A Different World: The Noble Cities [IC|Closed]

by **Olthenia** » Wed Feb 24, 2021 6:31 am

The Vale of Ustar, Sorrowfree
Twenty-Fourth Day of the Arc of Weeping, the 238th Year of the Star-Count

"Huang."

Old Shamag spat the word, tired eyes raised to the stars above.

Below her - beyond the foot of her lonely hill, the main street was silent. Sorrowfree, the canyon-people’s ancestral home, here at the edge of the vast, unforgiveable Ustar desert, had always been that street. Just a dell in the red mountainside, really – lined by humble homes and humble people. Camel-herds. Miners. Women of letters. Until the Journey. There were mothers amongst the Khortuun who blamed their southern kin, the Corvus, for roping them into it. Who had seduced their eager, adventurous youths with tales of glory and bloodshed. But that was a lie, of course. The Corvus blood-feud with their Huang neighbours had never been the Khortuun’s business – and the Corvus had never lied to them. In the end, the Bonadar – proud and loud, tall and gleaming – had left of their own free will. And now, as night blackened the land, the awful ruin of it all was all too clear.

". . . ."

It had been near the end of the year when their sons and daughters had returned to Sorrowfree. What remained of them, at least. Scarcely a single one of them did not bear a wound of some description – and the tales they told were black and bloody. Of arrows from foes unseen, of screaming men stabbing and shouting, of a foe caparisoned for war – red and snarling. And of many, many fallen. The Huang had hung prisoners from the ramparts, some said. To strangle. They had smeared stakes with poison and left them in deep pits, that their daughters might fall upon them unaware, like wild beasts. In the end, the Huang had defended their children and their gods like brave, determined mothers. And now scarcely a home in all Sorrowfree was not black with grief for it.

Grief that tore. Grief that raged. Grief that drowned all thought and choked all words. Children had sobbed for their lost fathers, and mothers wailed for daughters they would never see again. Fistfights had erupted on the Speaker’s Platform, as grief-mad men and surly women bartered words of blame and recrimination. Grief that soured into madness.

And now?

Now Shamag drew a deep, steadying breath - the night bitter all around her. And felt herself swoon. Her body was old and wrinkled now, her shoulders rounded and teats sagging. It was a wonder, almost, that the old women kneeling in the red Ustar dirt had once been a warrior. A Bonadar. But she had.

And now, as grief and madness roiled her people, she had scarce eaten for days. Nor slept. To hear gods speak, wise mothers of Sorrowfree knew, it was best to deny the body such things. So. High on a barren hilltop, Shamag thus stood before a heap of stones she had erected. Her old hands were calloused with dust, and bloody too, but it was done. The alter was ready. So she raised her eyes to the sky as the pungent smoke from a roasting camel-foal rose towards the fat, yellow disk in that black above. And called.

"MOTHER-MOON! I bring you meat and fat and blood! Great goddess! Hear me!"

The empty hills echoed with her shout.

And then?

Then there was a presence. Behind her.

A tall, strong woman in armor as black as smoke and night. The cape at her back flew as red as camel’s blood, and at her neck dangled a necklace of human heads as old and shrunken as the girdle of human hands around her waist. Her eyes glowed like lamplit amber, and her voice held a buzz like a swarm of locusts.

"Yᴇᴀʀs ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴇᴀʀs ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴀssᴇᴅ sɪɴᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀʟʟᴇᴅ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴍᴇ ʟᴀsᴛ, ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ," she husked. "Wʜʏ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴍᴇ ɴᴏᴡ?"

"Because I need your help," Shamag croaked.

"Tᴏ ғɪɢʜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴏᴇ ᴡʜᴏ sʟᴇᴡ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴋɪɴ."

"Yes. Yes! And their people. And to stem our grief! And…" More words. The old woman felt them crowd in her throat and quiver on her tongue – but in their place came tears, hot and salty. Grief and exhaustion overwhelmed her. Her daughter, light of her heart, would never sing to her in the morning again. Ever. "I… We… Our children are dead!" The sizzling pop of fat mingled with the stench of burnt blood. It made her head spin and stomach roil. Her words came choking, halting - a then spilled past her cracked lips like a black and ugly rush; half a moan and half a prayer. "…We don’t know what to DO!"

Behind her - black and impossible, half there and half not - her goddess grimaced, teeth flashing like a host of spears. "Lɪsᴛᴇɴ." Smiling thinly, Shamag watched as the goddess pointed a blood-calloused finger to her necklace and girdle. "Dᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ – ᴏɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ʜᴇᴀᴅs ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ʜᴀɴᴅs ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀs sᴏᴍᴇ ᴅᴀʏ. Mᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴜᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴇᴀʀ ᴛʜᴇᴍ, ᴀɴᴅ I ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛᴇʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴜsᴛ ᴅᴏ."

Later, much later, Shamag descended, steps leaden. Back to pale, grief-sick Sorrowfree. And the Speaker’s Platform.

And a new day.

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Wed Feb 24, 2021 9:06 am

Deepkin

Eastern Outskirts, Kharbarinth
Twelfth of Redleaf, Year Twohundred Thirtyeight of the Reckoning

From the crater the singer ascended, his blue stole marked with dirt and soot. Magister Gavros' white eyebrows narrowed as he perceived the unearthly light welling out of the prison of fingers which the other magos had created around the shard of the heavens. The entire surrounding area, the crater which the fragment of Azur had gouged into the earth, was blasted, devastated. Trees were twisted shadows of char and ash. When the star had descended it had kindled great fires which had raged for months, and only now did the Deepkin dare approach the resplendent radiance.

As he approached the master of the White Hall, the other man opened his hands, and the Magister's deep green eyes took on a golden hue as he inspected the stone. His senses tingled even as he hovered a hand over the mysterious object, betraying some arcane potency. It was like nothing so much as the smokestone of the south, the obsidian, and yet shot through with veins of golden light, like some thing of flesh and blood. It did not pulse, or breathe, and yet the Magister had the impression that it lived - just an impression, but niggling at the edge of thought.

"The artificers are going to have fits once they see this."

Arcanthos was not wrong. Some of the men of craft had already made the journey to the crater, and petitioned the council of Government Hill for permission to hew the stone from where it lay in its great mountain. Very sensible, the Ten Families had refused their request, at least until it could be ascertained the provenance of the shard, fell or benign. Thus the dispatch of the mages, to see with the sight beyond sight that which might escape less learned men.

This learning though, it said nothing about stones from the heavens. Even the sky-metal which their brothers in Stalheim boasted of had no properties such as this sundered aspect of the Celestial Sphere. A matter for study, and, perchance, for wonder. The Father's creation was vast indeed, and the secrets which he revealed to his favored sons, mysterious yet worthy of awe. Here was another of those secrets, which the wise men of the City of Bells would strive to understand, another facet of the fathomless beauty of creation placed before their very threshold for inspection.

by **The Knights of Azorea** » Wed Feb 24, 2021 9:49 am

Velathri, City of Talons

Steaming buffalo blood pours down the Narrow Way in rivulets. The air rings with weeping, mourning, and all brows are blackened with ash. The two archons are thrown to their death from the walls, and a new man is chosen. A great orator - ash-blackened and roaring, his tunic torn and his great arms flailing with his bellows. Today he is not archon - he is Dictator, for the term of three years. He speaks before the people, roars upon the walls, and the men of Velathri champ and froth like mad horses. Orders fall from his mouth, and the city falls to iron-silent work. The Barbarians wait in the hills. They know not what brews in the forge-fire, and have forgotten the rage of Skithro's sons and daughters.

by **Ralnis** » Wed Feb 24, 2021 10:07 am

Lo
Island of Lo:
Government: Oligarchy
600 Population: 200 Artisans, 200 Peasants, 200 Scholars
5 Forest, 9 Coastal, 5 Hills, 1 Urban, 1 Rural
Urban(13/20 slots used) [Electromantic Forge(8/8 charges), Granary, Slums, 3 Huts, Monument, Creche, 2 Huts(0/6 labor/ 6/6 wealth) ]
Rural(1/20 slots used)[1 Farm]
1 Bireme
17 Wealth
Child Birds, Crocodiles, Giant Mangroves, Native Copper

Composite Bows, Sailing, Soap, Carpentry, Tribal Council, Shipmaking, Child Bird domestication, Agriculture, Granaries, Milling, Writing, Construction I
School of Electromancy, Electromantic Storage, Electromantic Attunement, Tesla Forging, Electromantic Entrapment
1 Domestic Crop [Breadfruit], 1 Domestic Animal[Child Birds]

200 scholars keep studying medicine
100 peasants work on the farm(+9 food)
100 peasants work on the dock district(1/6 labor,5/5 wealth, 4/4 industry)
2 artisans convert 2 wealth into 2 industry
2 industry used on the dock( 1/6 labor, 5/5 wealth, 4/4 industry)
3 food sent to the people as feasts
4 wealth generated( 17 wealth)

Special action: Grum sent some emissaries to the Aun-kal to discuss vassalage and the terms from such a thing. What would they offer and what would they require from them if accepted.

by **The National Dominion of Hungary** » Wed Feb 24, 2021 11:58 am

The Land of Penithel

The secrets of seafaring which so long eluded the Pennethelli were finally within their grasp, the oars of their small galley rose and fell into the rippling surface of the river, now they could sail up and down the waterway of their homeland and out into the great Eastern Sea that the river emptied into. People watched with amazement as men darkened by the sun rowed the ship back down to the town after spending five days out on the open sea. Many attempts had been made over the course of twenty years, many men never returned, but now the persistence of the Pennethelli had been rewarded and the old Blue King wondered what treasures his people would discover on the distant shores of far-away lands. Perhaps those wonders would be seen under the reign of his son, Prince Minaan. However, the people's appetite for exploration dampened as weeks came and went, and no signs of the explorers sent west could be seen on the horizon. The Red Tonged people had proven themselves as loyal subjects of his majesty, their valiant efforts in the militia combating the Southron Fiends had not gone unnoticed and they had begun living within the walls as true Sons of Penithel. Now they were gone, and their wives wept as the stood on the walls awaiting the return of their husbands, to no avail. They were gone.

The city of Avnelin was not idle, overseen by strict taskmasters barking gruff orders a new tannery rose, to the grumbles of the Niari priests who had come to live with the herders and preach their prattle. But... that seemed the only way for peace to prevail in the Eastland Plains. The greatest work however had been undertaken along riverbank running westward from the city, with vast swathes of land cleared from trees and rocky outcroppings to make room for growing on a scale the Pennenthelli had never seen except when visiting the great gardens of the Riverlanders of the North. Now, the Blue Priests traveled to their allies to learn those arts and soon, the lands around Avnelin, watered by the Father's Rivers would grow with bountiful farms, surely enough to feed a hundred generations!

by **The GAmeTopians** » Wed Feb 24, 2021 12:51 pm

The Republic of the Great River

Rivermouth

"You've truly outdone yourself, Master Architect. Truly astounding work."
This and similar remarks echoed across the entire district, as hundreds of the Republic's citizens moved into their new, luxurious homes. While they were outside the imposing defense of the city's massive walls, at least for the moment, the stone and timber masterpieces that were being constructed en masse were unlike anything any of them had ever seen. They weren't lined with jewels, or precious metals, but the citizens wanted not for such things - a warm, sturdy home with plenty of space and a feeling of safety was all that any of them could ask for. And these... these homes were simply perfect.

A happy people was a productive people, indeed. And the Republic would soon be home to some of the happiest people on the continent.

Such is the way of things in the River's Jewel. Such is the gift that the River gives its kin.

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Wed Feb 24, 2021 3:22 pm

Year 238 of the Reckoning
Turn 20

Eleskar: In debate and contemplation, the wise scholars of Eleskar have created many theories, and moreover formalized the methods men use to assess such statements of truth. In their arguments and understandings, philosophy is created in veracity. Far to the north of Eleskar the forests dwindle and end, perhaps on account of the air becoming drier. Great plains stretch here, populated by strange beasts. Ferocious aurochs, cattle the size of many men with horns as long as an arm, roam, grazing on the hardy grass. Formidable lions, with long fangs and great paws, many times the size of a fox, hunt them. There is also a strange metal, the color of a sullen flame, which can be found in the caverns and hollows of the plains. There are old fires here, betraying human habitation, though they are old and colder than even the land around them. To the west thick pine forests greet the heavens, and to the east temperate forests of birch and oak like those about Eleskar. To the north, a chill scrubland of stone, sand, shrub, and brush, with few trees. To the numbers of the Eleskar this year are added three hundred Freemen.

Zhai Cheng: The emissaries sent to the Huanca return unaccompanied - though the wealth is tempting, the people of the uplands have heard of the war which visited the southerners, and would not willingly send of their own to risk such dangers. To the numbers of the Huang are added two hundred Freemen and two hundred Peasants. Many men protest the slaughter of the war, and disquiet fills the land. Motivated workers have erected a curtain wall outside of the current wall about Zhai Cheng, composed of sturdy timber. This disquiet, though, is not isolated. -10 Stability

Daru: Storms of lighting pass over the plains one summer, lighting grass fires in innumerable places. Though the fires threaten the livelihoods of many, a more wondrous thing happens where the flames pass over the groves of golden flowers; though originally the priests are devastated, thinking the flowers destroyed by the flames, after some months a marvel occurs. Golden sprouts rise anew from the soil, not merely flowers, but growing slowly but surely into young saplings with bark as hard as anything the Nirari possess, and silver-gold sheen which delights the heart. +10 Stability. A hundred Freemen and two hundred Peasants are added to the numbers of the Nirari.

Corvus: Two hundred Freemen and two hundred Peasants are added to the numbers of the men of Corvus. A hundred Peasants are added to the new settlement of Cavon. The men sent east report that the kindred of the Huanca would pay a good amount of wealth, five cartloads, for breeding stock of the goats which the men of Corvus ranch in their wide paddocks. Their soldiers appear to be well armed, some bearing iron spears that weigh many ogots, and the city being enclosed by a stout stone wall. Protests against the slaughter which the forces of war felt have shaken faith in the very social contract of Corvus - it is well that new men now lead it, though few have faith in them either. -15 Stability

Sorrowfree: The twined ropegrass of the gardens now reproduces at the demand of the scholars of the Vale - and it makes simpler many tasks which would otherwise require expense and effort to twine thick cord. +Domestic Crop (Wealth). In the wildlands of the east the explorers carefully keep their distance from the pit of fell omen, observing the beasts that roam here and there. They seem almost mindless, emerging from the great chasm only to hunt and slaughter any luckless creature which strays too close - and some of the mothers of the Khortuun swear the abominations seem almost larger, more formidable, than the reports which came to Sorrowfree and the Vale of Ustar many lives of mothers ago. The losses in war are hard to bear, and many of the Khortuun have withdrawn from society in grief, doubting not only the goodness of the Mother Moon, but the very leadership of their priests. -15 Stability. Two hundred Freewomen and two hundred Peasants are added to the numbers of the Khortuun.

Kharbarinth: The scouts sent south venture south, then south, then southeast, walking across the great plains which lay in this direction. These plains seem endless, stretching both north, and south, and east without an end in sight. Here herds of the mighty bison roam, long quarry of the Deepkin, and green veins of familiar malachite scar the earth. Deposits of rich dark granite, cooled from upheavals of the molten blood of the Father, mark the landscape.

To the east, northeast of Stalheim, other men explore. Near at hand stand the mountains of the south, and wide plains stretch both east and north as well. Craters filled with familiar meteoric iron can be found here, and herds of deer good to hunt teem on the plains and low hills. Deep purple amethysts can be found in the sandy rivers which mark the descent from the Black Mountains.

A discovery has been made in Kharbarinth - the smiths sing over their runes in the language of power, binding enchantment into the very stone and bronze and iron which they hammer. In this manner enchantment passes not only from the mages to the people, but in the storied songs and chanted oaths of the artisans it propagates, crafted magic. Sturdy saddles of hide also now decorate the backs of steeds, and mounted warriors will soon be a reality. In Kharbarinth five hundred Freemen and three hundred Peasants are added to the city; in Stalheim, two hundred Freemen and three hundred Peasants; in Forgefend, one hundred Freemen and two hundred Peasants.

Velathrii: In fair Velathrii a hundred Freemen and one hundred Peasants are added to the numbers of the Velathrim.

Warclyfe: There is much to be learned from humble medicine, and simple remedies forestall a hundred ailments. In this the people of the Warclyfe excel, and they shall reap the rewards in their own bodies for years to come. On the islands of the sons of Tes'la one hundred Freemen and two hundred Peasants are now servants of Grom. The emissaries sent to the people of the Dawn Singer are greeted eagerly - the Aun'kal seem interested in a pact of mutual defense, to defend both island-dwellers against these Ithoi, who have visited the Aun'kal as well.

Avnelin: The explorers sent out to sea have sighted a marvel - a great island, moving through the water, with trees, and beaches, and land as formidable as all of Avnelin upon this moving monolith. In the water flippers, each the size of many ships, slowly move at depth, propelling the beast, vast beyond reckoning. Awe fills the Pennenthelli - and enthusiasm to journey the deeps and see more of the wonders of this world. These enthusiasts prepare a humble Galley, to carry their kinsmen upon the sea. One hundred Freemen and two hundred Peasants are added to the numbers of the Pennenthelli.

Riverlands: Two hundred Freemen and two hundred Peasants are added to the numbers of the Republicans.

Machaka: One hundred Freemen and four hundred Peasants are added to the numbers of the kin of Machaka.

Varra: A hundred Freemen and a hundred Peasants are added to the numbers of the Saladonians.

by **Novas Arcanum** » Wed Feb 24, 2021 3:27 pm

Bronze Age Shao Dynasty Theme

UHV (Unique History Victory) Unite the Four Kingdoms (Shao 1/1 | Yue 0/1 | Niari 0/1|Huanca 1/1)

The Shao Dynasty is represented by the mighty dragon. In Huang culture dragons are divine, representing wisdom, power, strength, the supernatural and hidden knowledge

Disquiet filled the land. Zhai Cheng was no stranger to war but that last battle was different the Shao fighting fiercely against the Xianbei. The Shao would remember this battle for years to come and study the strategies and tactics used.

Guerilla warriors cunning and deceitful known has straw hats for they wore the conical hat symbolic of the Huang peasant and straw capes worn by laborers who worked in the sun to fool foreigners into thinking they were harmless peasants. Slaying outlanders unseen and unheard. The traps that surrounded the city bodies pulled from the pits to this day.Iron gift of Heaven turning back blows from the foe and allowing warriors to strike with the wrath of a typhoon.

The battle was hard fought many good men gone to the next world to greet King Yama. Still the Shao Dynasty was victorious, triumphant over it's foes and like so many times before had earned its right to exist. Though mothers and wives wept, children crying out for their fathers in the end the Shao would know that they had brought honor to their ancestors that they had turned back the foe in the moment of truth. For that they were proud.

But enough of battle life moves onwards and war is a terrible thing. The Shao would rebuild and become stronger. In other news life carried on. Yuan Qiang had invited the philosopher Lao Zi to debate philosophy and discuss things of merit. Lao old and wise was a influential man in the Shao Dynasty teaching a philopshy based on filial piety, humanness, tradition, hard work, and meticulous dedication to the state. Yuan Qiang had grown interested in Lao's teachings and read his writings on philosophy voraciously becoming greatly influenced by the man.

In the court men vied for power. Princes, lords, and nobles all fighting for a bigger slice of the pie. Assassinations and scheming where not unheard and the court was becoming more unstable by the day. The king had realized this and realized that something needed to be done to counter the ambitions of the growing scholarly class and keep them in check.He also needed a way to centralize power for himself,the Son of Heaven. With luck Yuan Qiang would formalize the teachings of Lao Zi and implement a policy based on his teachings the idea was crystalizing and would revolutionize Huang society for millennia to come.

by **The Empire of Tau** » Wed Feb 24, 2021 3:51 pm

by **Lazarian** » Wed Feb 24, 2021 10:05 pm

Corvus, Year 42 of Destiny's Awakening

"Go get 'em, boy!" shouted Gerran Pasturekeeper, whistling at the furred kin-spirit beside him. The good boy in question, a hound named Meatsnatcher, had been bred for the last 200 years for perfect traits. A docile nature, a rounder face, a shorter tail - this particular animal was a friend and loyal companion. Unlike the savage hunting hounds (which hardly differed from the wildwolves at all), Meatsnatcher was hardly a threat - except, of course, to legs of mutton left casually on the table.

Meatsnatcher stared up at Gerran with confused eyes, before snorting and wagging his tail excitedly. Tragically, despite his many positive attributes and excellent breeding, Meatsnatcher couldn't seem to figure out the command. His tongue dripped eagerly as he stared at the raw meat Lena Dreamweaver held, expecting the reward despite doing nothing at all.

Lena Dreamweaver sighed. The scholars of the city had been out in the paddocks for months now, working with the herders and the cleverest and wisest of the kin-spirits. Some dogs seemed to have spirits much like their own - they could learn, understand how their owners felt, and even express moods of their own. A few Spirit-Guides claimed that these were the souls of men themselves, although Lenan Songweaver disagreed. Unexpectedly, the storyteller, musician, and poet had become one of the few strands holding their society together. With the work of many excellent smiths, a collection of his works had been chiseled into several Soulstone tablets, displayed in the city square all to see. A bright light in all the darkness that had surrounded them in recent years.

"Well," said Lena reluctantly, "it doesn't seem like this hound is going to figure it out. Please go fetch another one to work with, cer Pasturekeeper."

Gerran snorted, replying in his heavy rural drawl.

"Yer just rushin' 'im, Lena. Meatsnatcher's a clever boy. He'd figure it out faster if you all weren't so pushy about it. It's only been a few days. Takes time."

The other spirit-guides shook their heads, muttering amongst themselves. This was not the scholarly achievement or breathtaking advancement they had hoped to be working on. Instead, they were stuck in the fields with ornery farmers and country boys, throwing sticks of meat to dull-witted animals. A tragedy.

As they lamented among themselves, Meatsnatcher slowly padded over behind Lena. Silently. Stealthily. Gerran watched his companion with glee and a toothy grin as the trusty hound snuck closer and closer.

It was over in an instant. Meatsnatcher lived up to his name, suddenly ripping the strip of meat from Lena's hand with his savage fangs and slurping it up in two bites. She screeched, caught off guard, and Gerran howled in laughter. The spirit-guide acolytes did their best not to laugh, as Lena was the oldest among them - and thus their superior. Despite this, a few couldn't help but grin slightly.

Despite all the troubles, not all was ill in the lands of Corvus.

There were many new developments this year, both good and bad. For one, the remainder of the warriors of the Bloodred Pack had mostly disbanded, with many retiring back to being the simple farmers and herders they once were. New soldiers rose up to fill their ranks, but these new men no longer bore the traditions or the customs implemented by the former Warlord. No more Trial of the Arrows. No more fistfighting in the town square for glory. No more scrimmages as entertainment. These new soldiers were town guards and lawmakers, focused on preserving the fragile peace that surrounded the city. Rather than being chosen for boisterous nature or brave spirits, these new soldiers were picked for wisdom and restraint.

Despite the dreadful results of the affairs outside their lands, the local economy of Corvus was highly prosperous. No mouths went hungry, and most lived comfortable lifestyles. The citizens of the city spent their time hastily erecting defenses. Dozens of watchtowers were raised, dotted over the vast rural fields that surrounded their home. The structures towered over the rustling wheat and bleating goats, with men inside keenly gazing over the horizon to the East. A palisade wall was hammered into place around the outer layer of the city as well. It was unlikely that the docile and isolationist foe would come for vengeance, but many men swore that these constructions were necessary. If not for the easternmen, then for any barbarians who lurked outside the edges of the city.

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Thu Feb 25, 2021 8:40 am

Deepkin

The Hill of Song, Kharbarinth
First of Springwind, Year Twohundred Forty of the Reckoning

As the man at the forge labored a slow sonorous speech passed through his bearded lips, intonation too low to be distinguishable, but rising and falling with the blows of his hammer. Next to him another man chanted as well, younger, with no protective facial hair and thus his face turned away from the shower of sparks. But even as he didn't look upon the work, his lips moved in ceaseless rhythm, the bellows in his hands pumping in synchronized unison with the muttered incantation.

The forging had been started with the rising of the sun, and the return of green life to the world. For hours now the men had labored, pouring the metal, annealing the cast, plunging the bit of twisted iron anew into the coals. Over it had been sprinkled powdered bone of the bison ox, for strength and vitality, ash from the eider of the highlands hewn as the first sap rose. The words had been chosen carefully, an ancient stanza of the rites of new growth and fecund life which the forefathers of the Deepkin had sung since before records were first begun by the magi.

He who worked the forge was no mage. Or, hadn't been. But with the careful motions of his hands, accustomed to long labor and precision across the hours, he chiseled the runes, and with each new creation the song wove about the anvil, each delicately placed symbol glowing with a pale unearthly light as a part of the fabric of the Father's world twisted the skein to accommodate the needs of his children. There were some on Government Hill who would have argued against such innovations, who said that to place the reins of the arcane in the hands of even prosperous and proven craftsmen was folly. What an apprentice could wreak with misplaced syllables and foolish haste was a concern, to be sure.

But as the green life was bound within the bones of the iron, to be molded one day into cold stone which would throb with the heartbeat of the city, the watching mages could only approve. Runeforging was a path to the future, where all men could benefit from the mastery of the eldritch and weird which they sought.

by **Nuxipal** » Thu Feb 25, 2021 10:01 am

City of Daru
Year of the Ancestor 140

There were rumors passing through the city. Rumors that the Ancestor herself protected the city from the disasters of the great conflagration that swept the plains. The Gold-Silver trees had become a sight which was making all who bore witness feel as if life had a new meaning, a new purpose. The faithful flocked to see these trees that grew up around the Unicorn Paddocks and protected the city already once. Scholars observed and touched the trees seeking to learn their secrets. They experimented with fallen leaves, branches and sticks seeking to gather knowledge of the still living trees from whatever fell from them naturally. The flowers were already known to have a source of magic within them, if these trees also had magic, it could be possible to grow the trees separately and find a way to harvest excess magical energies from them to power future arcane projects.

Elsewhere, with the delivery of the soldiers Copper armor over the last couple of years, Teroh was working to further the training efforts of his militia seeking to improve their discipline and combat cohesion. While as First his primary goal should be to further the power of the city, he had effectively delegated most of that over to the High Priestess, Serra. This gave him the freedom to conduct the soldiery as he saw fit. He saw how many fell in the battle at Avnelin, and mostly to untrained peasants. It was horrific, dishonorable, and not befitting of the state of the soldiers he wished to lead. With armor, fewer would die. However, if they could acquire new weapons, iron or copper or bronze. Something to give his soldiers an edge in close combat as well, they would be able to accomplish their current goal. The defeat of the northern barbarian tribes.

by **Pragia** » Thu Feb 25, 2021 4:53 pm

And so the light of Halan Eleskar would join those of his ancestors. While he would see his people seek out beyond their wooded home, he would also be struck by the savagery of the outside world. His daughter, Myral Eleskar, would be elected by the council to follow her father, and her decisions would send the Eleskar on a path away from their isolationism.
-Remembrance of the Early Magisters

Though not as mourned as his mother, Halan would be buried beneath the grand scriptorum, but his daughter would be quick to commission a new project. Myral was fascinated by the new processes the magi had followed informally for years but were finally codifying into practice. The magi who had developed this, Yekar Porskan, would join the council at her request, the factions within the council now having a much more pragmatic bent. This would result in the creation of a new hall of discourse, where Porskan analysis would be conducted on ideas as they are presented. A great conclave chamber where magi would be free to openly challenge one another's ideas, but with an added twist: that non-magi would be able to engage with their leaders as long as they could articulate ideas with logic. This was an unprecedented move, and one that invited some ire from the upper echelons of the magi that non-magi would be able to engage with their betters.

This was not the only change that the magister was initiated. The Kelskar would be sent abroad with magi to their neighbor, the local scouts having heard of a great hall constructed in their neighbor. They were not well-acquainted to the rapid growth of the Machaka, the spider-worshippers having become a rabble of the peasantry being something the magi had learned of with some concern, but their peaceable demeanor was one that set the Eleskar at ease. There would be an attempt at engagement between the two, the magi being permitted to share their understanding of logic that they had recently developed. There were other peoples downriver from the Eleskar who they would engage with properly in due time, but the scholarly developments of the Machaka were of particular interest, and their mutual knowledge the oldest.

Finally, the magister's dictates would be that the Eleskar focus on more achievable goals in expanding their magical knowledge, as the notion of living stone was clearly beyond the basic abilities of the magi. The knowledge of the peoples surrounding them was also of use, there was no shame in learning the secrets of the gods from foreign powers, as long as the magi could create and expand upon it. Thusly, they would finally learn the secrets of the shining stones and how they could be shaped.

by **The Knights of Azorea** » Thu Feb 25, 2021 5:41 pm

Velathri, Aqina's Forum

The dictator, unrestrained by the Legium and supported by an outraged people, bellowed out across the city. Peasants in their droves marched in sanguine rage to sign up. Knappers turned river-flint to blades, and every grieving mother was a bowyer. The city churned with grim, quiet activity, punctuated only by the salutes of soldiers, and the roars of drilling seargents. The year passes in drilling, and the hearts of Aqina's childen beat in tune to war-drums. By the end of the year a legion has been turned out in arms, and life is much changed in the city. The heady days of the Drilling Year - of work-camps and taro roasted over bonfires in the campground, of war cries and martial law, of wailing priests and roaring orators, would mark Velathri forever more. With more than a fourth of the city under arms, the stratocracy has become entrenched ever more sharply. With all staking their honour on the sword, and the dictator scorning all but the soldiers, the newly drilled men are an army of a different kind from the standing hundreds of prior years.

Equipped with fresh bows of dark jungles alongisde stone and flint spears, the newly raised men are a much broader cross-section of society. The strongest and best, many still of the higher tribes, sit at the force's core with iron gleaming in their hands, but the army and its culture have been reshaped by the import of two hundred new men - all peasants used to graft in the hills and forests. Many of the old nobles grow fearful - the dictator moves the crowds with his every word, and their primacy is coming into doubt. Weakrned by losses in the last battle, their iron-grip on the sword has faltered, and from their fine houses amidst the city the new Toxotai, the archers, will not likely return to subservience in latter days.

by **The GAmeTopians** » Thu Feb 25, 2021 10:57 pm

The Republic of the Great River

Rivermouth
Co-write with Lazarian

It had been a long journey. The small group of diplomats, translators, guards, and Khortuun camel-caravaneers had departed Corvus over two years ago, sent to pursue their mission by the remnants of the Tribelord’s council. Things were strange in Corvus now - with their ancestral tradition of a single leader now gone and broken, many men squabbled and quarreled about what would come next. For now, the wealthiest men, the foremost scholars, the skilled smiths - these were the men who ruled Corvus, in a motley patchwork of a council.

The city of Daru had spoken of other peoples and other men, to the far North. Lands so distant that they were perhaps beyond the realm of the Aspects. Perhaps beyond even the Mother-Moon herself, though her smiling gaze still looked down upon them. They spoke of terrifying wild men with skulls for faces, blue-painted men, and a great city. The one which had sparked the greatest interest in the council was the People of the River.

And as they approached the city, it was clear as to why. The wall around the city born of the banks of the great river was taller than any building in Corvus. It loomed over the city, casting an immense shadow over the landscape, and the men of the caravan cried out in disbelief and wonder at its mere sight. It was truly a magnificent thing, though it secretly brought despair to some of them. The mythology of the Corvidian people was that they were blessed by the gods - the greatest among men, sons of the First Man. And yet here these people were, beyond the borders of the known world, with a structure greater that defied belief itself. Had giants ripped the boulders from the landscape and lodged them into place? Had the earth itself spat out such a creation?

As they approached, the farmers in the fields welcomed them, waving their hands at the passing travellers. Many looked at the curious newcomers with keen eyes, some gazing intently at the soulstone khopesh swords affixed to the bodyguards of the caravaneers. The men of Corvus were certainly different from these men - these River People were pale and fair, with blonde hair and blue eyes. The Corvidians stuck out distinctly, with their tanned skin, brown eyes, and long locks of red and orange hair. As they approached the gates of the city, a contingent of guards approached.

As the delegation neared the wall, it was inevitable that they would also notice the strange buildings scattered around the area, along dirt paths filled with citizens walking to and fro. Each one looked eerily similar to the next, almost as if it had been copied stone for stone, log for log - and if they were indeed the homes that they seemed to be, as children and mothers, fathers and weary workers entered and exited, they were of unmatched quality.

The particularly sharp-eyed among them might spot the watch towers that lined the horizon lighting up briefly with bright flames - not the sustained blazes that announced an enemy at the gate, no - shorter bursts of fire that were quickly extinguished, some message that was best conveyed as such. Seemingly in response, the gate began to creak open in welcome of the strange folk, revealing the guards just beyond.

“Halt, travelers!” The pale men began to stream out from the widening gap, their arms and armor gleaming with the telltale sheen of copper, formed into plates and blades. One of their number seemed to be some kind of leader, a pale blue cloth stitched onto his shoulder. His arm rested at his side, sword not drawn but ready nonetheless.

“Peace be with you, strangers. The Republic welcomes you, though your group is large enough that we must ask for your reason for visiting our fine city.”

The leader of the caravan, Cirron Farstrider, looked over to their translator. Jertar of Daru was a man of the Northern city, paid for with small tokens of soulstone. The metal was incredibly scarce in the lands to the North, and the Corvidians used it as a source of currency in their affairs to the North.

Cirron nodded, prompting the translator to go ahead. Jertar cleared his throat.

“Greetings, master guardsman. These men with me hail from Corvus, the Hill City, which stands above lands of great herds and vast expanses of grain. They wish you no harm. The soldiers are there for protection and that alone. Their leaders have heard of your city from the men of Daru, and have sent this delegation here to learn of your people and their ways. The reputation of your city proceeds it, and these men have travelled far to look upon its splendor.” he said, playing up the flattery.

Cirron and the other spirit-guides bowed deeply, kneeling on the ground in front of the guard with a single knee. They were an assortment of older men, ranging from their later thirties to a few greybeards. They wore long draping robes of hide, with four lines painted with white dye made of crushed limestone drawn from the neck of the garments to the leather belt about their waist. The soldiers of the caravan stood tall and proud though, refusing to bend to any foreigner. Their soulstone armor gleamed in the sun, and lines of red dye fell from their stern eyes to their beards.

The guardsman bowed at the waist in response, and his sword hand relaxed slightly.
“Welcome to the River’s Jewel, Men of Corvus. I will send for an Archon to arrange lodgings for you and your escort, but in the meantime I will secure a meal for you all at the local tavern - they should have more than enough to ease the hardships of your long journey.”

The gate opened wide now, and the men of the Republic formed a loose escort around the newcomers - more for protection than suspicion. The leader himself turned and led the way, keeping a casual pace to allow them to enjoy the sights of Rivermouth.

Jertar turned, relaying the message to the emissaries, and they stood, brushing themselves off. As the envoys walked through the gate, they stared upwards in awe, amazed by its size and height. Construction, evidently, was a thing these Rivermen had mastered.
The city was certainly as impressive as the lands outside of it. Nice cottages similar to the finest homes of Corvus were visible, and these people seemed well fed and carefree. Their streets were bustling with life and activity - none of the sadness or grief that plagued Corvus was to be found in this place. Some of the spirit-guides looked more keenly at the industry of the city, seeing forges and smithies. Like their own kind, these people had some mastery of metal. Unlike the foul easternmen, they did not have any graymetal iron. They seemed to work with copper, much like the sisters of Sorrowfree. Despite the great advancement of these peoples, their gods had not given them the secrets of Soulstone, which brought great pride to the Corvidians. At least they had one thing these men did not. Cirrar turned to Jertar, who relayed another question.

“Under what gods do the men of the River’s Jewel find such prosperity? Your people are blessed to reside under these mighty walls and in this harmonious society. Would you mind telling us your history? The root of any people lies in their honorable forebearers.” he asked respectfully, turning to the leader of the watchmen.

“We owe our lives to the Great River itself - its flow gives us our crops, the cool breeze that relieves us from the hot sun, and the water itself that wets our throats. Gods are dangerous in the North - the Black Kings that the barbarians to the west worship are not welcome here.”
A glint of wariness shone in the man’s eyes, though as he looked out in the direction of the river, he sighed wistfully.
“The River has given us much, but it also takes - with its floods and droughts. The River is neither good nor evil. It simply is. It defies all classification, which is what makes it an indescribable entity worth our admiration.”
As they approached their destination, a sturdy wooden tavern whose door stood slightly ajar, the man nodded.
“I hope that answers your question.”

“Yes, certainly.” replied Cirrar, nodding. Fascinating. Worship of nature, without assuming a divine entity? Dangerous gods? Black Kings? The Corvidians acknowledged a foul lord of the night, the Beast...were these one in the same? It seemed rude to ask the question, though, as the guardsman seemed displeased with the existence of both the western men and their gods.

Cirrar could not imagine worshipping the fields or the mountains or the vast ocean that lied to the West of Corvus, but perhaps a river was different. Those features of nature did not provide for man, whilst this one did. Still, it was peculiar. Their other contacts, Sorrowfree and Daru, both worshipped gods, and the presumption among the Corvidian people was that such a thing was necessary for society itself. Perhaps this was wrong. In the back of the caravan, one of the younger acolytes scraped writing glyphs into a hide with a knife, making notes about these people.

“Certainly. If it is not too much trouble, guardsman, could we request an audience with your King?”

The man took a moment to respond - perhaps a translation issue, or just considering his words.
“The Republic does not have a king - perhaps the First Speaker of the Council would be most similar to this word. The Council is chosen by the people, and the Council then elects the First Speaker.” He pulled one of his men over to him, muttered a few words in his ear, and the young lad went sprinting off in the direction of the city center.
“My boy Kane will notify the Council of your arrival. Your lodgings will likely be ready before a meeting is approved, but I am certain the Archons will be interested to meet you.”
At this point he started to lead the delegation into the tavern - the Republic guards took up positions outside for the most part, with just a few accompanying them inside.

“Ah, I understand. We have a simple Council as well. In times past, we had a Lord, but...those times are over for good reasons.” Cirrar said, sadness filling his eyes, a hint of remorse tinging his voice. “But I must ask, which people choose the Council? The wealthy? The wise men?” he interjected, confused, before entering the tavern.

The interior of the building was sparsely populated, as most of the regulars were still out working, be it in the fields, the new housing district, or the smithies and forges. A lone barmaid’s eyes widened at the new arrivals, but she quickly scurried off to the kitchen to give the chef a belated warning.

“All of the adults of the city gather every twenty turnings - I believe that is five of your southern years - to vote for their Archon. Every hundred adults are represented by one Archon, and they are generally split up by occupation, though not always. The Archons then each possess one vote in the immediate election of the First Speaker, who receives the power to break ties on the Council, among other duties.” It seemed almost as if the guardsman was reading off a script - either this process was well-taught, or he’d recited this spiel before. Maybe both.

Jertar related this message to Cirrar.

“You must have translated wrong. ‘All the adults of the city?’ That’s a translation error.” Cirrar grumbled in reply to their guide.

“It’s not.” stated Jertar bluntly. “When the people of the River’s Jewel say all adults, they mean all. Poor and rich, women and men, farmer and scholar.”

The spirit-guides murmured among themselves once more, fascinated. How could such a society function? Wouldn’t so many different factions tear their society apart? Or did they spend hours and hours on end in endless debate and argument? If so, how did anything get done here? Cirrar was skeptical, but perhaps these men simply had different spirits in their bodies.

“Very well. Thank you for the escort, and for your excellent hospitality. Take this as payment for our stay.” the head of the spirit-guides said, unhooking a small hide pouch of soulstone ingots from his belt. “This metal is sacred to our people - harder, sharper, and more useful than any copper tool. It is quite valuable.” he finished, handing it to the guard.

He briefly inspected the gift, eyeing it warily, then tucked the bag away with a nod.

A few days had passed, and the strange men from the South had been cautiously welcomed by the Republic. Many meetings came and went ever since their arrival - this day in particular was no exception. Their standard escort arrived in the morning, but the destination was somewhat unique.

“Ah, Master Jertar, Master Cirrar! An honor to meet you. I am Archon Dale Gracewind, and I manage our humble scriptorum - a place of learning for our children and keen-minded.”
The spry old man quickly ushered the group inside, the building’s plain timber exterior belying the clutter of scrolls and strange equipment that lay within.

“An honor to meet you as well, Archon Gracewind.” Cirrar said, quickly followed by a translation. “This place reminds me of home, although the Spirit-Guides of Corvus are constantly bustling in and out of ours. Yours is certainly more relaxed. Where...where is the finery? I suppose it’s spread out among those magnificent homes of yours, rather than all devoted to a single building?”

“Please - call me Dale,” he grinned, before responding to the question. “Most outsiders think it strange, but we tend to forsake finery and other such luxuries - we’ve found that the wealth in such things is better invested into our city’s greater endeavors. Perhaps you saw the new Housing District on your way into the city proper? The plan as it stands currently is to have the entire city housed within those homes inside of forty turnings - sorry, a decade.”

He gestured slightly to the cluttered scriptorum, mostly occupied by the scrolls scattered everywhere. A few pieces of equipment lay about for tinkering, but they existed far in the minority.
“As for here… my colleagues and I tend to believe that a more plain environment is better for focus. Some disagree, and their homes tend to be decorated to accommodate their preferences, since we all have the space for such.”

“I see. We think the opposite, far to the South. The scriptorum is one of the most comfortable buildings in the city - thick rugs of furs are strewn over the floors, fine furniture fills the building, and the knowledge of our city is carefully preserved on metal tablets, ordered precisely. Although, judging by your people, it seems that perhaps we could have saved some wealth and had the same outcome.” Cirrar joked. His face grew somewhat more serious, as he looked around for peering ears. Even those of his countrymen.

“Dale, I must be truthful. There is magnificent and splendid knowledge stored within the walls of this city. Though your people are not blessed by a particular god, you have thrived anyways. There is a saying back in Corvus, ‘the hardest metals sharpen one another’, and ‘hounds are stronger in a pack’-”

Jertar turned to him.

“I will not be able to translate colloquialisms across two different languages. These people do not know what a hound is. I do not know what a hound is.” he said in the tongue of Corvus, shaking his head.

“Well, it’s a four-legged beast, with great strength, strong teeth, and a clever spirit, that is very important to the men of Corvus-”

“Ah, like the Horned Lords!” said Jertar excitedly. Cirrar sighed. The kin-spirited hounds were nothing like the Horned Lords. This was a disaster.

“Very well. I’ll get to the point with simple words. Dale, are there any areas where you seek knowledge that perhaps we may have, and forbidden secrets you would be willing to give? Your people must be truly blessed by your River God, for you are equals to our great city in population, strength, and prosperity. Perhaps even greater in some areas, though I am reluctant to even think such a thing. Despite our strengths, many minds are greater than a few. Many arms can lift what a single cannot. Do you understand my inquiry?”

Dale nodded to himself, considering. “Aye, I do. That strange metal you gave to the guardsmen upon your arrival is a secret we have great interest in - some of my colleagues are already inspecting it incessantly. As for us…” He shuffled through some of the scrolls behind him - but rather than picking one from the pile, he pressed down on the very floor beneath them, to reveal a strange compartment in the floorboards - which held yet another scroll. He handed it to Jertar, since he would be able to read it.

Jertar proceeded to read it to Cirrar, whose eyes opened wide in excitement. Now this - this was a clever idea indeed. It seemed that the Crow, the wild god of Cleverness and Ingenuity, did not visit Corvus alone.

“Oh, this is indeed a discovery of great merit!” he said, clasping his hands together. “Something that perhaps we could trade the mysteries of our ancestral blessing for. Yes, yes. I must discuss this with my fellows, Dale. But I feel quite confident - if the learned men of our city can visit here to master this, we will certainly share the secrets of Soulstone in return. However, I must give a warning - the sacred metal cannot be given to unworthy peoples. If we do allow you to learn such methods, you must keep it within these walls. Is that something that the wise men of the River’s Jewel could do?”

“Indeed we could. Perhaps the knowledge could not be hidden forever - such a thing is impossible - but the materials themselves… they could be more tightly controlled. Would that be agreeable?” Dale posed, smiling to his newfound partners.

“Oh, certainly! Mere copper alone cannot make Soulstone. I cannot expand more upon the methods at this time, but yes. The substance can be controlled, and closely guarded trade of the necessary materials set up between our cities. The Gods gave Soulstone to Corvus to ensure that brave, bold, and strong men have dominance over others. And from what I have seen, passing this to your people would not be in violation of this tenet. I must return to my comrades to negotiate the specifics, but...our cities will emerge from this meeting far richer and stronger than they were before. I swear it on the Aspects.” Cirrar said excitedly, speaking so quickly he stumbled over the words.

And so it was. Another day in the River’s Jewel… another day of the River’s Grace.

by **The National Dominion of Hungary** » Fri Feb 26, 2021 12:19 am

The Land of Penithel

"Aye, the size of all the plains we can see from the wall I swear, with great paddles like our oars risin' and fallin'." The sailor said with a hearty grin on his face. "Had to keep well clear or they'd snap the galley like a twig!" He said, slamming a hairy-knuckled fist down on the table eliciting a collective wide-eyed gasp from the listeners, friends and strangers alike who had come to hear the tale. Ever since the sailors returned from their careful foray into the vast blue expanse of the Eastern Sea they had become nothing short of celebrities, everyone wanted them to tell the tales of the Flesh-Isles and the other things they had seen. In the days as the galley was prepared for another excursion, this time to sail southward along the coast from where the Father's River empties into the sea, the sailors had been enjoying their celebrity status as the Pennethelli were gripped with a lust for knowledge of distant lands. The sailor took another bite of the roasted venison on his wooden plate and enjoyed as a pretty blue-eyed brunette scooted over closer to him placing a strawberry on his plate. "Tell us about how you followed it across the sea, Damyvith." She said, eyes fluttery.

"Why certainly!" The sailor said with a smile. "It went like this..." The time was one of progress and discovery for the Pennethelli, not only has their sailors brought back marvelous stories from the voyage across the seas, the Priest-Lords who had traveled to the Rivermen of the north had finally managed to comprehend the advanced knowledge of how to grow and care for crops on a great scale. Indeed, the Rivermen had much more knowledge, the Pennethelli wished to learn as much as their northern friends cared to allow. Now the first of these great gardens was being built outside the walls, a promise of a great abundance of food to come in the future. Hunger would be a thing consigned to memory and history. However, the joyous mood covered a darker truth, warriors were being raised, and copper scales fasted on boiled leather. War was brewing, after all, the Rivermen did not simply give their knowledge in a fit of generosity...

by **Olthenia** » Fri Feb 26, 2021 6:29 am

Wʜᴀᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ᴄʟᴏᴜᴅs
Bᴜᴛ ᴀɴ ᴇxᴄᴜsᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ sᴋʏ?
Wʜᴀᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍs
Bᴜᴛ ᴀɴ ᴇsᴄᴀᴘᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ʟɪғᴇ?

by **Ralnis** » Fri Feb 26, 2021 7:44 am

Warcyfle,
Island of Lo

The news that Grum heard was bad indeed. The Ithoi were powerful enough to deal with both and each was unprepared. The Aun'kal had men, more numerous than the Sons but lacked naval technology to compete. The Warcyfle had naval technology on the level of the Ithoi but lacked the men to exploit it. It seemed that each one could compliment the other in Grum's mind and it would be neccessary to defend their homes. Dawn-Singer knew this, he was older and wiser than the young chief who barely touched his 20s. He knew that the Warcyfle were trying to patch things up at least to do this and that Grum was starting to make his own explorer corps but was focused on the war. So such a thing was held back once again.

Grum had to devote his project to something else than conquering the Aun'kal. The Ithoi and their One God were the biggest threat and both sides only have so much to do and so little time. A plan was all he had in the mean time and got to work for his sake and the sake of others.

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Fri Feb 26, 2021 2:12 pm

Year 240 of the Reckoning
Turn 21

Zhai Cheng: A raid by wild men from the north has slipped past the guards and stolen several lengths of precious silk, drying in the forests of their extraction - the worth of three cartloads of wealth! It is only by the grace of the Ancestors that the noble harvesters were not seized.

Machaka: With mighty stones and careful cutting instruments the Machaka begin to raise mighty wall, their sturdy Masonry a feat for all to envy, even their neighbors with a mastery of similar arts.

Kharbarinth: To the north of north of north, the explorers stumble upon a humble village. It lays on the coast, on fertile plains through which a small river flows. The inhabitants seem peaceful enough, and introduce themselves as the Agaladrim, the Golden Folk. They seem of a similar kindred to the Deepkin, in both appearance and tongue, though their technology is much more primitive. They have goods of wrought gold which they will trade, and have a small unwalled village stoutly defended.

To the southwest of the southwest of the southwest, coastal plains roll before the explorers. This land has fair white beaches, and the bay to the north is familiar, while the ocean extends westwards. To the south, more plains reach to the horizon. Here are to be found stands of rich pear trees, sweet to eat, and dangerous plains lions, whose tawny coats hide them well in the scrub-grass of the region. Tubers, orange and good to eat, also flourish here.

Clever men with many glues and fibers create a medium whereby the learned may share their wisdom easily with the simple - a good thing for all who do not have their entire lives to study a matter. Moreover the wise have devised simple contraptions of hide and timber, much akin to the simplest of boats, which shall allow men to travel with greater burdens even where the rivers do not run, such as to distant Forgefend, with these sledges. Men in Stalheim have harvested an uncommonly large amount of stone, working long hours to raise high the defenses of the city at expense of their home lives. +5 Stone, -30 Stability. In Kharbarinth, a new district has been raised by avaricious miners near the fallen meteor of skystone, men seeking to profit from this supernatural event despite opposition from some in the community. +Rural District (Hills), -30 Stability.

Nirari: Men with hearts full of patriotism have prepared an additional set of siege ladders for the needs of the mighty armies of the men of Daru, though there are some who protest this warlike focus. -15 Stability.

Eleskar: A careful inspection of the coastline by the explorers reveals that this is not a coast at all, but an inland freshwater sea! To both north and south the coastline bends eastward, and from atop one of the near forest giants the most keen-eyed of their number can espy foliage on the eastern shores of the great lake. There are plentiful fish here, and curious shells the color of deepest forest green can be found in the depths, as large as a man's torso, though they live too deep to dive down to them.

Riverlands: Motivated citizens, inspired to fear by tales of conflict in the world beyond the Republic, have taken upon themselves to work extra shifts in the mines. As such, a wealth of copper is available for use in arming and forging in the coming years. +4 Copper, -28 Stability.

Avnelin: The untrained naturalists manning the galley discover little of interest to the south - save that the coastline bends east. They see birds, and beasts, and stones, and trees, but without experienced explorers their report is muddled and of no great practical value.

Sorrowfree: The stones from the north are a curiosity - each as small as a mother's thumb, and as hard as bone. They do not yield shape before the strongest forge-fires, and barely even heat. If they have any additional properties, these are not noted as they return south, save that they were most commonly seen in the small mountain stream and thus most easily gathered there.

Warclyfe: The Dawn Singer accepts this accord - and sends men to study the metal ores which the people of Tes'la value so highly. In this accord the Aun'kal see profit, for if they will not stand together, the Ithoi seem likely to devour them singly.

by **Ralnis** » Fri Feb 26, 2021 4:36 pm

Warcyfle,
Island of Lo

The new corps of artisans and dock were made with the simple galleys of the Aun'kal came to study. They saw the building of a new shipweight and the scholars still trying to study how to advance their shipmaking skills and even to start smithing. Yet many of them were starting to section off a part of the forest surrounding their farm for the use of logging. This was for them to build not just for ships, but proper defenses in case that the Ithoi were to come. It would be basic but it was something they needed to do. As of right now, the Warcyfle was only able to make due with basic defenses and how to rely on pure manpower to build something like this.

The Artisan class had already put more for the scholars and Grum to do smithing before shipmaking in order to compete with the Aun'kal. Since the Aun'kal needed ships and only 300 could be on their one Briemre. That means for Grum that the Ithoi had more than 300 troops which was a third than what the Warcyfle had in population. The Aun'kal had more men than the Warcyfle but Grum needed to make sure that it was worth building the ships. Emissaries were sent to the Aun'kal to get an estimate of their military and how many could they raise when the Ithoi appear. This would be something to know as the Warcyfle could build enough ships to accomendate the size. This is not to say of their own people could raise 200 alone if push comes to shove but that alone wouldn't fill their pride.

Still, the artisans wanted to try and get the scholars to make smithing a restored knowledge to them. They only have so little time they believe before the Ithoi try something. Grum agreed, with all the plans being thrown into disarray they needed to do something. It meant that he needed to think things through. If the Ithoi were to burn down Lo, then they will enslave them. He needed to think things through for the good of both civilizations.

by **Nuxipal** » Fri Feb 26, 2021 5:54 pm

City of Daru
Year of the Ancestor 142

The outrage over the increase in militarism was clearly visible in the very religious population of Daru. First Teroh had called a meeting with High Priestess Serra to try and reconsile the various factions within the city. While the first, an elected life-long position, was officially the ruler and leader of the city, they held no hereditary titles over the land, the city, or its wealth. They are typically annointed by the High Priests of the Ancestor and rule on behalf of the Ancestor. However, Teroh had already shown he was not terribly interested in the economics of the city. While he wasn't the only First to be military focused, he had the largest soldier pool as well as the city's population had been growing faster than it had ever before. Surely there had to be a way to appease the people through his connection with the Ancestor.

"I don't understand what you are asking First Teroh, the people are prospering primarily from the new trade networks we have created. Routes to Sorrowfree have helped supply your military as has the routes south to Zhai Cheng. However, its the other cities of the Plains that have brought wealth directly to the city and its people. They desire trade and they desire prosperity. If you want to regain their support, you will need to ensure they believe that you have the interests of all Nirari in mind, not just your soldiers."

Upset at what the High Priestess said, First Teroh responds, "Well then, I suggest that you make it appear that way. We need these soldiers to defend our borders and to protect those precious trade routes. The siege ladders serve two purposes. One, we can and have traded them in the past. Secondly, we also have them so we can strike out at those who threaten us. The Heuskar are a constant threat to our north. Their undead thralls threaten to kill or capture anyone we send that way."

Serra knew the soldiers had played their part in the trade system and more soldiers would eventually be needed to keep the peace along the trade routes. Stockpiles of weapons and armor were already something she wished to keep on hand. Extra bows, weapons, and armor would always be useful. However, in the moment the majority of the population was not alright with this. "I'll do what I can. We have already had a major setback because of these disagreements within the city. The new crops we are bringing down from our friends in Riverlands will help prepare our people for the future."

And as the days passed and the scholars worked, small plantings of maize popped up in the rural districts. The beginning of a new system of food production was on the horizon and with a solid food source, a city like Daru could focus more on their trade networks instead of on who gets to eat.

Festivities were held at the shrine dedicated to the Ancestor and her divine protection that kept the city safe during the Great Burning. The event which passed several years ago, but still is held in the minds of many Nirari to be a monumental shift in how the people of Daru should face the rest of the world. The Ancestor spared them and gave them the sacred trees. And while their Scholars could not learn much of them in the past years it is still possible that future scholars will find new secrets of the plants gifted to them by the Ancestor.

by **Novas Arcanum** » Sat Feb 27, 2021 5:55 am

Autumn and Spring Era
A era of war against their brethren the Yue and Chu . Still this era would pave the way for greatness in the future for the Huang people

The residence of future Huang kings and when the kingdoms are united emperors.

The dawn of a new year. There was hope in the air even with all the negative events for the Shao Dynasty. For one construction on the Forbidden Palace was continuing apace, which would be the living quarters for the Son of Heaven and his family. The palace would be a breathtaking and gorgeous display of Huang architecture and art based on Feng shui an ancient belief that dated back centuries to the past. The palace would be a symbol of strength and endurance of the Huang people.

Work would also continue apace formalizing the teachings of Lao Xi. A few complained saying it would be best to study how to tame the unicorns from the Niari given the number of scholars residing in Zhai Cheng. To that Yuan Qiang reprimanded them and even expelled the very few lazy one's who managed to slip by and become scholars to replace with more studious and hardworking men. Laziness would not be tolerated in his court and the men would work even harder to create a system of governance where all under Heaven would benefit.

Urban District [Spinning House,3 huts, Bloomery, Taixue, Monument, Nursery, Shrine (+3 Stability),2 Slums ,Forge, Charcoal Pit],+I Flat Food Bonus |Palisade
Rural District [6 Huts, Timber Camp,Watchpost,7 Gardens , Galena Scrape Mine (Galena)],+II Flat Food Bonus.
Rural District[Quarry, ]+II Flat Food Bonus.
Population Actions:
400 Scholars [Urban]| Researching governance and how to better rule all under Heaven.
400 Peasants [Rural District]| labor in the gardens in the riverlands to produce food --->+IV Labor, +XI Food (2 from Domestic Crops,5 from granary ).
100Peasants [Rural District]| Wrenching stone from the Earth in the Quarry. +I Stone, +I Labor.
100 Freemen are chopping wood in Timber Camp. In their free time they study the writings of Lao Zi and other Huang philosophers. +II Timber,+ I Labor.
100 Peasants [Rural District] mining for galena ore.+ I Galena Ore, +I Labor
100 Peasants [Forest] gathering silk in Forests. +I Silk, +I Labor.
100 Peasants[Riverlands] gathering food in Riverlands near the settlement ---> IV Food, +I Labor.
100 Artisans [Urban] | Crafting wares and tools at the Forge ---> -I Charcoal, -I Galena Ore, -II Wealth, +I Industry
100 Artisans [Urban]|Crafting tools and wares at bloomery---> -II Wealth, +I Industry
100 Artisans [Urban]|Crafting breathtaking and gorgeous silk goods at the Spinning House--> -II Wealth, +I Industry
50 warriors [Iron Armor, Composite Bows, Iron Weapons] patrolling and escorting the peasants gathering silk.
60 warriors [Iron Armor, Composite Bows, Iron Weapons] Marching north trying to find the encampment of the barbarians.

Miscellaneous
+I Stability from Splendid Isolation.
II Wealth left from trade deal after accounting for expenses.
I Wealth spent on setting up traps in the Forests where peasants gather the silk.

Construction
The Forbidden Palace is being built [XV/XV Labor| X/XXV Wealth |V/VIII Industry| X/X Stone]
Galena Mine A new scrape mine is being constructed in the newly made Rural District.[IV/IV Labor| I/I Wealth| I/I Industry].Complete.
Smithy [III/III Labor|0/III Wealth| 0/IV Industry].Not Complete.
Urban District[IV/IV Labor|0/III Wealth].

Economy
+I Wealth from Palace Economy.
-I Wealth from Splendid Isolation.

by **Olthenia** » Sat Feb 27, 2021 7:21 am

The Vale of Ustar, Sorrowfree
Twenty-Seventh Day of the Arc of Wraiths, the 242nd Year of the Star-Count

Sorrowfree slumbered; as much as the city of the canyon-dwellers ever could. The home of the Mother-Moon’s people was by far greatest city of men and women on the edge of the vast, white desert – but now, in the small hours of the morning, her slumber was easy. Gone were the crowds from the Stoneside Markets, and even the vast camel-paddocks along the eastern walls were quiet. Unless, of course, you counted the occasional snort of sleeping camels. But that was to be expected.

Old Tuva rather liked it. The elderly spinster sat alone outside her hut, bony hands poking glowing embers with her favourite poking-stick. Occasionally, a shower of sparks flew up, up, up to join the stars in the sky. But Old Tuva’s eyes wasn’t on that – no. Her eyes scanned the humble peaked huts around her. Idly, idly.

Beyond them, and the brown swell of the tall stone wall that ringed them, lay the pride of her heart. Sorrowfree’s gardens.

Old Tuva was what the canyon-dwellers called a ‘Crone’. With her tassled hair and bleached herbal tattoos of a venerable mother, she was wise enough and wealthy enough to show all and sundry how much the Mother-Moon loved her. The copper bracelets on her arms and painted bottom lip proclaimed it for anyone with eyes to see. And soon, very soon, she’d be wealthier still.

“The way we do it is that we carve them open. Not like a hunter carves meat, but like you peel a bean. Or a prickle-pear,” Tuva’s daughter had confided in her just the other night. “And the stems! Oh, mother – the strips of plant you can get off of those things once they’re good and grown…”

Well. Fine, fine – Tuva knew well her daughter had always had an excitable streak. It had been a trait of hers since she’d been little more than a babe at breast. Mother! Mother! Tell me a story! Those days were passed now, of course – and her daughter was a wise woman in her own right. And involved, as the Mother-Moon would have it, with the queries and considerations into…

“We’re calling it flax,” her daughter had confided late one evening. They’d had the hut to themselves then, and the view of Sorrowfree had been then as it was now: Tranquil. Calm.

“Really?” Tuva had probed, knuckled hands folded in her lap. “And who thought of that, hm?” ‘Flax’. Her daughter hadn’t known, of course – although judging by the look in her eyes, Tuva more than suspected her daughter had had a hand in it herself. She had her father’s eyes, did Old Tuva’s daughter – and he, like their daughter, had never been able to lie well.

But. Its name aside, Tuva knew with certainty that soon – very soon – Flax would be a plant highly valued amongst the canyon-dwellers. Not for eating, of course – the vile plant was not for eating, and its pale blue flowers were not even of interest to the most ornery of camels. But! In the hands of wise women and seasoned herbalists, when teased apart, its steams yielded long, sinewy fibers of surprising strength and toughness. Greatly familiar to anyone who already knew the worth of ropegrass – yet soft enough to tie hair, swaddle a babe at breast or perhaps even bind a wound.
And Tuva? Well. The old matron might not be a witch herself, let alone what the Corvidians called a ‘dream-weaver’ – but she knew this: If she owned a plantation of those long, pale flowers sons and daughters alike called flax?

Oh, the Mother-Moon would bless her.

Bless her indeed.

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Sat Feb 27, 2021 7:55 am

Deepkin

The Way of Kings, Kharbarinth
Fourteenth of Summersheat, Year Twohundred Fortytwo of the Reckoning

The hubbub near the scriptorum gradually subsided as the small bronze bell within the scribal school tolled out the hour. Orders lines of pupils, male and female, steadily precipitated out of the mass of friends, relations, and excitement which had previously formed a mob on the street outside the school. A man in the white stoles of the Magistrate, his long black beard cropped neat about his high cheekbones, opened the door and frowned severely at the assemblage of students - but his piercing gaze found no flaw in their uniforms, at least not one worth griping about, and so he stood back from the entrance, allowing the learners within.

It was a spartan facility, by many standards - a sparse amphitheater with small notches where the learners would sit, and polished blocks of stone upon which their instruments and lessons would be placed while they inclined their ears to the instruction of the magistrate. All the lessons were done by word, not with any visual instruction, and focused on debate and argument and rhetoric as much as they did on the raw retention of knowledge. It was the old way of learning, somewhat outmoded following the publishing of large scrips on the natural world. But the students came here for that exact reason.

Scholar Alcides was renowned for his harsh but fair attention to logic and rhetoric, and the men and women which had the privilege to pass his examinations were looked upon well by the notables of Government Hill when it came to a need for clerks and officials. Graduations from the Eduba of Alcides was a good way to get ahead if your family was seeking to put you on the path to a political clear within the Tranquiline Halls, and so competition for the two dozen seats within the amphitheater was stiff.

Not that most of the students knew this. They were here to argue in good nature with friends and their master alike, to venture over the wild landscapes of the Father's country, to delve into the mysteries of the mundane and arcane. Bright minds, thirsty for knowledge, did not go unquenched in the City of Bells.

by **Lazarian** » Sat Feb 27, 2021 12:03 pm

Corvus, Year 4 of Council's Rule

"Mother-Moon above, these are the riches you wish to send? There's been a mistake in your records." the Khortuun caravaneer said incredulously, looking at the vast display of trinkets, hides, and tools laid in front of him. Ten cart-loads of wealth in whole, gifted in exchange for a single load of copper.

Old Elana Dreamweaver, the Stolen Tribelord - cheated from her twenty years of rule by Craenon, shook her head.

"They were paid for in blood, Oddar. No amount of wealth we can offer can truly pay for the lives lost on that day."

But it was something, at the very least.

They hadn't forced the Bonadar along, they hadn't lied to them - but they had sewn the seeds of glory and riches in their heads. They'd dragged the desertfolk into a blood-feud so old that the source had been lost in the sands of time. It was an excuse to enrichen themselves through stolen goods and enslaved peoples. And they had reaped what they had sown, a thousand times over.

It seemed as if the city was finally beginning to emerge from the chaos and trauma, though. Men talked with optimism and hope. Of new times, of potential goals, of how to build a better society. The smiths and tanners had formed up into Guilds, collectives of men who appointed representatives to the Council. No longer the Tribelord's Council - the new name was the City's Soul. A gathering of the greatest and most powerful spirits of the city, who would make decisions for the good of the lessers.

The Spirit-Guides had talked for weeks, months - years, since that fateful return of the army, about whether strength was truly the foremost virtue pushed by the gods. New evidence seemed to trickle in every day that perhaps spreading their gods through warfare and conquest was profane and ill-devised. The River's Jewel, a city that sparkled with awe and wonder, where the streets were paved in gold and every man lived in a king's house, had simply a well-equipped town guard. Their River God had blessed them, despite the fact that they had barely spread his word - no, they barely worshipped him.

The priesthood had come up with a conclusive answer this year - strength was still a virtue, but they had to be careful about pride, greed, and arrogance. Especially born on the belief in their military strength. Such things were halfway born in the dark halls of the Beast. There was no shame in being a soldier, or a wolf-among-men, but...if such men ignored the good virtues of the other gods, their city would fall to evil. There were Four pillars for a reason - not one. Vennon was a single god, wrathful and impetuous. And in honoring him alone, they had fallen into poor standing with the other gods. The citizenry seemed to accept this explanation, and the attendance at feasts, the traditions of old, the First Story - these were all embraced once more.

A Different World: The Noble Cities [IC|Closed]

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