was something he could work with. There were plenty of projects and ideas that he could work on while he waited for her eventual reply.

That is, if the daily grind didn’t kill him first, of course.

[Spiritual Republic of Caryton]

The Prophet Marley Camdens

Sariah, Sertig Valley - Switzerland

---

The walled city has seemed to expand constantly, the temple's Moroni spire glittering in the sunlight coupled with the stained glass windows of the central church of The Church of Jesus Christ of Candor Saints meant the tree-lined and flower-adorned plains glistened in glory. The sounds of the bells tolling accompanied a rudimentary, primitive version of a pipe organ as the entire population of 3,000+ and a few more from neighboring Camdenite villages came into the central church for an address by the Prophet himself. The town's first generation of children had been exceedingly numerous even despite the low fertility rate due to the plural marriages, emphasis on reproduction, and a lucky streak. This second generation of saints had been treasured and held to believe everything Marley had taught with a beautiful enthusiasm. The congregation sang a multitude of Latter-day Saint hymns as well as new Camdenite hymns in English, the education of which had been going much more well than initially thought. The well-dressed men and women looked towards the marble podium as the yellow-caped and banded prophet rose. Tearful applause filled the building.

"Dearly beloved brothers and sisters." Marley began, lifting his head to his people. "I had never expected to be blessed with our Heavenly Father's gift. Sariah has become a beautiful settlement, and you shall be pleased to know that the gospel has taken roots not too far from our home. Nomadic parties and missionaries wander, attract more people. Small villages have churches built in them. We have a network of the Lord's goodness in our palms. I've fasted and prayed, and I come to the realization of this: the word of God and Jesus Christ will be spread far and wide, let it be us who does it. The Lord tells me of a future of massive iron buildings that pillar to the sky, moving fake pictures that corrupt minds, a race of our kind that slaughter and kill each other for the littlest of causes. This is... several thousand years from now. If we control the perception of our Savior to be more inclusive and loving-- we win both the present AND the future. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen."

His husband and wife clasped onto their twin boys' hands behind him as the congregation repeated. The toddlers cooed, leaning forward in their seats.

"It has been revealed to me that in order to spread this gospel which I testify is true-- that we must centralize and become a full nation, under the guidance of our church. Let it be known that on this day, the land of the Camdenites has been established with a population of at least 6,000, a clutch on a solid portion of the alps, a beautiful capital, an extensive network of missionaries, several small villages, and convert nomads who fall into the cracks where missionaries alone can not reach. By nightfall, our soldiers will venture out and draw borders, clear paths, and open spaces for the development of new settlements. Now, look into your pews for today's last hymn scroll. Let the organist and choruster direct our national anthem. Let us all sing along with the ward choir."

National Anthem of the Camdenites-- We Thank Thee, O God, For a Prophet

"We thank thee, O God, for a Prophet
To guide us in these latter days.
We thank thee for sending the Gospel--
To lighten our minds with its rays!

We thank thee for every blessing
Bestowed by thy bounteous hand.
We feel it a pleasure to serve thee
And love to obey thy command!

When dark clouds of trouble hang o'er us
And threaten our peace to destroy,
There is hope smiling brightly before us--
And we know that deliverance is nigh!

We doubt not the Lord nor his goodness
We've proved Him in days that are past.
The wicked who fight against Camdens
Will surely be smitten at last!

We'll sing of his goodness and mercy
We'll praise him by day and by night.
Rejoice in his glorious Gospel--
And bask in its life giving light!

Thus on to eternal perfection
The honest and faithful will go.
While they who reject this glad message
Shall never such happiness know!"


Loud applause filled the room, and a long sermon followed by sacrament and scholarship completed the meeting. Later that day, the borders of the Camdenites have been consoldiated, their claims made known by copper rods driven into the ground.

claims so far

[Europa Undivided]

Nikolai "Sasha" Sapohznik

One month later

An entire month had passed since Nikolai got himself under the tutelage of prince Yaroslav, who was apparently the successor to the leadership of this humble town. Jaromir the Builder, Yaroslav's father and ruler of this settlement, also ruled three other towns in the surrounding area, namely Staraya, Lavuchyev, and Viygrad. The other towns were smaller, with each of them having 60 inhabitants each, but they were still very similar to Yauzagrod in that they spoke the same tongue The four towns were connected to each other by the river, along whose banks they were built merely ten years ago by the Kolochin tribe under the leadership of Jaromir the Builder. They had found the soil near the riverbanks to be fertile, which was a good thing; a century ago, they had discovered that planting seeds en masse and then harvesting the produce that results was far more productive than hunting and gathering. The Kolochin thus decided to have permanent settlement, and over the years they have been slowly growing in number, though an epidemic and a famine wiped out one of their towns downstream. Still, four of the original five were still alive and well, and with all things considered, they were prospering.

Yaroslav seemed to have grown fond of the strangely cleanly shaven young man that he found in the field, and Chessa appreciated that the newcomer had brought some new methods in cooking the stew. It tasted better now that Nikolai was with them, and overall, Lord Jaromir had expressed pleasure in the arrival of Nikolai in Yauzagrod. He was also quite sympathetic; after all, the Kolochin did not like the practice of slavery, and Jaromir, old and sickly as he was, shuddered at the thought of slavers prowling near the settlements that they called home.

"So, err, I should keep the fire low while cooking this?", Chessa asked as Nikolai peered into the big pot that they were using to cook dinner.

"Yes.", Sasha answered as he daintily stirred the pot's contents with a big stick. "Too strong of a fire and we'll end up Burning the meat at the bottom. That stuff is not healthy at all should it be burnt."

"I see.", Chessa nodded as she took out a few of the pieces of firewood with another stick to reduce the fire. "Is that it?"

"Yes.", Nikolai answered. He then leaned over, sniffing in the aroma of the stew. "Now, if only we had spices from Indonesia and China, this will be perfect..."

"What?", Chessa asked, overhearing his mumbling.

"I was thinking of what else we can add in here to make it taste even better.", he replied as a cold breeze rushed through the open door. "But this will do for now."

"Okay, so how long will I keep it this way?"

"Hmmm... Poke the meat with a fork every few minutes. If it's soft enough to be pierced with one jab, it should be ready."

"Ah, okay."

Truly, being taken in by the prince was step up from the lives most people would have been living right now. When he walked outside, his modern nose would be twisted whenever one of the farmers that were back from work passed by; they stank of earth and animal. However, even though his senses were offended, he did his best now to show it. These people have been kind to him so far and even their rulers expressed his pleasure in having him as part of their household as something like adopted... how should he put it... Grandson? Yes, that's right.

Yaroslav was absolutely a big hearted man, and it shows. Other than taking in a total stranger that he found without hesitation, he was now teaching Nikolai how to use the bow and arrow, and luckily enough for both of them, Nikolai was a quick learner and could already hit a goat from fifty meters away in a week. They were becoming friends quite quickly.

The food wasn't so bad when he first came, and with his assistance in the kitchen, it just got better. He had always cooked for himself in dormitory back in New York using only scraps of meat, as he didn't trust instant noodles to be very nutritious at all. Now, when the young wife of his patron (and friend) was having trouble with adjusting the fire under the pot, he was always called by Chessa to help her. Chessa was never particularly good at cooking and was better off sewing, but she was dedicated to Yaroslav and was quite determined make him happy.

Either way, Jaromir, the man who had built the towns that dotted the riverbanks, was old and sick. Yaroslav was next in line, but the man was no ruler. He was a warrior; he was someone that will kick whoever he was directed to. Jaromir himself expressed worry that Yaroslav wouldn't be a very competent chieftain of the tribe, though his options were limited. His other children were mostly dead from miscarriage, and the only other one was a ten year old boy named Ilyich.

---

Four months later

"Nikolai, your suggestion for us to build a mill with that great wheel with buckets beside the river was such a swell decision! Now the grain is so much easier to grind with the river doing all the pushing for us!"

Nikolai only smiled at the elderly Jaromir as the Lord of Yauzagrod personally came in to the house of his eldest to give a simple congratulations. "Well, that is the least I could do to repay you people for your... kindness."

"I knew that bringing you in was a good omen.", Yaroslav said out of nowhere as he daintily bit off a piece from the wheat bread that he had in his hand, which happened to have been made from grains milled in the new watermill.

"Yes, and as you have demonstrated that you have quite a mine of ideas right there in your head, I will have a private space granted to you for all the planning and sketches you make.", Jaromir said. "I'd also like to add that the children have become healthier when we started boiling the water from the river as you suggested before drinking it."

"Well that's-"

"And the thing called pierogi that you made is BLOODY delicious! Make more of that, can you?"

Apparently, the elderly Jaromir was jollier than his age suggested. "Of course... You can count on it."

"Good, good.", Jaromir said, holding out his hand to place it on Nikolai's forehead. "Gods bless you, our boy."

---

Five months later

"Tell me, Nikolai.", Yaroslav said as Nikolai busily sketched what he vaguely guessed could work as a plumbing system. "Where did you get all of these... knowledge?"

Nikolai looked up at the tall Proto-Slav, unsure of what to answer. After a moment of silence, he replied. "The place from which I come from has... let's say, a high level of sophistication. It's called... Amerika."

"Amerika...", Yaroslav nodded in agreement. "Is that far away?"

"Very.", was Nikolai's answer as he set aside his sketch of a pipe for sewage and began to draw another thing, this time an earthen kiln that would serve the purpose of firing bricks and heating up metal, though the cold climate would make it hard to bake bricks under the sun.

"I would like to visit this Amerika someday, to see how it's like.", Yaroslav said sheepishly. "If everyone had the same amount of ideas that you have, we'll be so much greater..."

"Yes. Greater.", Nikolai thought to himself as he continued his sketch of what he guessed could work as a blacksmith's fire. "And they should have a stable somewhere..."

It had been five months since he came to Yauzagrod. In the first few weeks, he had been scared of what the future could hold for him. For all he knew, Vikings could come in and slaughter everyone. However, as time passed, he had come to be at home with the Kolochin. They were a kindly people who had no objection whatsoever with his sudden arrival; in fact, they had celebrated when the people at large heard that Yaroslav had brought a former slave to sure freedom within the walls of Yauzagrod.

Considering all of this, Nikolai found that this existence was actually... Better. Better than the unsatisfactory life he led back in Vermont. He may have began studying in his second course, but he had lost interest in so many things. But to see that there were people that were genuinely interested in him... That was better.

[Elerian]

Danial Adiputera

He rubbed the sleep sand from his eyes, and gave a yawn that caused an alarming popping noise in his jaw. He had never found it easy to sleep the night before a fight. Fear and excitement would always boil up like the foul broths that passed for soup in Teluk. How could someone in his position not dwell on the risks associated with fights? In the same instant, Danial couldn't imagine a life without the excitement that came with the thrill of a fight. But, his last fight had been an exception to this rule. He’d killed a man. And not just any man, but the chieftain of the Pok.

When he’d been swamped by their warriors after he’d impaled their chieftain, he thought for sure he was dead. But no, they’d beaten the hell from him, but he was still alive for one reason or another. When he’d come to, he found himself atop a pile of bedding, peering at the ceiling and hoping that this had all been one big nightmare. Instead, the nightmare continued.

He didn't pray. He’d never seen the value in whispered invocations to gods who seemed content to ignore the suffering of mankind, or, worse still, to exacerbate it. He believed in one god, and one god alone, and the god in question was of flesh and blood. He was his own god. He had little need of anything else.

A few days had passed in the Pok village with seemingly little happening. Today however, he’d been hauled with little care to the center of the village. Maybe today was the day he would die. Glancing around, Danial spotted a group of men deep in conversation with one he’d identified as the old chieftain’s son. He was tempted to call out and ask what was to happen to him, but years as a martial artist had taught him the value of patience. Irritating his captors wouldn't accomplish much, especially when he wasn’t sure of their plan. Nonetheless, he couldn't resist the urge to gawk at the men. They seemed so very much like the people from Teluk, but also different in many small ways.

He could only guess at what they were discussing, he was not a skilled lip reader, to say the least, though he did his best.

Then their talking ceased, Danial couldn’t help but grimace as a handful of them walked over to him. Truthfully, he was pleased for the monotony of the last few months to be over, even if that meant his death. The superstitious folks of Teluk maintained that spirits were real, and haunted them if proper rituals were not followed, not that Danial really believed in all that. All the same, if he came back as a ghost, he would be sure to haunt these bastards to the end of their days.

Instead, they cut loose his bonds and hauled him back on his feet. Danial was confused to say the least.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

One of the men spoke up, “the Teluk will give a great deal for your return, so we have agreed to give you back.”

Well shit.

[Ah-eh-ioh-uh]

Soon enough some dozen or so people had gathered outside the healer's hut, men, women and youth alike.

They jabbered Miller among themselves for a short time before Marcio came to address them. He had asked that the oak tree branch he had first been spotted with be brought from the forest to him. Marcio told them he would be divining among them just to consider. Really it was more randomness than fate but that mattered little when the ceremony drew attention.

Marcio closed his eyes and turned in place in meditation as he called on Odin to guide his oak branch to a potential candidate. Eventually he "dowsed"/"divined" somebody, a small green bloom appearing in his mind as the oak branch pointed somewhere. He opened his eyes to examine the candidate and looked at them for a good long time and decided to try them out a little. He spoke with the youth and his parents, eventually deciding their motivations seemed pure enough to allow.

After that he went about the crowd and interacted with the dogs volunteered and examined their dispositions, rejecting one to examine another, quickly finding a suitable one. Scheduling and other concerns were addressed and they agreed that Sato should be with them when they experimented. They decided that an odd hour or two later they would converge and begin, preparations should be made and things discussed in that time.

[Orostan]

Month Two, Day 15 - Aaron Dawson

The Emperor's Commission

Aaron had been 'asked' by the Emperor of Luoyang to produce iron weapons. Aaron was well aware of the unsaid consequences of refusing a job from the man with all the weapons. The Emperor was sick anyways, and it probably wasn't long until Aaron could deal with a more reasonable employer. As it was, Aaron had been given a work force of about a hundred slaves to develop an iron industry. However, he had been given no mines. In fact, he'd been told that all the metal they had was found in tunnels barely qualifying as mines or taken from rocks close to the surface. The bronze Aaron had been working with was actually an incredibly valuable commodity with the only source of tin being rocks with the ore scattered around. Bronze production itself was closely guarded and secretive, with the kilns and smelters where bronze was produced being within their own small compound, concealed from the public. Aaron was given essentially full control of bronze production with the title the Emperor had given him. "Master of Metals" or something equally as important sounding. While Aaron hated slave labor he was not going to squander this opportunity, and through his contact with the Captain of Luoyang's military garrison, Aaron had the beginnings of real ambition growing in him. This Captain was also the one who was personally overseeing Aaron's work, and Aaron had taken care to ensure that he would be in a position to requisition the first iron weapons Aaron produced. Right now the hundred laborers he had were building bellows and clay blast furnaces. The guards kept careful watch on them, occasionally disciplining slow workers much to Aaron's displeasure. Aaron wondered if he'd have been a slave if he'd been born in this time period. Hopefully when he got the Captain off his back he'd be able to reform these labor practices. Maybe he could play some politics with this too, he was sure developing a reputation as a good employer in a world of slavers could help him later.

Right now Aaron was sitting on a stool drawing up instructions for his smiths. The first weapons he'd produce here would be halberds, something the Captain leering over his shoulder was very interested in. The halberd, or ji in Chinese, would be made to mirror actual Chinese halberds from 'real life'. The tip of the polearm would be a long spear shape with another blade jutting out at 90 degrees at the middle of the blade. The bottom half of the blade would be mostly used for structural support for the halberd's tip, which would be tied to a wooden pole using some of the plant based rope material Aaron had seen on spears around here. The Captain kept breathing down Aaron's shirt, and leaned in uncomfortably close to take a look at the plan for the ji.

"Are you done yet? I want to have my men armed already." The Captain said, examining the outline of the ji on the clay tablet.

"Captain, you haven't even told me your name yet and your men keep beating my laborers."

The Captain smiled, but not in a friendly way.

"Excuse me, your excellency. My name is Captain Zhu Xue. My men are only here to ensure your productivity, as you know.", the Captain said.

Aaron set down the wood stylus he was using on the clay tablet.

"You'd do better to go out and find me ore. This -"

Aaron gestured to two small piles of coal and iron.

"Will not last me long."

The Captain looked to the half build clay blast furnaces and frowned slightly.

"I see your point, Aaron. But you should remember who those... halberds belong to." said the Captain, the unfamiliar weapon's name more falling off of his tongue than rolling.

The Captain then walked away, finally and much to Aaron's relief to speak to his men. In short order, the soldiers began to filter out of Aaron's workspace. The slaves were confused that the soldiers were leaving, and work had slowed on the blast furnaces and bellows. Aaron would have to speak with them. So, he stood up and began to call the workers over.

"Hey, everyone! Come over here and sit down!" yelled Aaron over the developing chatter between the workers.

The slaves began to set down their tools or clay bricks and move over to Aaron. Before long, Aaron had a group of confused slaves, some nursing wounds given to them by the soldiers. Aaron grimaced. Absolutely disgusting. He hoped nobody was seriously injured. By now the slaves had sat down and were, rather confused, gazing at Aaron. Aaron took a deep breath, and began to speak.

"The soldiers will only be coming back to deliver ore for our furnaces. You won't be hurt again." he said, his eyes going from one worker to another. Some of the workers cracked a smile.

"I don't want to see my workers hurt, and I'm sure you don't either. I am no good at flowery language, so I'll try to make this simple. I can only protect you if you will work for me. So I am asking you to help me fulfill my, uh, obligations to the Emperor. I can't force you to, but that Captain sure would like to." Aaron said as he pointed over his shoulder in the direction the Captain had gone.

He took a deep breath again, and continued. A hundred pairs of eyes would make anyone nervous.

"So I am asking you, not ordering you, to help me and perhaps help yourselves in the process. Metal working is an, uh, a valuable skill you'd benefit from learning. That is all."

The workers began to stand up in slightly better spirits than when they sat down.

"Oh! Would the injured workers please stay for a moment? I'll go get a... doctor..." Aaron added as a group of bruised and bleeding workers moved closer to him.

[Ah-eh-ioh-uh]

Marcio spoke with Sato for some time, telling him of his plans as best as he thought prudent, much to the healer's confusion. Marcio still needed to keep his actions somewhat mystical in appearance so he painted it as some sort of esoteric knowledge he would experiment and teach. The mundane explanation of it was, he planned to teach the villagers about hygiene and sanitation. He needed to learn and experiment more with herb lore and eventually get to manufacturing hygiene and beauty products for the village. His experience and business as a freelance spiritual healer back home involved selling home made, organic products out of his home online and to the community.

Basically he would begin manufacturing the first soaps and body brushes of the village. He saw no reason to limit himself there and decided to look as far as shampoos and conditioners. He would introduce the first hair combs and brushes too. He might as well branch into toothbrushes and toothpaste while he was at it, mouthwash and floss too. He would teach the people about cleanliness and introduce the idea of laundry, teach them about how hygiene and disease worked. Marcio wanted to rid the village of flies, lice, bed bugs and all other such icky creatures and get these people to stop being so ashy. He didn't want people defecating in the "streets" and would eventually have to work with them to figure out waste management.



Marcio saw Sato was confused by much of this as he began explaining so he decided to say it was something along the lines of spreading the magic and rituals of purification. It kind of was really. This of course made Sato very uncomfortable. Marcio seemed ready to displace him as the village's apothecary by the sounds of his plans. And he kind of was. He did not hide that he planned to have an industry selling hygiene and beauty products to the village and beyond. He was not duplicitous in this. He admitted that it might not stop at hygiene and beauty products, for all he knew, he might decide to start selling all sorts of other kind of plant based items. However, he told Sato he did not expect Sato just help obsolete himself. He would be and be portrayed as a guiding figure in Marcio's work and business. He would be a business partner, help in the experiments and receive a reasonable cut of the profits.

The concept of profit baffled Sato but Marcio was able to allay his worries by indicating that it would be like a man who trades well with many different people, having to give away equal to or less than he gave, (but even better and more advanced). Marcio reassured him that he would not glorify himself in a way that painted him as obsoleting Sato's role but rather be seen more equivalent as opposed to inferior. Marcio had his doubts that he would spend the rest of his life in this path in life and when Marcio felt he had created a solid business and industry, Sato would be put in charge and handle that industry from there on. Few would ever need investigate who was TRULY the boss of the industry.



How soon Marcio would hand over the reigns was variable and if Sato showed enough innovation and talent, Marcio may leave to pursue other interests sooner rather than later. Sato and Marcio discussed what sort of materials they would need for all their ideas. It was soon agreed that perhaps the scope of these experiments ranged beyond just a couple of volunteers and would indeed need possibly ALL available volunteers. Some people's bodies reacted to things differently. Certain parts of the body were more sensitive than others and that wasn't even accounting for allergies. They would need to test different concoctions on many people in different ways so they would need more than what they had.

Soon enough the word spread that pretty much all original volunteers were welcomed to work with them, it was implied that attempting to be the best at the job was something favorable. But for now they were told to decide amongst themselves who would come into the hut as it could only take so many bodies working in it. Just a few people and dogs. Parents and other people close to the volunteers were welcomed to supervise but should know that again, the work involved many and limited space.



Soon, a few youths and dogs crammed into the hut with relatives chatting patiently outside. Some of course were anxious and apprehensive about letting their loved ones be experimented on by some stranger who may very well be a demon. Of course, the idea of being prestigious enough to be a part of the movement that blessed their village with the supposed end result of health, wealth and joy was too good to pass up.

Material compensation and assurances of restitution in case of the possibility of sickness or accident helped. Besides that, they were a bit reassured that Sato seemed on board with this and who better than the village shaman to supervise the Yokai in case it intended or did harm somebody? Sato was indeed a trusted, well respected member of the community and a long time friend of many families of the community. They could put their faith in him to keep their loved ones safe.



People began talking in the hut, strategizing, hypothesizing and the sniffing different herbs. The herbs were passed about and everybody (Sato in particular) shared what was known about those plants in particular. One person sniffed one plant and was asked what it was like, questioned on if there were any effects that hadn't been revealed thus far. The plant would then be passed around to try by somebody else. A small community formed outside the shaman's lodge as people sat down with others waiting on the volunteers outside. (Some just left do handle other business). People sat down and food began to circulate outside, as was water.

Eventually the experiments left the confine of the house interior and different things were attempted with the plants. This was to say, a plant would be rubbed on the elbow, for instance, to see what it did/what it felt like. They would soon be trying rubbing plants on different body parts but soon enough the shaman was reminded of the reason why he hadn't taken up to building a science lab before now. This shaman had many responsibilities and one of them shockingly, was to treat the ill. They couldn't just run experiments all day long, actual healing and spiritual work would at least occasionally need doing. The shaman was a spiritual counselor, doctor and other things rolled in one and the room needed to be vacated when some passed out body was dragged to the hut through the small gathering formed outside the place.

Now Sato, Marcio, the patient and others involved were alone in the room, experiments paused for the moment.

[Khasinkonia]

Emmalynn Leisaghiou ar Nola
Le Boulot

I’d been enjoying school more over the past year, but that did not detract from the simple fact that it was still school I was coming home from. Academic rigour at the best school in the state was nothing to sneeze at, and my early wakeup to catch the bus certainly didn’t help the situation. But it was worth it to be on top of work and to look decent going in every day. My new year’s resolution, after all, was to try to wear eyeliner as often as possible, and between my hair and that detail, the time I needed to get ready was subject to a good bit of variability. Four to five hours of sleep per week-night was not great, but the bus offered me another half-hour or so to catch a nap. It was a better place to nap than calculus.

Nodding off without a pillow or a bed or a comfortable chair hadn’t been something I was great at in the past, but the bus had helped significantly lower my standards. I’d slump into the corner made by the seat and the side of the bus, and shrug my shoulders so my head could rest on them and on the seat. I put a knockoff airpod in my left ear as I pressed the button to turn it on, and then brought up Brol La Suite. Flou played. I closed my eyes, and let the music and the hum of the bus lull me to sleep. As La Loi de Murphy started playing, I fell asleep, expecting to be snapped awake by the next pothole.

---

Wrong Pothole

As consciousness came to me, the very first thing I noticed was the rough feeling on my side. I lifted my head and pulled the hair out of my mouth before my vision came into focus. Well, more like “focus.” Where was I, and where were my glasses? I sat up more, and where were my clothes? I didn’t recognise anything around me. How did I even get here? Considering that I could feel coarse dirt on my hip, this almost definitely wasn’t a dream. But how did I get here? How did it happen. I wasn’t going to find out by sitting in this ditch. I stood up, and looked around with squinted eyes. The bus driver should’ve woken me up. They wouldn’t have just tossed me out, and, even if they did, it wouldn’t have been so far away from the city. And I definitely wouldn’t be naked. I would’ve definitely woken up if someone took my clothes off. So how in the hell did this happen?

I massaged my temples as I tried to get my bearings. If I couldn’t find my glasses, my life was going to be hell for a while. It had only been a few minutes and I could well feel the strain in my eyes. In one direction, I could see a large murky river, or, at least, what seemed to be a river. It seemed I had woken up in a clay ditch, based on the greyish stain on my hip and elbow. There were some scattered ditches and ponds, and green and brown brush all around, with not a tree in sight. Had I known better, I could’ve sworn it was summer in the Newfoundland highlands. But that didn’t make sense. I couldn’t have been brought that far, right? Maybe I was on the North Shore? But still, that meant crossing the Huey P. Long Bridge. And that still didn’t explain why I was stark naked with absolutely nothing at my disposal. There was a large river here, and as it otherwise seemed like I was in the middle of nowhere, I figured there was only one thing to do.

I set out in one direction, and opted to follow the pathway until I found something. Anything. It was a bit cool, and it seemed like it was morning. Hopefully I’d find something before it got brisk. I rubbed my arms as I trudged along the banks of the river for what felt like at least an hour, maybe two. I was just about to start wondering if I could eat anything around here when I spotted what seemed to be a figure squatting just in the river. I approached, and was greeted with a loud “SSSH.”

I stepped closer, close enough to see that the figure, which seemed to be a guy, had matted dirty-blonde hair, and a strong shoulderline.

“You’ll scare them away,” he said quietly. It didn’t sound like he was speaking English, French, or Chinese, but I understood him somehow. I heard a dental fricative and no words that sounded Germanic, which made me think that we might be speaking a Celtic language. But it didn’t sound Celtic either. What other white-people languages had dental fricatives?

“Scare what?” I asked after a pause

“Nunaa, you can’t be…” he replied as he turned to look at me. He was quiet for just a second before saying, “You’re not Nunaa.”

“Who’s Nunaa?” I asked.

“My younger sister,” he said.

I nodded, and asked, “Where’s your fishing pole?” to which he replied promptly, “What’s a fishing pole.”


“You don’t know what a fishing pole is?”

It turns out, he didn’t. He didn’t know about a lot of things, it turned out. Just where was I? This dude was fishing with a weird handmade net, and had no clue about bait, fishing poles, or anything to the tune of that.

“So...where is this?” I asked after we sat for a while.

“The Virtuous Land, and it’s been called for the past...decade, I think?” he responded.

I’d never heard of anything like it before. Icedonia? That didn’t make any sense.

“Well...what’s this river called?” I asked.

“Aerbaker. Well, my family still calls it the Dark River, but the official name is the river Aerbaker,” he replied.

I nodded slowly. Dark river. Black river? Amur River? Was I in Outer Manchuria?

“So...out of curiosity…is there an island off the coast of where the river ends?” I asked.

“No, though we are an island.”


Dark river. Island. Thames. River Thames. I was in the United Kingdom. But the word for Dark didn’t sound remotely like Thames.

“Where did you say we were again?”

“We’re in the Virtuous Land,” he repeated, “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No, I am not,” I affirmed.

“So where are you from?” he asked.

“Have you ever heard of the New World?” I responded.

“Never,” he responded, “So then what do they call you? I’m called Panak.”

I thought for a second. If I was in this bizarro world, why not change up my name a little?

“I’m Emmalynn Leisaghiou ar Nola,” I replied.

“So you’re from Nola?” he asked, “Where’s that? It sounds like a big place if you have two names.”

This was getting really strange. I tried to fish and see if he had any clue about the Western Hemisphere, but he had no clue. He asked me to stop talking for a while so he could fish, and he asked me to hold the fish he caught. When he concentrated, he was a very effective fisherman. I stayed near him for some time, and sat on a log along the bank as I pondered how exactly I’d come to be in this situation. And, given the situation, how I was to survive. I was going to be in a weird place hormonally if there were no ways to obtain supplements here, and it looked like there wouldn’t be, if

“Courting someone from the city, Panak?” a girl’s voice called.

He scoffed, and replied, “No, we’d have to feed her too much!”

She nodded, and responded, “Well, is she staying with us?”

I interjected, “May I? I’m afraid I have nowhere to go.”


“Take her and see if we can get something to put on her,” he replied.

Nunaa and I walked together for a few kilometres before we arrived at a farmstead with fields that looked barren. It was springtime though, as far as I was aware, which meant they probably had just planted. Nunaa brought me to see her mother, who promptly fed me some bread, and tried to figure out how to clothe me. As they had little in the way of spare clothing, all they could spare was some linens that they were planning on fashioning into proper tunics. With one of the linens wrapped around me like a towel, I sat on the floor while Kiran, Nunaa’s mother, did a poor-man’s tailor job to properly fit it to me.

After a bit of conversation, Kiran stopped talking to me, and commented,
“You know, I think I know what to do with you. Are you familiar with the Accantry?”

“No…” I replied.

“Well, Emmalynn, if you’re going to need a place to stay, the Accantry is what you’re going to want to join. And we’ll help you, but you need to tell them that you came from us. The Roeginga estates. Remember that, and I’m sure you’ll be well cared for.”

I nodded. This was strange, and it was only getting stranger. Maybe the Accantry would help me. Maybe I’d get some proper answers.

[Alaroma]

The Kingdom of Aksum:
“The Politics of Politics”

---

King Emmanuel
2975 BCE

I had seen days and nights go by, and as I aged, watched the world change before my eyes. The comparably humble village of his youth turned into the capital of an entity that spread miles upon miles. And the Gods had thought it not only appropriate, but fitting, to make me it's ruler.
It was a warm enough day, and mid morning. I was at home. It was a grand enough building of stone and concrete. It had hallways, washing rooms, lounging areas, kitchens, and bedrooms. It was actually frustrating at times. On one hand, it was new, and larger than the building I had married my wife and raised children in. Yet, what wife did I have? What children did I have to raise? The irony being, at nights, it was so terribly lonely. However I knew this grand house wasn't actually built for me. It was built for 'the King of Aksum.' Future kings would have children, and wives.

The bright spot for me at least that there was always activity during the day. Who was currently taking up my time? Edna, who was holding her youngest, Mathew. It was mostly friendly conversation.

"I don't know, what do you think about all the changes lately?" She asked me, causing me to snort.
"It's your husband helping all these changes isn't it? Though……..I occasionally miss the simpler times. Then again, those days were more uncertain. Though what I miss most was your mother…….." I responded. We were sitting on some couches made with leather covering, and I can feel myself sliding into my chair thinking about her.

"Yeah, we all miss mom………" she'd sadly note, and we settle into an awkward silence.
"Anywho, what are you guys doing now around Axum?" She'd ask me, and I took a moment to consider that.

"What, doesn't your husband talk to you about this sort of stuff?" I'd ask her, causing a frown on her face."Well of course he does, but sometimes I wanna hear some things from you. You are the King after all, not Andrew." That was true enough.

"Well, Andrew practically comes to me with things he wants to try, and lately, we've seen a lot of building projects we wanted to go over. Mostly I've been seeing overseeing lots of efforts to build roads, and more importantly, build ships." I told her, which caused a bit of interest.

"Ships? I've heard about them, and I've always wanted to ride them. Remember when we visited the coast together when Adulis joined the Kingdom? And we saw some Sumarian ships? I wanna ride one." She said, and the memory came rushing back. The smell of salt, the happy locals, the slightly eccentric local chief, and the impressive Sumarian ship in harbor.

"Yup. Some of Ur-Sundor's accompanying 'friends' are helping the building process, and we've already got river boats. I think there's lots of trade to be had." I picked up a gold coin from the table, inspecting it. "Useless stuff really, but the Sumarians can't get enough of it."

Edna looked a little perturbed about what I had just said, and I folded my arms. "What, girl?" I asked her. She focused on Mathew for a moment, avoiding answering the question. The little boy had his arms outreaching, almost demanding Edna's attention. "I just don't know how I feel about all the Sumarians running around. They're a greedy People………..and you married Aklilu off to one of them too…….."

Realizing what this was really about, he sighed. "Edna, what have you against Ur-Sundor? She's ten years your junior, and yet you give her 'the cold shoulder', as Andrew might say. Wouldn't teaching her the ways of Aksumite women be more prudent?"

"I doubt she cares about anything of that, father. I'm sorry………. but she's just not like other women. I can feel she looks down on us. She looks down on me too, I can feel it." She tried explaining to me, and frankly it sounded utterly ridiculous."I think you're being a tad…….. unreasonable, dear. You're seeing things that aren't there." I told her gently, however she had a look as if she was restraining herself from saying something.

"And father, I believe you're not willing to see how she is. Trust me, women know these sorts of things. And believe me, I know a snake in the grass when I see one." She told me, and I could see the girl genuinely distrusted the Sumarian. I should really nip this while I can.

"Edna-" I began, but I didn't get to finish my sentence. A happy looking Genbe walked in the room, his distinctive graying beard complementing his old eyes. He looked between me and Edna. "Morning you too." He looked to Edna, and gave her an apologetic look. "I'm so sorry niece, but me and your father have some serious governing matters to discuss."

I couldn't tell for sure, but I felt I saw a brief look of annoyance and then relief went through her face. "Oh it's no problem at all Uncle. I'll just make my way back home now I suppose." She got up, and came over my way placing a kiss on my cheek. I did the same to her and Mathew. "Love you father, we'll talk more soon." After briefly hugging Genbe too, Edna made her way out of the room.

Genbe sat down, and I looked outside the window. There I could see Edna walking with the bouncing 2 year old in her arms. I sigh, before turning to Genbe. He obviously saw something in my face that spelled trouble. "What's got your face looking so ugly brother? Better to get it off your chess now before we get to other things. It have to deal with Edna?"

Sighing at that, I let him have the truth. “The girl has ill feelings over her sister-in-law, and refuses to take her in as a sister. I don’t know why, but she’s gotten it in her mind that Ur-Sundor is looking down on the lot of us. It either comes from a distrust of the Sumarians, or Edna just doesn’t like Ur-Sundor. Either way, I feel like it could become a problem later on.”

Genbe grunted, before nodding in agreement. “Yeah, the girl had always seemed cold when around Ur-Sundor. And Ur-Sundor for her part seemed aloof, not really caring over the matter.” The old statesman rubbed his beard, adding “Think we should talk to their husbands over it?”
“Gods, no! Do we really want Andrew meddling in this sort of thing? Or Aklilu worried that his sister hates his wife? Frankly, if Ur-Sundor doesn’t even realize she’s attracted Edna’s ire, the better probably. Though I do reckon we need to lead her on to being closer to what Edna might appreciate. That, and have Edna actually spend time with the girl. She could very well come up with nonsense, or seeing things she doesn’t see.” Genbe nodded, realizing I wanted to keep the low intensity dispute quiet.

“Well, I suppose you can talk to them later.” Genbe said, not sure what to add. “You know Edna better after all, so I trust you’ll handle it.” I nodded, saying “Of course……..anywho, what’s on the agenda today?”

“Well, it has become increasingly apparent that the Kingdom’s management needs some streamlining and organizing. ‘Bureaucracy’ as Andrew had termed it. As such, we’ve gone through some ideas, and taken some inspirations from Sumer as well." Genbe said, pulling out a board with some paperwork attached.

"Okay, so I'm assuming this will help with the Census and Organization? What do you have in mind?" I asked, scratching the back of my head.

"Well, the Department of Taxation. The Department of Architecture and Public Projects. The Department of Agriculture. The Department of Justice. The Department of the Census. The Department of Trade. The Department of Foreign Dealings. Finally, the Department of the Royal Guard." Genbe said breathlessly, and I simply blinked at him.

"I think I have an idea of what all that is, but please go over each one of those. If you please." I told him, to which he smiled and nodded.

"Of course. Well the first one is the Department of Taxation. In this, we organize the work gangs, the people working in them, the projects undertaken, and the like. It also takes into account taxes paid through other means, such as agricultural products, livestock, land, and increasingly gold by Sumarians. Not a bad thing to have when the State wants something out of the International arena." Genbe explained. I looked at the gold coin I was still holding, flipping it as the heavy metal dropped into my hand.

"Go on." I said simply, and so he did. He looked at his paperwork quickly, before going on.
"While the Department of Texation handles the gathering of resources, and the assignment dedicated, the Department of Architecture would develop plans for Architecture projects, and the ranged from the simple and important roads, to Government buildings and defenses, to some very interesting……proposed ideas. Hot Baths, Sewer Systems, Aqueducts. I'll need to explain what those are later, but they do sound interesting. I doubt they'll come about in our lifetimes unfortunately…… but you never know. We've certainly been proved wrong on that account before." Genbe continued, and that all sounded actually quite useful. People to organize and develop these projects? Gods, I can remember where a lot of these projects were Andrew's fever dreams.

"Okay, I'm intrigued. Continue on." I told Genbe, who indeed continued.
"The Department of Agriculture does a few things. It keeps track and maintains our food stores. It will also manage our work gangs, help work out land boundaries, estimate the types and quantities of food being produced in Aksum, and helping to address problems that may come across our farmers. It will also estimate the size of herds of livestock, live stock types, and the such." Genbe said, explaining the Department of Agriculture.

Thinking about it, Genbe was rather intrigued with how much theoretical power that department had. It decided in essence which properties were worked first among other things. Nodding for Genbe to continue, Genbe took his cue.

"Alright, next is the Department of Justice. This department will help draft laws, interpret them, set up local Courts and Judges, as well as it's vessels handling legal disputes and general crimes. From dealing with a thief, to a land dispute. As such, this department is also in charge of keeping up with criminals made into laborers, and what departments they get assigned to. You'll have to, or local Governors, assign Judges."

This seemed to be an evolution of what he previously had with our courts, a way to mediate between me and more local powers. Something I think we can appreciate. "As far as this Department of the Census, I'm guessing it handles the Census?" I asked Genbe, who chuckled and nodded. "Well, yes, it does." He replied before going on.

"The Department of Trade handles Tariffs and dealing with products coming in and out of the Kingdom. This was brought up by Andrew, and the Merchants seem to back it. I think he's worried about foreign influence in this regard. That also leads to the Department of Foreign Dealings. On one hand this deals with, well, Summer. On the other hand, it deals with settlements and tribes on our periphery, as well as them joining, trading, and at times defying us. This unsurprisingly leads to the Department of the Royal Guard……" Genbe began, before I intervened.

"Isn't that what Andrew has been calling his troops lately?" I asked him, which Genbe nodded. "Andrew feels the need to make a difference. The Royal Guard being the standing troops inside of Aksum, that protect, patrol, do public works, most notably road building, and of course offensive actions. This department's head is Andrew, however it's at your full discretion. This is different from the so called "Grand Army of the Kingdom of Aksum", which would call on the levies of men all across the Kingdom to assemble. It also goes without saying that this army can only be assembled in times of crisis. These make up self defense units in various Settlements. Due to what Andrew has been up to, training regimens have been put in place all across the Kingdom. It's not as good as Andrew's Royal Guard, but he thinks it's enough to form an army. The catch with assembling this army is that it requires the approval of the Senate. It's the only practical way. The Royal Guard however, well, you can do whatever you want with it." Genbe explained, going through the last departments.

"All right, and this us all to add to the Kingdom's efficiency?" I asked Genbe. "Yeah, Andrew called it 'dreadfully Statist', whatever that means, but necessary for the State's function. It only helped some Sumarians are here to help us out with this project. Either way, this all said, the Senate needs to pass Resolutions supporting this before you release any Royal Edicts on the matter. Frankly I'm not sure why Andrew gives so much credit to those pricks in the Senate when you technically don't have to listen to them, but here we are. Anywho, I'm here for you to sign off on all of this. Senate is in session this week." Genbe said, to which I nodded.

Whatever Statist' meant aside, I thought this all sounded like a fair idea. "I'm guessing we're going to have local agents all over the place to make this work, huh?" I asked, to which Genbe nodded. "You'd be absolutely correct older brother, that's what that means."

"Of course I'm correct, I'm king." I said. Genbe rolled his eyes at that, before saying "We'll probably have to discuss these all more in depth later with others, but giving this all approval is a start. Anywho, I should start getting the details written down for the senate-" he'd say, standing up. "-and you should get a hold of that daughter of yours. Oh, and by the way, Aklilu has been promoted by Andrew to a squad leader in the Guard."

I smiled at that last bit. "Good for him! 3 years of hard work, paid off. He should be proud of himself. I'll need to tell him that myself later. They're all in town, after all." Genbe nodded, saying "That they are. Go say hi, I'm sure he's with Ur-Sundor. Cause where else would my 18 year old nephew be? With stinky men, or his young wife?"

I snorted at that, saying "Alright, get out of here old man, I've got my share of things to get to." His mouth dropped at that. "Old man? When did I become the old one?" He demanded of me.
"When you grew old hair. Unlike me of course." His eyes narrowed at me. "Emmanuel, you don't have any hair……"

I laughed at that, saying "That might me true, but there are younger men than me without hair as well!" Scoffing, he waved his hand in dismissal. "Yeah, whatever brother. I'll leave you to your activities….." With that, he made his leave out my house as well. A time to make a sigh of relief…...or I would have, if another official hadn't immediately came in the door after he left. The life of a king, I suppose.

[Lazarian]

---

Mark Ivarsson
Dawn of the 30th Day
May 16th, AS 18

---

As the days passed, Mark began to slowly but surely acclimate to his new life. Rise at the crack of dawn. Eat a simple breakfast. Milk the cattle. Check the livestock pens. Gather firewood. Complete task after task after task. Eat a rich and hearty dinner at night. Sit by the hearth, listening to Ivar explain the world they lived in.

And, as of yesterday, sow the fields.

Ivar and his sons had around three large fields, perhaps an acre each. Two were currently growing barley, while the third was fallow and unused. Mark was no farmer, but he knew that they were doing agriculture wrong. Their method of sowing was to plow the field with a heavy iron plow (which they’d been doing for the last month or so) to break up and till the soil, and then to walk across the fields, scattering barley seeds by hand. No rows or lines emerged - nope. Just throwing the seeds. They’d started to run low on manure - after all, there weren’t that many cattle to take it from, and his garden project had taken quite a bit. Thankfully, these people had some basic understanding of fertilizer.

Anyways, there was significant room for improvement. He understood that individually planting each seed was a foolish idea - it’d break his back and take much longer than scattering the seed, but surely there’d be a way to do this without just throwing the seeds to the winds. There were machines that did this for modern farmers, but he wouldn’t be able to explain it to these people, let alone design such a thing. Perhaps it would be possible to design such a thing, but...it would be a long way into the future before he’d be in a position to do so.

Again, machinery and tractors were modern conveniences that he had taken for granted. Like showering. God, he missed showering. He’d attempted to spread the importance of hygiene, and washed himself in the small rain-filled lake nearby the hill, but neither Ivar nor his sons saw the point in it. In fact, they made fun of him for it. Well, he’d be the one laughing when they inevitably caught some horrid disease. At least they had the basic decency to shit away from the house. Speaking of the waste, he’d thought about using it for compost, but night soil had some serious hygienic risks.

Besides, there were easier fixes to make. The easiest, of course, would be proper crop rotation. He remembered growing up a few miles out from the city, and nearby there were a few local farms. They’d alternate between corn, wheat, and soybeans to perpetually grow and infuse the soil with nutrients, rather than leaving land fallow and useless. Of course, Michigan’s rich soil was a little better than Norway’s rocky offerings, but the concept was still valuable. Ivar’s family had simply moved the fields over time, or left fields fallow. This was a huge loss of efficiency.

He didn’t remember perfectly the four-crop cycle, but he was relatively sure it went barley, then a legume of some sort, and then wheat. The fourth one was a mystery, but perhaps some sort of grazing crop. Inwardly, he cursed himself for not paying more attention during school. All that time spent on high school girlfriends and musical instruments was completely useless in this afterlife. Either way, he’d have time to improve and figure the system out.

And perhaps there was a better source of fertilizer. Akershus was a coastal settlement, after all. If there were any rocky cliffs nearby where seabirds nested, he could likely go and collect the seabird refuse to use as fertilizer. And then food waste as well - the pieces of turnips and onions that didn’t make it into the stews they had so often. All these were small, minor sources, but if they added up...it’d make a difference. He didn’t know what this primitive barley looked like, but he imagined some pretty pathetic yields emerging from this lackluster field.

Additionally, they hadn’t invented a scythe yet. He desperately needed to make it down to the local blacksmith and figure it out. Right now they used large curved knives, judging by the tools hanging on Ivar’s shed. Not a bad solution, but he could do better. A scythe wasn't a complicated advancement, and it'd allow them to complete the harvest season much more quickly. If they could harvest more quickly, they could afford to increase the number of fields without a loss of energy or productivity. A small improvement, but one that could leave lasting echoes into the future.

Another area for improvement would be livestock husbandry. There was no purposeful breeding - rather, they let their animals interbreed among each other without much active involvement. This was fine, but perhaps if the local farmers coordinated, and had the strongest and largest oxen actively bred together...over time, it could add up. Additionally, the local farmers had a few smaller horses, and these could be bred into hardier, more useful animals. And with the introduction of a horse collar and horseshoes (neither of which had been invented yet), they could replace the oxen and plow the fields with much greater speed and strength. Perhaps they could even create carriages, and improve transportation from village to village. This concept of selective breeding could create the same sort of impact on the size of the wild hogs, and the amount of wool produced by the sheep as well. It wouldn’t be an instantaneous improvement, but over the generations, this could truly make an impact.

As far as he could tell, the Norse diet was heavily pescatarian. Fishing was an enormous part of their collective livelihood. They had some truly impressive ships - longboats nearly twenty feet in length, with sails made of flaxen linen. The majority of the city dwellers contributed to the supply through the ocean’s bounty - Ivar and the other farmers were a minority. Well, he could change that. Fish were certainly nutritious, and the Norse had figured out how to dry, smoke, and salt them for storage...but grain, barley, and beans could keep for far longer. Akershus had been experiencing years of prosperity of late, but Mark sensed that this surplus of food was a fickle blessing, uncertain and unpromised.

Inwardly, he wondered why he cared so much. These weren’t his friends or his family. They were just some random savages that he’d been thrown in with by sheer circumstance or fate. Of course, he owed them his life. He’d have died in the wilderness without them, and they had been hospitable enough to feed him and not enslave him. But Ivar’s wife hadn’t liked him from the first day, and his sons still assumed that he was crazy. Ivar himself was pleasant enough, and he was quite patient in teaching Mark the day to day processes of running the farm.

After a significant amount of introspection, he came to the conclusion that his main motivation was the innate human want to be accepted and appreciated. It tore him up inside that he ate and drank the food and ale which the Norsemen worked so hard for everyday, and barely contributed anything in return. He was weak and sickly, and his talents had hardly translated at all. Even in this afterlife, he felt like he wasn’t living up to his potential. Well, he’d had enough regrets in his previous life. He wasn’t about to let this one be consumed by the same laziness and self-doubt as the past one.

Perhaps he just wanted to forge a better world. These people lived a harsh existence, and he knew that he could help. And in his opinion, having the knowledge and ability to improve a situation and failing to do so was an ethical failure. A solid reserve food storage could lead to a healthier and hardier population. This, in turn, could lead to less sickness and death, which would lead to faster population growth, which would lead to surplus labour, which could be spent on healthcare, industry, and culture. Small changes could make a big impact, and perhaps he’d get the ball rolling on these small changes.

But for now, he tossed the seeds onto the plowed field, lost in a haze of thought and contemplation. Before he could be their savior, he had to be their servant.

[Saxony-Brandenburg]

Olivia Ingels

I passed by a home one morning when the air was still cold from the desert nights, the wind blowing harder than various things in the market could stand, textiles chased after in the wind, stacks of fruit toppled in need of re-stacking. But through the galeforce of the wind, a horrible hacking emerged, as concern drew across my face. It came again, but this time weaker, but just as pained. I paused in my tracks - something was very wrong about such a cough - my own chest aching in a sort of sympathy-pain. I took off my headscarf and wrapped it around my mouth, before walking up to the doorway.

“Hello? Is everyone alright in there?”

Poking my head into the house, I saw a terrifying sight - as an older man sat with blood on his lips, crumpled in the corner - his two young children likewise in a ghastly pale and sorry state, his wife nowhere to be seen.

“By Gods… what happened?!?” The man looked up at me, and tried to croak out a few words, his throat rough and horse.

“A plague is on our house… please wise-woman…” I looked around the house, and back to him, who I noticed was shaking with chills.

“I… wait here. Do not move. I’m going to get help!” Immediately sprinting out of the room, I found the nearest person I could trust, Jamar, sitting outside his home, talking with who I presumed was his friend.

“Jamar! Jamar! No time to explain - the house across the street. I need NOBODY to come or go from inside of it until I come back, yes? Not even you - and if they plead for help or say they’re dying before I come back, find me, but DONT GO IN! Got it? Good!” I patted him on the shoulder before he had enough time to respond, sprinting down the street until I had reached my home, collecting a few ingredients I had laying around from Salihah and her teachings on various basic herbal remedies, aswell as a thick cloth I could tie around my mouth to prevent potentially contracting the illness from a cloth, a large pot, and some basic fresh linnens, stuffing these things into a bag, and running off down the street to the closest house I knew - mother’s home.

“Yasmin! Yasmin! Are you home?!?” I yelled as I entered the two-room home, finding her in the back, washing her young daughter and my own sister with a wooden bucket and a rag.

“Olivia? What brings you in such a panic? Why the fear in your voice?” I responded as soon as she finished, not wanting to waste any time.

“There are some people in the village who I believe have gotten VERY sick - and by their symptoms I’m afraid they might spread it - please, come with me and help me, we have quite a bit to do.” She looked between me and the six-year-old she was bathing, quickly dropping what she was doing, throwing a long dress-like-shirt over the kid, and jogging down the street at my heels as we found the contaminated home, Jamar looking through the window curiously.

“Jamar! Good! I need you to bring us some firewood, - please, quickly.”

“But Olivia - what is wrong? Is their home filled with Jin of some kind?” I shook my head.

"They’re very sick Jamar, and the kind of sickness that can spread through their breath and fluids, I fear. Get some firewood going and make sure not to let anyone in, alright? Good.” I didn’t pause for an answer, handing Yasmin a thick cloth.

“Tie this around your nose and mouth before you enter - and if you touch anything, make sure to liberally wash your hands after, okay?” She gave me a nod, and tied the cloth securely around her mouth, giving me the courage to re-enter the dark, drab two-room home, finding the three of them sprawled out onto the floor as before, shaking, wrapping themselves in thin blankets. I knelt down by the children, a boy and a girl, huddled together, and felt the boy’s forehead. He looked up at me with weak, fearful eyes, unsure who I was or why I was there.

“Shhh lad, it’s okay.” I said, with as motherly a voice I could muster. “I’m here to keep you safe, okay?” The boy sneezed straight into my face, causing me to wince and turn away, coughing, terrified of my own infection. “You all are going to have to stay in here a while.” I told the group, “Where is their mother?” I looked over to the father, his face mixed with pain and intense fear.

“She died last week.” He croaked out. Good god, how could I be so late in encountering this all? “Have you been in contact with too many people lately? Anyone at all in close quarters?” He nodded, and pointed behind him. “The neighbors?” I asked, and he nodded, making me sigh horribly. “Yasmin? Have you touched anything or anyone in here?” She shook her head. “Good - go next door and check to see if they have fevers or any sign of illness, got it? And come back quickly.” As she ran out, I did a quick risk assessment of the home, seeing who was in the worst state, and who was in the best. The young girl seemed the worst, lethargic, barely responsive, breathing, but shallow. The boy seemed the best in health, though this was saying little, and I checked the linnens they were using for contamination - little did I know all their blankets were covered in blood, mucus, and the smell of piss could be smelt all around. Oh no… Oh Gods no. This was terrible. Moving into the other room, I found the pot they were using for a toilet, full and not been emptied in days. I grabbed this, and ran to place it outside, collecting the various stained fabrics and throwing them out two, helping the young ones get stripped on the dirt floor, and giving them new, simple clothes of long, loose-fitting shirts which reached down to their knees, similarly for the old man, before giving them each a clean, thicker blanket and making them sit in the back room, where I had begun to kindle a fire once Jamar returned with the wood, the coals having gone cold, and having to run to Jamar’s house to get a light. I gave each of them a cloth to wrap around their mouths, so they would not breathe on me, and stole a pot from jamar for vomit or any other excrement. “If anything happens, please use this to prevent contamination… You’re going to be fine, but you have to promise you’ll do as I say, and sneeze and cough into your sleeve or the rag, not anyone else, especially if they’re not sick, okay?” The young boy nodded, and, placing a large pot of water on the now roaring fire, left to throw the pot of disgusting sludge and excrement out in the rubbish heap, deciding the blankets and clothes were too contaminated to be salvageable, and thus, threw them out too. I returned almost immediately, and went to wash my hands in the hot water, as hot as I could get it after it stopped boiling without scalding myself, and throwing out this water. I thusly left to grab more water, and, placing it back on the fire, waited for it to boil enough to not be potentially harboring any illnesses of it’s own. In the meantime, I tossed a few of my herbs such as dried powdered licorice into the water, letting it boil along with the water, and release what I was told might help their coughing… but who knows, this isn’t a science after all. When the tea was steeped roughly three minutes, I took it off the fire and added a cup or so of milk, letting it mix around, and pouring a cup for each of them, handing it out as kindly as I could, the poor young girl hardly able to sip it… but what else could I do? As Yasmin returned, the said with a grave voice that the old grandmother of the neighbor’s house was sick, and I knew they gave her that disease. I left that home, and pleaded with the neighbors to let her live with the other sick so they themselves would not contract it, promising I would care for her as if she was my own… they denied, but when she volunteered they could not deny their matriarch.

Thus, we waited all that night, making a thin, salty, lentil and spinach soup for them to sip - giving each of them wet towels to soothe their fevers when it was too much. I sang them songs about the gods I had memorized with the elders a few days ago, told stories about wandering children and the jin. I told them to recite this prayer to the goddess Mannat, and they might get better soon.

“Lady Manat, weaver of our lives and destiny, she who guides the fate of me and my people, I pray, give me your kindness and spare me, your child, and all of your children, hold me in your arms and spare me this hour, keep my breath warm, that I may be kept on the world another day.”

When I dozed off leaning against the outside wall of the building, not wanting to risk being in there too long, nobody was dead, and when I hobbled in, half-dazed, from too few hours of sleep. I checked everyone’s breath, and I thanked the gods they were still alive. That’s when I heard a quiet voice from the doorway, and, looking back, realized it was Alya. “Alya! You can’t be here - you might get sick!!!”

She shrugged. “I thought you might be hungry - and made something for you.”

“I couldn’t-” I stammered, stepping out of the home to talk to her. “I had to - but… Thanks. You’re sweet… I don’t think you’ve ever cooked for me before… what did you make?”

“Uh… pie? I think?...” She handed me she wooden bowl of the miniature pie… it looked horrendously burnt. But the gesture, just the thought was enough to nearly make me cry.

“... Thanks. You’re the best I - I’m glad you’re there to watch my back and make sure I’m doing alright. I-.”

“Oh hush dork.” She chuckled. “If you don’t want me to kiss your sickness-covered face don’t stop being so cute.”

[Ah-eh-ioh-uh]

The healer did what he could and asked Marcio if he could add anything to help (what at least seemed to be) the man's sore throat fever. Marcio regretted to say that without adequate knowledge of local flora, he could not do much of anything. It was however quite fortunate that this was something quite mild and Marcio was not entirely out of his depth. He did know one small things that were common knowledge back home but still hadn't been discovered here. It would not do much and certainly wouldn't cure it, but it would make it far less unpleasant.

Marcio requested that someone have a container and fetch him water from the nearby sea. Some helper or other went and came back with a skin full of salty sea water and handed it to Marcio. A few curious people waiting outside too a peak inside to see what miracle or esoteric knowledge Marcio came up with. Marcio made a fire and began to heat the salty water and urged the sick man and the one caring for them to watch. Marcio heated the water to the perfect temperature and urged them to get as close to his exact specifications as possible. Marcio then gave the man the warm salt water and instructed him to gurgle a quantity of it all about his throat. The man felt still somewhat weak but his throat instantly began less achey and far less tender. The man felt much better and thanked him profusely with tears in his eyes.

Marcio also advised a diet of meat soup (making some form him to start with with some help), massaged the nose area to clear the sinuses and the boiled water and showed something akin to a primitive shower to them as a remedy. In essence Marcio advised for the sick man to take this primitive innovation akin to a hot shower twice a day, the act being quite a ways more difficult given how there were no showers or even battles to bath in and water had to be boiled primitively. But that's what he did and it was his best for now. Nasal massages, chicken soup, hot showers and gargling warm salt water. Marcio advised when and where, and how. Little more.



It wasn't anything brilliant back home so much but here it made him a miracle worker. Soon the man was helped back home where treatment would be taken over by others. Now the anxious guinea pigs waiting outside began to trickle back in, experiments regaining steam and continuing for the rest of that day. Eventually everyone was sent home smelling of various different odd herbs and sticky with odd plant saps, some of the sensations and smells ranging from mildly unpleasant to just odd or sweet.

This would be continue on for another day or two and experiments would soon diversify. Everybody was told to immediately report any troubling sensations they might feel upon returning home, Marcio praying to his gods later that night that nobody rubbed poison on their elbow or had an allergy attack or anything like that.

[Guuj Xaat Kil]

Johann Sebastiano, Day 30 (Good Fit)

About a month had passed for the outsider, Johann Sebastiano, or as the natives preferred to call him now: John, as simplicity was a good thing. Still being called 'stranger' sometimes, unfortunately. As for what the temporally displaced man had done during those weeks, he had become a fisherman and fed off thirty percent of his catch, which was quite plentiful considering the area he was in. Staying for some time near a group of people also tends to make one more knowledgeable about said people, so knowing that this place wasn't as prosperous due to its people being some of the most xenophobic, and that the chief was trying to fix that, was a bonus.

"Perhaps in due time I shall assist him, or something. But first..." he mused at the redwood he had been carving on, "This." He had asked for and got a redwood by helping Jaahguhl in his work, and bought a stone tool that was something chisel-y from the traders that; although scarce, arrived more or less everyday on a regular basis. For those asking what the Filipino-Canadian was doing with the redwood and chisel-y stone tool, well... The various organized scratches on the wood should be an indicator for what he was doing, but for those seeking out an exact answer, the outsider has been trying to give Haida- this rough version the villagers and most likely the rest of the island was speaking, to be exact- a written form.

For a week and a half the man has now toiled, but so far, no success in his endeavors, other than a few strange scratches on the wood and the occasional odd look or two from Jaahguhl. "Can't... Give up now..." he mutters to himself as he begins to write down in another writing style for this written language of his, beads of sweat joining already formed ones and dripping off his head occasionally, "How hard is it... To make... A written form of this?!" He slapped his hands rapidly against the cylindrical piece of wood in a vain attempt to make it magically give him the written form of the language, "Although I wouldn't know what it would mean then." He again thought to himself as his slaps ceased.

Grab the attention of the devil, and he probably will appear; and that's exactly what the devil- in this case Jaahguhl- did. He as well was sweating something fierce, and only gave him a tired glance before seating himself elsewhere. "Hard time at work?" he yelled out the question to the lumberjack, who only nodded once and grunted in reply, "Good talk!" His gaze returned to the redwood, wherein he decided to give up on a complex writing system and decided to create pictograms, then distorting them into the consonants and vowels of the Haida language. "Around forty three of those sounds, and now..." he plonked his head onto the carved redwood, making a funny sounding tap when his head collided with the wood, "Rules for the language." He didn't even think that this language would take off in popularity, much less being used by these Haida. But nevertheless, he trudged on, jotting down notes on that dry redwood of his. A long glance, and then he wrote the language's new alphabet vertically, "And... There, not only does it look better, it looks pretty stylish!" He nods, pleased with what he's done, then goes back to working on it.

The roar of the starved belly interrupts his burst of productivity, and he sighs. "To the boats." He jogs outside, from the wooden home on the edge of the forest, all the way to the edge of the village by the water. Soon he finds his canoe- something given to him when he became proficient in his fishing- which to his delight is left alone as usual, "Making a rumor about me eating them if they touch my stuff was a good investment." His thoughts are soon replaced with the excitement of being on the water again, pushing the boat out then hopping aboard before the waters became too deep, he rowed towards his usual fishing spot. By late afternoon, the outsider returns with a bag of fish around four or so kilograms in weight.

Looks like someone's going to be working overtime with a full belly tonight.

[Europa Undivided]

Sasha Sapohznik
The Sixth Month
Yauzagrod
The Banks of the Yauza River

zing. The arrow flew true and proud from the bow, striking a red painted target set on a dead tree that looked like it was about to fall away. In the distance, the town of Yauzagrod was growing. And it was growing fast. Of the fifteen infants that were born in the last six months, only one died, and the fields in the periphery of the town had increased likewise in size and efficiency. The rainfall in the area was quite plentiful, especially in the spring, and the barley and wheat that had sustained the population was being further supplemented with traded supplies from the other settlements that dotted the riverbanks. The chieftain of the nearby tribe called the Skalev had agreed to a trade agreement with Jaromir, and a few of the items that they traded in return for the burgeoning food supplies that now came about due to the growing efficiency the Kolochin had with their harvests were farming tools made from bronze, which they gave in return for several bushels of wheat each. When asked where they got it, the Skalev traders replied that they mined it out off rocks in the nearby hills before forging them into farming implements.

Little did they know that those hills had more than just rocks.

“Sasha, Sasha.”, Yaroslav said with a congratulatory tone in his voice. “You are such a quick learner, I fear that the time will come when I have teached everything that I could.”

“No worries, friend.”, Nikolai nodded as he aimed with the bow again. “We learn from each other.”, he finished as he fired another shot, striking true once again.

“The settlement and the tribe as a whole is growing.”, Yaroslav commented. “Some starved nomads came to us yesterday and they decided to stay in Lavuchyev. They said that they’ll make their own shelter.”

“I see.”, Nikolai said with a small wink. “So how are our projects doing?”

“You mean your suggestions that are always accompanied with sketches and explanations for their usefulness?”, Yaroslav replied. “Well, everyone has began making the thing you call soap and using it for bathing... and every time we use water for drinking and washing, we put it on filters, like you said. And the results are these: everyone looks fresh, and less people got sick... and no one died. How did that happen?”

“The secret ingredient is cleanliness.”, Nikolai answered. “You know, my people back in Amerika once discovered that many of the illnesses that befall our bodies are due to the activities of creatures so small that our eyes cannot see them, but once one looks upon them with a tool called the microscope, they can be seen. And the best way to prevent them from killing us is being clean-... wait a minute... wasn’t this the same thing I said to your father and the other leaders of the tribe?”

“That explains why you looked so clean even when you were a seemingly destitute naked stranger lying on a field.”, Yaroslav nodded while rubbing his chin.

They soon turned back and began walking towards the settlement. “Yes, it does.”, Nikolai replied as a pair of farmers greeted both of them good morning as they began to harvest the wheat field that was at least 100 acres; the total area of the fields that fed Yauzagrod and her three daughters was nearly six times the size of the settlements themselves combined. The water mill on the riverside had been operating at full capacity for the last one month, so Lord Jaromir had another built so that more bread could flow.

The farmers themselves no longer stank of earth and animal as much; the Kolochin had taken to taking daily baths once they determined that it was good for their health. The Skalev, who had been regularly visiting Yauzagrod and Lavuchyev for the last few weeks, had noticed that the Kolochin looked much healthier and stronger, and soon enough, the Skalev were also doing the same. They too noted the positive effects of basic hygiene, and revelled in it.

They were soon within the walls of Yauzagrod, where they were greeted by a town that was much more lively than it usually was. It seemed that by taking every single one of Nikolai’s suggestions seriously, the Lord of Yauzagrod had just made his realm the most prosperous in the banks of the Yauza. And it no wonder seemed that Jaromir, now invigorated by the apparent heaven sent young man’s ideas, had been constantly asking him ways with which the Kolochin could improve their lives. There was the mill grinding grain into flour and turning it into bread; the soap and daily bathing, filtering the river water before using it; and then there’s the thing that was currently at play right now: bronze. Naturally, when the Skalev started trading bronze tools with the Kolochin, the Kolochin were eager to replace the easily broken copper tools that they currently had with the much stronger bronze, and within a week the farmers had acquired bronze hoes and metal tipped plows from their trading partners in exchange for a bit of produce.

Nikolai was soon back at his workspace. He was quiet, sitting on the simple wooden stool, thinking of what he could think of. “Hmmm... we can use a metal working furnace... how does that work again?”, he thought to himself. “If I am not mistaken, we just need a strong enough fire and a furnace to melt copper and tin... maybe iron if we find a deposit somewhere...”

His thoughts were interrupted when Yaroslav came in rather violently, nearly ripping off the cloth that hung over the doorway. “Woah, Yaroslav. What’s wrong?”

“My father, Nikolai.”, he said, panting.

“He’s dead!”

[Endem]

Krystyn Warecki
2975 BCE, 17 years Since Arrival
Changes

There were a couple if things to chronicle, especially since Krystyn now had something to write on, finally, a paper like structure, in his hands, before him, on the table, finally, sure it wasn't like Chinese paper, not anything close to that, it was, Papyrus, presumably, if memory served him well it was created from reeds, or a reed like plant, unfortunately it could not be created in Poland, Egypt perhaps, but alas, it was there, from traders that came from south, they were let in to their lands, asking for seaweed and amber, which they were granted, in exchange for papyrus and iron, strangely enough they asked about knowledge.

Krystyn stood up from the table he was sitting at and looked through the window, underneath the hill where Boleslaw's "palace" ,as Krystyn jokingly called it , was located laid the city of Gdansk, it started to look more like the city he knew from the history books, traders and merchants coming in and exchanging goods, just a couple of days ago a expedition of their own set out to find where the traders came from, the expedition was composed of, as follows, 4 merchants, 2 diplomats, goods for exchange, Nordur and Imperial currency and finally 8 Czarts, with one high ranking one, Boleslaw's son to be exact who could speak in a laconic manner ( which means he's at least above the rank of captain ), the purpose was simple trade and hopefully establish formal contacts ( and if possible a trade agreement ) between them and the lands those came from merchants

Politically changed little, they expanded, new tribes were incorporated, those that refused "vanished", the main chief council was still split into three chiefs that supported Gdansk in most matters, ten swing-vote chiefs, and three chiefs that could be considered the opposition, the Vistulan Confederation could be considered an oligarchy, Krystyn never thought he would live in a country that wasn't democratic, and as to ruling it, ah, about ruling the country, he was still the main Chief, Boleslaw's, advisor, but the chief kept slipping into his control, with factors that did not benefitted Krystyn's control over him kept disappearing, for example, sending Boleslaw's son on the expedition was in fact as much motivated by good will as much was a political move.

And finally, scientific, much has changed here, the first classes of his education system ( I'm pretty sure I established he established it previously, if not, well, it's similar to the Prussian model ) graduated, the first generation of those that could read and write, those who excelled in special tests made by Krystyn were enlisted into the scientific core, where they were taught biology, chemistry and basics of physics, they for example were tasked right now with finding a substitute for papyrus, as papyrus they gained from the traders would run out sooner or later, meanwhile, roads were re-invented and shy attempts in building them were made, so far only three roads leading between tribes were made.

Economically, their conquests allowed for the production of petroleum and salts, two types of salts to be exact, so there was potential for economic growth, lastly, militarily they made good progress along Vistula and the coast, the problem was, the third destination, into Warmia and Mazury, the land of lakes and etc. While these lakes and various islands would make great future line of defenses, the tribes there were also goddamn hard to conquer, he planned to head there personally, however, that would be for the near future, as of right now, he had some papyrus to fill with words, and he felt like it was ages since he last wrote anything, it was a definite times to start making concrete laws and not rely on chieftains of villages to make up as judges...

[UniversalCommons]

The Vistula (Market Town)

Near the end of the river Vistula after almost two months , they came upon a market town which had arisen from a trading camp. It was simply called Market Town. The traders from the Imperium and the Nestos League had met there for almost a decade, quietly building a place to trade. It was visible from the river, and could be reached by the road to Aren if you followed a wide dirt track. There were many men and women in the village. Some were dressed in leathers and furs with fur hats, wool cloaks, and felt boots. These traders followed the amber road with pack donkeys and pack goats.

They traded in the necessities a small village or town might need. Bone combs, shell buttons, copper needles, coarse thread, copper pots, cordage, pottery, obsidian, necklaces of seashells, deer hides, wool cloaks, boots, wicker baskets, and similar things. They had laid out heavy woven mats with blankets on them to show their goods. They could roll up the mats, then pick up the blankets and be ready to go. The traders were a rough bunch, often carrying a long knife, sling, bow, or spear to protect them on the road.

Complementing the traders of the Amber Road were a few trade wagons painted in green from the Cucuteni Road with large oxen. These had candles, dried herbs and spices of all kinds, medicinals for common ailments, strong wine, lamp oil, soap, salt, rose water, carnelian, sharpening stones, and other goods.

Not far from the wagons from the Nestos League, there were hunters in tunics, warm cloaks and boots who had brought skins of fox, deer, bear, beaver, rabbit, ermine and feathers from ducks and other fowl. There was carved bone, even a carved bone flute, and some bone dice. One of the hunters had laid out several bows which he had made for hunting deer as well as three spears for hunting boars and three hunting knives for skinning game.

Some of the farmers had brought their wheat, vegetables, and produce to the trading village. One of them was roasting and a sheep and selling it with herbs from the forest. Another sold bowls, spoons, and walking sticks which he had carved in addition to his produce.

An old woman, her daughter, and her two burly sons sold herbs from the forest, mushrooms, pickled cabbage, pickled vegetables, yogurt, honey, and other forest goods.

At a stall not far from the river, there were three men from Varna in brightly colored tunics, embroidered cloaks, and shoulder bags haggling with a heavy set man over amber, and jewelry. Another stall sold tools, iron hammers, rakes, hoes, and trowels, mattocks, measuring sticks, marked ropes, and other tools. Another, textiles, linen and wool from the Imperium, hemp and flax from the Nestos League, embroidered leather cloaks, nalbinded hats, gloves, and scarves from the Cucuteni.

At the rivers edge there were several small boats and a few rafts, the kind which a river trader might use to bring basic goods between villages, or a fisherman might use to get their catch. There were also men on coarse blankets with baskets of fish from the river, fresh caught. Fish soup was being ladled from a copper cauldron for a few bits of copper.

Where there had been a place to pitch tents, there was now a small inn where one could seek shelter for the night as well as a larger area where one could pitch a tent or roll wagons into. This had a variety of wagons and tents from traders in it. The inn had beer and stew, meat pies, and other hearty fair. The flutist who had once been a beggar outside, now was inside the inn playing his bone flute for a few coppers, reciting local legends, helping clean the stables, and keeping an eye for trouble for the local guards.

A dozen houses had been put up near the camp as well as a larger house for a group of traders who had settled there. There was a high wooden fence around the traders house. With the demand for trade goods, a blacksmith had moved in as well as a potter.

This was not a place with a large livestock market like Aren or a place to trade horses, that was further down the road.