[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/4wkpjL4.png[/img]
[h3]Yorum 4: Campaign[/h3]

[i]Loralom farmland, 12 PR[/i][/center]
Soft spiryts whispered through the grain field, bending stalks of laden grass until they sparkled like golden dust in the sun. Against the clear blue sky that chilled Caress' skin, that sea of radiant wealth would feed many. Caress could tell despite her blinded eyes, for she [i]felt[/i] just how much there was. She loved spreading out her many human hands like fins on a sea creature, swimming through the nice dry crops on her stroll. She lost her eyes – long ago though it was – for the very purpose of feeling those needling flowers as closely as she did.

Every grain had a smoothness and a roughness. There was such a dryness yet running along the grain of the fibres gave an illusion of sticky moisture.

Hundreds of little husks. The breeze made them sigh.

Caress almost gasped when one hand felt hainshell instead of grass. The back of someone's head, judging by its curvature. Her breath failed to gasp only because she knew exactly who it was.

Her mouth curled into a maternal smile. "It has been some time since we last bumped into each other, Edda," Caress said with her ever-calm accented Xerxian. "Some great count of heartbeats I have felt. It warms me to lay my fingers on you again. The power of the symbols on your shell are like a reassuring grip, even to me."

Edda sighed. "Many things have changed. I am glad your odd way of speaking has not, Caress. It's good to see you, too."

"How have you been feeling?" Caress said with no presumption of Edda's health. She lowered her hands and almost floated into a seated position in the field. "Perhaps we may speak while I knit another shawl?"

"By all means." Edda sat down in turn. "In truth, I just wanted to catch up with you."

"And I you. A great many shawls have spoilt over these past few years. Flax fears the cloy of moisture and rot. Recent rains have not shied such matters from the Urtelem, who do so love to keep huddled and warm." Caress pulled out her sewing needles and yarns, in all their colours and shades of red. "But my step errs from my question, I apologise. How have you been feeling, Edda?"

"All fine," she answered immediately and waved an upturned palm. "My health is not a concern in front of my mission. It goes on still."

Caress' widening smile did not quite open as she softly laughed. "I am also glad to hear, Edda, that your paces have not changed either. The muscles in your neck felt stiff as splintered wood and still you lie to your friend Caress as if a harder stoicism shall flush it all away."

Edda craned her head back and nodded to concede. Her hand opened more genuinely. "Okay. I will admit I do not wish you worried."

"Edda…I want to know." Caress would have sounded petulant had her voice not remained deep and mature. "How have you feeling?"

"Oh…" She had to consider it, even with the head start. "Overwhelmed, you could describe. Not about my mission, but…other things. Distractions, you could say." She shrugged and ground her finger shells together. "More likely just the world turning around me."

Caress hummed. "These hands cannot hold the world from turning for you, though your pressured mind may be relieved here, Edda." Her head tilted more than necessary as if to hear better. "Has any particular thumb been pressing on you?"

"A great many. If only I could name them all." Edda huffed amusement. "I do not even know where to start."

"Hmm…Then weave me tale, Edda." Caress craned and rotated her head out for emphasis. "Every tale has a first step. Its own texture under the sole."

Edda stared at the soil below and blinked in thought. Her head slowly levelled until her right set of eyes flicked up to Caress' blindfold. "I would say, then, that it started as early as when the spires rose…"



[center][i]Loralom, 3 PR[/i][/center]
"…At first, Akol thought it was a grand and spiteful joke. One more reminder by the gods that his mortal pleas meant nothing. You saw how he stormed away to his chariot upon seeing the last of the earth settle. He had a fire in his eyes. It was as if such a miracle was but to him an insult and not a sign of favour.

But, people went to the spires almost immediately. Hain and urtelem alike. Korom and Sira tried to convince Akol to let some curiosity temper him, but he did not join them for another day. And he only did so begrudgingly. What he saw were people having to be dragged away from the spires, for they were spending so many moments there. They were seeing things in those structures. Visions of a better place and how to reach it. Or…more accurately, how to create that better place around them.

I knew immediately that it was Toun's doing. His way of expression was always with a wish for betterment. There was step that did not lead further to the top of the mountain. Up and away from the burning ashen trough in which the purge left Loralom.

Of course, Akol refused to stand under the blue light within and receive Toun's visions. No, it was instead practical matters that moved him. A talk with his advisors, his paramours.

Spring drafts were blowing through the palace when their meeting was called. They sat around their jungle-wood table from the days of Loral, carved with many pictures from old history. I was not present at that anxious meeting, but Sira related it to me, word for word. She has a powerful memory – better than mine – so I may paraphrase.

Korom opened the meeting and spent a good while in speech detailing the news of the outskirts. He spoke of numbers greater than were often used to count hain. He did so in his usual stone-like manner. When finished, and saw King Akol mostly disinterested, it darkened Korom's eyes.

'Akol, my dear,' spoke Korom then, fingers woven and teeth grinding with stress. 'I know you do not wish to face those spires, but the people flock to them. Not just from Loralom. Pilgrims are pouring in. They have set up a large camp that is already turning into large village.' Korom quickly gave a downward palm. 'Now, we have enough men on guard; few to none of the pilgrims are violent. This much is a relief, but it will not last.'

Akol made a derisive grunt. 'Why, heartfriend?' He leant his chin on his fist. 'They are pilgrims, are they not? They shall go home to tend to their families' futures before too long.'

Korom was never nervous to confront Akol with reality, so he leant forward with his beak down. 'Food, my king.' The one word made his others unnecessary, in truth. 'Food will not last. They bring not enough with them and our stores were never meant to feed so many. To add to it, none seek to return home.'

Hunger drove most of the barbarity in Yorum back then. Loralom was not beyond the continual needs of hainkind.

Leaning back in his seat, Akol pondered out loud to his paramours. 'Can we not put them to work to grow food? We will have plenty of harvests before the next winter.'

'I fear it will not be enough,' Korom lamented. 'Not at their rate of arrival. More flock to the spires every day and we simply do not have the land to farm. If every one of them were tasked today to our fields, what they grew would still be consumed faster by those who arrive the very next day.'

Korom did not speak the solution of driving them out. It was already in everyone's heads.

At that end, Sira spoke up. Her insights were valued and turned her paramours' heads. 'They come for certainty. Out of desperation. They will not leave if we tell them to. And if we force them away we will have a riot.'

'What certainty do they see here?' Akol asked with his fingers to the air. 'They have little more safety here than elsewhere. This land is still as scorched as before.'

'Toun,' spoke Sira. 'A god's mission. A purpose beyond scavenging and fighting like rats. They know stories of the city states. The pride and the glory. They want to see that again!'

Akol hissed as if they were misguided, not knowing his own arrogance.

Sira pressed the issue. 'Akol, my heartfriend, your prayer to Toun may or may not have been answered, but this is a call to action no matter the place to stand looking. They cannot stay here. They must be [i]directed![/i]'

'I am inclined to agree,' Korom said. 'Especially because…well, armies forage for their food.'

Akol's dismissive recline then straightened, Sira told me. She knew the look on Akol's face. It was when he would start thinking and would not stop.

'Korom,' Akol began, his voice possessed by a purpose. 'Your allusion may have a good path in it. How many fields could these people tend, did you say?'

Korom lifted his beak. 'I didn't. Hundreds, by certainty. Maybe thousands.'

'Many able bodies,' Akol schemed.

'You did pray for all you need to build your kingdom,' Sira schemed along. 'And you did need hainpower. You said as much to Edda.'

He did say as much to me. You were there, Caress.

'Perhaps this is…an opportunity to finally secure our borders?' Sira concluded.
Korom was less convinced. He sought to rein in his heartfriend the king. 'I would not rush. If you would build an army from the pilgrims, you would need to equip them. The few weapons they have do not fare better than the occasional wooden mallet or truncheon.'

Akol bit lightly on his own finger, as he usually did when churning through the many means of war. 'We could always use more slingers.' He gave Sira an ordering look. 'Sira, my heartfriend. How many leather sandals and articles of flax does Loralom hold in surplus?'

'A great many,' she said.

'Make them into slings.' He turned to Korom. 'You will find the wives and the children. Set them to foodmaking. The rest shall fight.'

The rest of the meeting was just further details. The plan went as they said.

The people gave the materials freely, for they could see a turning point in the land. Flax was spun to rope. Sandals to sling cups. Great boulders were broken into pebbles. Thousands answered the levy when it was called. Within a week, King Akol the Quickhatched had at his disposal the largest army in the north. His infantry before were hardened from defending their home. Whilst supported by harrying beasthounds, they were unbreakable. As long as they kept the countless slingers defended, Akol had the power of a great stonelord at his call.

While the fighting pilgrims marched north, upriver. The remainder of the immigrants were directed by Korom to fish, farm, hunt, and gather as much as they could do balance the supply of food. The plunder would bring back more food, as well as draw more pilgrims to the cause, but the farmland was the real prize. They had the need for it and the people to work it.

By the time the army marched, many pilgrims arriving to the spires left soon after to join Akol's army. Building Toun's empire was a purpose that filled the savage holes in their hearts. And it solved the potential catastrophe that would have lead from inaction."



[center][i]Loralom farmland, 12 PR[/i][/center]
Caress' many arms worked feverishly in front of Edda's eyes. Without even noticing, she switched coloured yarns and tied stitches as if her limbs were independent artisans working together for their patron body.

And still she asked Edda a question to interrupt the story. "Edda, I apologise," she said as politely as she could. "But all this smacks of the slides and sprints of Loralom. Are you so scuffed by those events? Where were you striding during all this intriguing humming and palming?"

"Oh, well…you could say I was keeping everything else together," Edda said. Her eyes lowered for the sake of humility.

Caress tilted her head to one side. "Everything?" Her soft smile understood. "Which everything?"

Edda dipped the point of her beak down. "The people. The Lorals and the pilgrims shared a pain they had held ever since the Blinding Purge. From the time I rode through the city and heard them shouting for an angel of mercy, I…a part of me wanted to give them hope."

Edda's wide eyes relaxed as she settled back into a reciting flow.



[center][i]Loralom Polis, 3 PR[/i][/center]
"I was given leave of much of the palace from the day the spires arose. We all lived on from day to day while the king and council deliberated. Three weeks elapsed and the companions I sailed in with were all offered places to work for their keep. They all took the opportunities, not for any great prosperity – there was little enough for anyone. I believe they took the tasks so they could call their lives normal again. I could weave no such illusion for myself, even if the palace guards would let me into the public in the first place.

Those weeks I spent idle made me realise my exhaustion. A short rest may have done me good for a day or two, true. The following agitation was its own kind of labour. I had a mission. The mission was outside.

And so, one night, I convinced some scullery maids to sneak me out into the city. Some creativity and a large basket of bed linen brought me out of a side gate in their escort.

I had learned some Yorumglot by then. Enough to speak simply. Though, it was not enough to understand what all the maids were saying until they brought me to some sort of public house. A place for drinking, eating, and socialising. When I emerged from my sheets what I saw was a pond of silent faces, staring, flitting.

I reflected their look, most likely. Bewildered.

But there was nothing to fear. They were waiting to see me. My experience from a past life teaching as a chipper came back to me and so did the words of a teacher.

'Hello everyone,' I began in their language. A few heads reclined in amusement from my accent, which was a relaxing gesture. 'My name is Edda. It is nice to meet you.'

A few raised their hands in greeting, if nervously.

'How are you?' I asked.

One by one, all those people then averted their eyes. That familiar dread I saw on the streets spread up their throats like a creeping, hungry black mud.

One of the scullery maids answered me. 'We are a proud people, Ramyem Edda…'

She had not used that word inside the palace.

'…But, Ramyem,' she continued. 'We have long suffered. Sons and daughters die. Harvests are scorched or stolen by thieves. Loralom fears the day it crumbles into death or craven predation.'

Some of the words were beyond my Yorumglot vocabulary at the time, but we were both hain. I understood her meaning. Loralom was decaying. If not in material prosperity, then in spirit.

Another woman in the room stifled her own sobbing and weeping. The others were still avoiding my eyes. That woman's name was Tegra – I spoke to her a time afterwards. She had lost her many sons to the skirmishes and ambushes of the land. No one had the heart left to comfort her there.

But, even if I did not know the exact cause for her grief in that moment, I simply did what came naturally; I walked up to the weeping woman and embraced her.

To be sure, my mission had been on my mind since I planned to sneak away in the night. But with that stranger crying in my arms, I felt an empathy of hopelessness that I could not turn away from. Those hain around me were all on the boat on the Metatic, like we were. Thirst and creeping crystals were freezing their once lively animation into a slow and painful demise. They did not know what to do.

A god had saved me with a miracle. But a mission can be spread by any. Anyone can hold up a guiding light. So, I turned around to face the large group with that weeping woman laying tears on my shoulder. I did my best with my paltry Yorumglot to say 'The marks on my shell were scribed by Toun. Read them, and watch your spirits awaken.'

The weeping woman said something – I was told later – along the lines of admitting illiteracy. But then she stopped and focussed on the three circles here on my chest. Toun's symbol. Then she pulled away from me and traced her fingers over each marking. I will never forget the look on her face. She was the first one in that room to make an effort to read out the message, which to a room believing her unable to read looked to be a work of magic. But they all had their turn to read it.

Yes, Caress, I disrobed for them. I know you smile, but it [i]was[/i] a memorable moment. My bodily modesty has long been killed off in favour of other fears, my friend.

At any rate, after that episode, a change took the city. More crowded the gates, day after day, wishing to see me. To read the markings. I was finally given the freedom to visit the forums and markets. Under guard, of course. The citizenry would have broken the gates down had the council not allowed me out.

By speaking every day to the Lorals and the pilgrims, by easing their hearts and minds – no I did not need to disrobe for them again, I spoke Toun's message myself. By easing them of their uncertainties, I learned more every day. More Yorumglot, more of their customs and history. And with the mission before them, they had something to aspire to again. There is a great unifying idea in the markings, I found. An instruction that feels so utterly possible to all of them. To me, too.

Korom spoke to me about the way my acts and words had lifted the city of a dark cloud. People were working together at a greater scale. The days were brighter, palms turned upwards, the soldiers fought more fiercely than ever before, and…"



[center][i]Loralom farmland, 12 PR[/i][/center]
Edda trailed off, losing her next words.

"…And you kept everything together," Caress completed.

"Yes."

"No wonder Akol gathered his army with effortless gesture. After tracing your mission, I can only touch upon the thought of their own idle labour, sitting in that city of theirs." The oversized shawl at Caress' lap had taken on a certain pattern now. The stitches and yarns ranged from bulky to detailed, and yet they held what Edda thought were images in them.

No matter, Edda thought. She sighed and her tone waned. "There was great hope and purpose, true. Especially to Akol's campaign. He brought me along with him when all was organised, leaving Korom as regent. Some of the Pilgrims joining the army on the road wished to serve me in particular. All of a sudden, I had monks and nuns pledging to my mission. You have probably seen a few establishing themselves around the spires by now."

"The ones in the red-trimmed white robes? Living to spread your words and study the spires themselves?" Caress nodded deeply. "They are so cute I want to pinch them! Alas, you hain lack cheeks. Such an itchy travesty." She giggled under her breath. "But you sound like your toes splay in dismay. Are you disappointed with your little following?"

"Not at all," Edda clarified. "They are lovely people. All of them. Between them and the council, I would never have the successes of Toun's word and…the support I have needed. Especially with the events of the campaign."

Caress hummed concern. "War is slick and slimy. The memories stick dry to the skin as a viscous oil. Perhaps that is what lowers your hain hands?"

"It is…Though, it did not start that way." 



[center][i]Kiyiklom, 4 PR[/i][/center]
[right][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AlhkwHSZMyg]War Chants[/url][/right]
"War chants were a tradition across Yorum. Bands of hain warriors would traverse long marches by singing to a beating hymn. Together, their feet beat the ground to bring the energy from under the earth and into their souls. They believe it makes them stronger and march further. There was no such superstition in Xerxes, but I admit it gave the Loralom army an organised pace.

It was easy for the new recruits to fall in and work together. The hymns ranged from bawdy rhymes about women and animals to poetic stories about kings and heroes.

[i]Held-aund moyen deyn mizyekh![/i]
[i]Held-aund moyen deyn mizyekh![/i]

Akol told me all this, but I thought it strange that he did. At first it came across as idle conversation, and yet he was looking so intently from his chariot over the warriors marching behind him. I asked him what troubled him.

'It is not trouble, Edda,' he answered. 'Not apparently. Armies make new war chants per every campaign. What makes me curious is the unity of this new chant.'

I listened to the words echoing through the lines. 'What are they saying?' I inquired. My Yorumglot was not attuned to most of the words.

[i]Mir-zenem dis-shorm-[/i]
[i]-Ron statter dis-glar![/i]

He ran a thumb across the edge of his mouth and squinted his eyes, thinking. I do not know whether he was guessing against telling me those words echoing out in unison behind us. I believe more strongly that he was just thinking of a way to explain it in simple words.

When he spoke, it was a slow explanation. Every line was related to me by the time the chant repeated itself. It did not die, that chant. Understanding it left me quiet for some time just to listen.

[i]Toun!…Heln-aund...[/i]
'Toun,' step. 'Hear us…' step. The sergeants began.

[i]Toun!…Heln-aund...[/i]
'Toun,' step. 'Hear us…' step. The warriors echoed.

[i]Held-aund moyen deyn mizyekh.[/i]
'Hear us build your sanctuary…' the sergeants said.

[i]Held-aund moyen deyn mizyekh![/i]
'Hear us build your sanctuary…' the warriors echoed.

[i]Held-aund fornem an gants hyem.[/i]
'Hear us shape a perfect home…' the sergeants shouted, which brought all the warrior's weapons lifted to the air.

[i]Mi-zenem fri-el ramyem!![/i]
'We are the wings of the angel of mercy.'

[i]Held-aund moyen deyn mizyekh.[/i]
'Hear us build your sanctuary…' the sergeants said.

[i]Held-aund moyen deyn mizyekh![/i]
'Hear us build your sanctuary…' the warriors echoed.

[i]Mi-shogn dis-a fri shogn vim.[/i]
'We beat the dirt as wings beat air.'

[i]Stegn ramyem in k'yvinn.[/i]
'The angel's feathers know no fear.'

[i]Mir-zenem dis-shorm-[/i]
'We are the spear-' Step…

[i]-Ron statter dis-glar![/i]
'-That shattered the earth.' Step…

[i]Aum ver fornem dis-leym?[/i]
'And who shall shape the clay?' Step…

[i]Dis-greym hetn hain![/i]
'The ready hands of hain.' Step…

[i]Toun!…Heln-aund...[/i]
[i]Toun!…Heln-aund...[/i]

And so on.

They chanted it eagerly from morning to evening. Two hain could hardly walk together across camp without the words coming to their tongues. To think it escaped my ears until now was a difficult truth to confront.

I had to break the contemplative silence between me and Akol. 'And they are all singing this?' I asked. 'The entire army?'

Akol nodded. 'All of them. Over and over, ever since it spread around the lines not too long ago. Never have I heard only one song in a campaign. The unfamiliarity is…'

I looked again. I noticed the warrior's eyes. The power of their voices. I did not know what to make of Akol's tone but I knew what to make of his men.

'This is perfect for an army,' I concluded. 'One mission drives them. What can stop it? I think you have a dedicated and loyal force, King Akol.'

Akol turned up both his palms and looked at me. 'I made the right decision bringing you, Edda. You're the optimist I need.'

Not a week later, we came upon Kiyiklom polis. The rival city neighbouring Loralom to the north-north-east. They had been harrying Loralom and stealing supplies for years by then. Their skirmishing and raiding dragged their feud on, while neither had the resources to march out against the other. Until now.

The Kiyiks themselves had scouted Akol's approach. But I saw from across the field the flitting of nervous heads when they raised to defend the barely-constructed palisade around their town. The enemy were the ones outnumbered this time.

Akol made his army march like a fog bank, creeping forward in lockstep. The slingers were staggered so they could have enough room to fling their stones about their heads. Fortunate it was that most hain in Yorum learn how to sling to hunt and protect their flocks, for every volunteer pilgrim could launch a stone over the palisade from behind their friendly shield wall.

The frontline began their barking and baying. It was more a tradition than a means of instilling fear – it was almost comical, even. The ceaseless pounding of stones on wood, earth, and hainshell almost drowned all speech out. The officers had hard enough of a time shouting their orders over the dark hailstorm.

The beasthounds joined in closer to the ditch surrounding the palisade. Their barking was just another peal of thuds to add upon the ground.

The frontline slid carefully into the ditch, barely taking a stone thrown back in their direction. They leisurely strolled back up its opposite slope like porters climbing a hill in the morning light. They climbed the palisades when the order was given to halt the flurry of stones.

We expected to hear maces crashing, shells cracking, shields breaking.

We merely heard a gate open.

And that was all it took. The elite infantry scaled the wooden walls and found a battered and cowering militia dropping their weapons to surrender. Some fought like mad animals and were cracked open by the level-headed infantry. Some fled and were caught by beasthounds. The inside of the town was carpeted with the stones thrown in like a vast broad dry creek bed.

Where many of the warriors were expecting a protracted battle for their lives, the polis was taken and secured in barely short while. The red flag of Loralom was unrolled from the top of the great hall to a deafening cheer by the army.

[i]'Mi-shogn dis-a fri shogn vim!'[/i]
[i]'Stegn ramyem in k'yvinn!'[/i]

The chant continued on. Akol took the whole city-state of Kiyiklom in one fell stroke. Not a single life in his army was lost.

The defeat was so resounding and final that many Kiyiks joined the campaign on King Akol's side. They heard the mission from me and the other warriors. They were welcomed like brothers by the other warriors, even with their long feuding history, for the Lorals came not for hate. They marched for ambition and faith.

The ranks swelled. The word spread. More pilgrims joined the army on the road. More heard the call of the mission. Akol marched on with the same chant repeated over and again around him."



[center][i]Loralom farmland, 12 PR[/i][/center]
Edda continued. "City after city fell to Akol's army. Fresh pilgrims turned into veterans. For the first time in years, the lands west of the river were safe to live upon."

"And when did the wingbeats start stinging you, Edda?" Caress' smile had faded. No doubt Edda's attempts to hide her negative feelings about the matter had failed.

"I should explain," Edda said, momentarily clenching her jaw. She was reluctant. "It was not all so cleanly done as in Kiyiklom. Even if Akol was not to be the chosen hain prophesised by Toun, Akol's domain was war. Like Wind Striker, he gazed one thousand-thousand plans in his mind like his very creation was for that purpose. One thousand-thousand plans for every battle. The only true force to slow his army was the weather. The winters were harsh over the campaign, almost as if the djinn themselves saw him conquering the world and sought him delayed. But his generalship, in all its sublimity, did not bring any angelic virtue to him or the army as the war chants might have implied." Edda's eyes darkened. "His life was war. I saw what a life of war brought."

Caress' frantic knitting switched colours by reflex from pale white to sanguine red. The shawl fabric layered over and spilled out of her lap.



[center][i]Iulyarom, 6 PR[/i][/center]
"Perhaps the shock of it came from my lack of attention to anything that could threaten the streak of good things happening back then. Back in Loralom, Sira had laid two hatchlings. Sweet little things. Their names were Gring and Sata. I spent a winter in Loralom and grew close to them, teaching them various things. I spent time with Korom, Akol, and Sira in less-official contexts. We took meals in the palace together and traded conversation and advice. We soon saw one another as friends rather than political figures. Perhaps they appreciated the presence of one with parental experience.

Of course, I still taught the Lorals and the pilgrims. To my monks, I taught the calendar system from the beaches of Xerxes to better organise the harvests. My mandate to them every day was to make the land a better place, and they took their knowledge out there. Soon enough, chippers and Tounic monks worked together to spread the knowledge about. The chippers always did it for knowledge's sake, as well as charity, but the monks did it for the mission. Either way, there were more fields being worked by more people. The extra efficiency put a lid on the food problem within the year.

It was all so…[i]hopeful.[/i]

But that was just the beginning.
 
The next leg of the campaign was different. We were headed to a craggy highland to the east, across the river. The chants were still the powerful calls to Toun, though they were interspersed with other songs now.

Akol dragged me along once more, so I brought my chariot near his for the march. One of my monks was kind enough to mind the reins for me while we spoke.

'Where are we headed this time?' I asked. I knew the language well by then. 'What is the name of this land?'

'This place is Iulyarom,' Akol said. He did not appear too concerned. 'The people here, the Iulyas, have refused the mission to unite Yorum. They have refused to trade, to talk, to reason. They are an alien folk of blue-shelled hain that worship an unseen witch that enters their dreams.'

'Blue-shelled?'

'Yes. They eat a particular grit, for they believe it to be the frozen tears of their matron goddess.' Akol looked ahead. 'In truth, it is what we call ravenstone, and it is very valuable.'

'Why is that? What makes this stone valuable?'

Akol eyed me with his left pair of eyes. 'I would have thought a former chipper like yourself knew.' He tapped the head of his prized bronze mace. 'It is heated with greenstones to make this metal. It is the only place we know of in all of Yorum with such an abundance of it, too.'

I looked at Akol quietly for a time.

'So, this march is for bronze, then?' I asked. 'Not for spreading the faith? These Iulyas do not appear to hold anything else of interest to us, if they keep to this craggy land and do not bother us.'

King Akol moved his eyes away and exhaled, puffing clouds of wavy steam from his nostrils. 'Edda, with the bronze to equip the army, Yorum is all but united.'

'My mission was to build a sanctuary for all hain,' I protested. 'How can we accomplish that if we turn into the bloodthirsty ruffians that made this region such a desolate waste in the first place?'

'Kingdoms are held by force.' King Akol said firmly enough to give me pause. He lowered his voice but remained tested in temper. 'What do you think we have been doing all this time, Edda? Sharing and giving kind words until the other city states join the mission? We cannot sustain this without a powerful army. And when this army is strongest, the mission will be accomplished quickly.'

My fingers tightened. 'You are incorrect about your kingdom, Akol,' I retorted. 'It is held by ideas held common across its people. I have seen such a unity before, across the Metatic, in Xerxes, united under ideas.'

I stared him down. King Akol's title or power held no sway over my life where my life was service to Toun's mission.

Akol breathed out through his teeth. 'You have told me of Xerxes enough times. It still fell to the arrogance of gods. Even if what you say is true, it is a greater insult to the mission to refuse the opportunity Iulyarom represents.' I was surprised at the limit he put on his anger. 'If more hain die in the next city state because they did not see bronze gleaming in our armies and reconsider fighting, their broken shells will crackle under the footsteps I made walking away from Iulyarom.'

I softened, then. Akol had a way of riposting like a duelist in debate. I could not refute his point; to argue against death here was inviting greater death later. If there was any other way, I might have convinced him otherwise. There was no other but to fight.

We rode in tense silence.

However, our disagreements did not last in the weather that came. An unseasonal wind picked up and doused the army in a flurry of snow. The sunlight and the clouds fought like bickering paramours during our march and did not stop. The few in the army who were in tune with magic told of something wrong with the djinn of this land. Some strange distant screams of cold and bloody murder.

It was as if they knew what the army was here for. A bad omen indeed. Perhaps it would warn the Iulyas, I thought.

Whether by the screaming djinn or unnoticed scouts, the Iulyas brought the fight to us first. We were skirmished as soon as we set foot in Iulya territory. Hit-and-run attacks lead by hooting and whooping Iulyas with slings and maces haunted every step. They wore ornaments and painted ghostly shapes on their head shells. When their weapons struck, they dripped with some putrid liquid that poisoned the cracks they opened. The army being so big, it was cumbersome to deal with the stealthy ambushers in their own homeland.

Every other day, I wished blessings upon shattered and dying hain. It gave them solace as they bled or festered to death that I could praise their sacrifice. Their brothers, however, wept as their comrades-in-arms went limp in their embrace. It was hard to watch. Harder still after the semblance of peace and progress back in Loralom.

'I'll have my revenge,' was the common sentiment.

Another attack. Several hain killed and a beasthound wounded with festering poison. It died slowly.

'I'll kill them,' one young warrior told me. 'I'll smash their blue shells open and slay the witch queen in their heads.'

More attacks, increasing in frequency. The hain warriors were paranoid and resentful.

I heard one screaming in the encampment one night. The night where his paramour died from another one of the Iulyas' filthy weapons.

'I'll break their eggs,' he shouted. 'I'll snap their wives and powder their shells for the wind and water to wash their legacy away. The blue heathens will die.'

I could not sleep that night. We were to near Iulyarom polis the next day.

[right][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3n8ckuvmhec]Maces Falling[/url][/right]
When I did wake up, it was to the scent of smoke. I emerged from my tent. The encampment was empty of the fighting men. I frantically asked one of my monks where the army was.

'They launched a surprise attack,' he said with some surprise at my fearful countenance. 'King Akol ordered a dawn assault to shock and overwhelm the Iulyarom defences.'

Akol had not thought to tell me the night before.

I gathered my closest monks and hastened to the polis. It was easy to follow the plume of smoke, but it was a wilfully avoided truth that I was too late. The city was broken and burning. Its old gates were splintered and its warriors were strewn about like dolls.

I came upon soldiers rounding up blue-shelled hain families from thatch huts. They were killing them out of rage.

I…they had a sound to their tears and screams…It awoke a demon in me that brought my mind into a waking unconsciousness and…it…They did things right before my eyes, the Loral warriors…

…

It pains me to recall it. Please…do not resent my skipping those details, Caress…

The next moment, I can say, I ran into a thatch house that was not burning yet and burst into a fit of panic and tears. The monks held vigil without to protect me.

I was later surprised, in hindsight, at what I saw within. There were treasures of such beautiful craft and make all around me. They looked to be the inspiration of gods. There were cut gems and jewels, carvings and tapestries, beads, and clothes. I could not stop crying to appreciate it at the time. It was a shrine to their goddess. I do not think it was a witch in the end, that they worshipped, but I never did get to find the truth of the matter.

However, I was still wracked by that demon. Still weeping to myself in some irrational horror.

Then there was a voice. 'Why are you crying?' It said. A man younger than Akol, though not a child. He was past his second hatching, judging by his age.

I could not stop crying to answer him. I was on my knees with my hands held mostly over my eyes. I barely could talk, much less look as if I was listening.

'I should be the one crying,' he said. He then hummed. And then he sang to a droning, calming lull.

[i]'The wraithstone swims with my family and friends,
The maces of Loralom in earnest descend,
Why does she cry?

'The slung stones are falling, my life will soon end,
To the matron, there is no more beauty I'll send,
Why does she cry?'[/i]

I stopped silent to listen on. He was citing the words from improvised patterns. A poet.

[i]'They all came with visions of harmonious peace,
And stranded us all in the horrors released,
Why does she cry?

'Perhaps the mission from her master grows tall,
While my matron asks me little at all,
Except to stop her cries.

'For my matron I sing her a song through this rain,
A comforting deed from the dead to that hain,
…Just to stop her cries.

'None should bear the weight like her,
None should feel the dread like her,
None should steal the light from her…

'I wish…my last wish…for the brightness in her…
To be my last sight in my life…[/i]

'Angel of Mercy. Please stop crying, so I may see you in hope, and then I may die in peace.'

The demon that had me dead to the world just a while before was forgotten. That poet drove perhaps simpler words than they might seem as I recite them to you, Caress. However, in that moment, sung in that beautiful clean voice, while I was knelt there and vulnerable, they were pure. Purer than anything. They washed away my pain like water over blood.

Warriors wrestled past my monks and burst into the hut. I stood up with surprise, only spotting the young man for a fleeting moment – his blue shell and oddly blank expression – before I spun and spread my arms.

'Ramyem?' One of the warriors said. They were all surprised to see me. The same warrior, the leader of the group, pointed his stone mace. 'The heathen, we'll deal with him! Get behind us, Ramyem.'

I declared strongly. 'No. You will not kill this one! He is under my protection.'"

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Because two weeks without a post is a bad look while everyone's excited over at the mid/high free iteration, I decided to release some of this big Yorum post a bit early to sate people before I get back to being able to actually write stuff regularly.

Anyway, we've got a multiparter which is intended to bridge the history from the previous Yorumpost to the present turn's timeline. This gets most of the way.

The story is told from the perspective of Edda, the marked hain with Tounic calligraphy ever present on her shell. She recalls the last ten years to Caress, the many-armed human sculptor while Caress knits a shawl that eventually turns into a tapestry of the retold stories.

First, the leaders of Yorum (King Akol and his paramours and advisors Sira and Korom) try to sort out the direct consequences of the Loralom Spires bursting out of the ground. With Yorum having been starved with nihilism and barbarity for several years, the beacon of hope that godly influence presents causes a massive population surge from pilgrims. Yorum will eventually run out of food and all hell is going to break loose.

Akol is still a bit spiteful about Toun's response to his prayer, so he isn't initially helpful. Korom is realistic and insists that something has to be done. Sira tries to delve into why they are all here and what they are looking for.

Then there's the suggestion that they use the extra manpower for a military campaign.

Akol switches on his game face and orders that they get as many materials for slingers as possible.

They go marching.

But while all that happens, Edda tries to sneak out to alleviate her cabin fever. She finds herself in in a pub in front of a crowd stripping........It's a religious experience, not a sexual one. It kicks off Edda's new job going out and sermoning/helping the populace. She gets pretty popular. She even gets a spiffy new order of monks founded to help her out and they help implement the Xerxian calendar. 

In the next part, Edda retells the first campaign with King Akol's new OP pilgrim army. The army makes up a marching chant in Toun and Edda's honour, and they [i]all[/i] sing it at once for the entire time. This is weird as, they usually like to have a variety of songs to sing while they march.

Edda and Akol discuss this and have a nice moment.

Then they march on a rival city state, Kiyiklom. Kiyiklom gets rolled because they can't deal with the slinger-spam and morale-crushing. But the pilgrim army is cool about it. The Loralom side does so well, even, that most of the Kiyiks just join the Loralom campaign and don't mind getting annexed. This is as much for practical security reasons as it is for new religious reasons.

So things are going great(?)

Well, Akol, Sira, and Korom have a couple of cute toddlers now. The calendar has helped organise harvests much better, and Loralom has gained a LOT of new good territory, securing the entire west of the river!

Now they go marching for this place called Iulyarom. It's important because it's on a really big tin deposit. In the bronze age, this is kind of a big deal.

Unfortunately, Iulyarom is inhabited by a city-state that considers the tin ore (known to the Yorumites as ravenstone) to be sacred. They eat it and get blue shells.

Edda and King Akol have a quick chat about the purpose of the war and the foundations of his kingdom. It tests their relationship somewhat as their opinions diverge.

On the leadup to Iulyarom, the Loralom army gets skirmished. Mostly hit-and-run stuff. Akol hasn't had such a big army under his command before, so the unweildy size of Loralom's force makes it difficult to effectively retaliate. Matters get worse when it's found that the Iulya skirmishers were using bacterial filth on their weapons to cause the wounds they inflicted to fester.

The casualties cause a rise in resentment. This turns into raw hatred. Edda saw it and was concerned.

They come to Iulyarom and hit them with a dawn assault that overwhelms them. Edda sleeps through it because she wasn't told it was going to happen. She freaks out and runs to see the city.

Iulyarom burns. Its populace were slaughtered in front of Edda's eyes. Edda gets a 'demon' in her head (that being a panic attack) and retreats into a hut.

She finds a young Iulya man who sings her a song to calm her down. It's a really nice song, but very much sombre because the young man knows he's going to die.

Some warriors burst in and ask Edda to get out of the way because they want to kill the young Iulya man.

Edda says that the young man is under his protection.

What will happen next time!? Tune in next <undefined period of time> to find out!
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