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EldritchOne Nephren-Ka Was Here Bruh.

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An Uneasy Peace...









“This pact is a folly.”

It was Ungernazern who had broken the tranquillity between the three figures on the swaying howdah, the journey that had continued past two of the great walls of Tel-Belit, spared from interruption but for the base rumblings of the elephant and the clattering of ironclad hooves.

“Come now, my Lord Dakatha,” replied Ahassunat as she reclined languidly on plump cushions of silk and smiled at him banally, “Clearly you jest.” As she spoke she absent-mindedly she fed dates to a conclave of chirping red-coated monkeys, a gang of six which had clambered up the elephants gilded sides to squat before her inquisitively. Ungernazern turned to fix her with a scowl, and the monkeys chirped and hissed at each other over the dates, squabbling over their small feast.

“I do not.” The Prince of Tel Belit retorted, voice tinged in bitterness and brow furrowed into deep craggy lines - a feature worn in deep by the chains of his office. “The Grand Councilors of Surabhumi will not keep this agreement for long, this will only allow them an opening to rebuild their fragmented fleets into a fighting force to challenge the republic once more. We endanger our mastery of the seas, our trade monopoly, and Tel-Belit itself, for what? For backstabbing Abbot-lords chanting to a dark, blood hungry gods? a mob of obstinate mountain Sanghar who smell of goat, and cut each others throats on a whim?”

Ahassunat snorted, amused at his tone even as she fixed him with single raised pale eyebrow. Her face was of the blood of Old Sanghara; imperious, sensual and haughty, with dark red sun-kissed skin matching an strong aquiline nose, enhanced by oceanically carved and bejewelled horns. But for numerous thin scars across her jaw and cheeks - and the ruthless lilt of her tigerish orange eyes - she could have been mistaken for a sorceress priestess of Ishareth in robes of an Asurbaal, if she had not instead chosen the office and brine-stained leathers of a sea captain.

“Calm yourself Lord,” she said, attempting to sooth the rancorous old leathery Sangharan Prince. “The Surabhuma have built fleets before and what has become of them? Why, they have all burned! For a thousand years they have tried to contest our dominance of the Ebon and Indaskian, each attempt greater than the last, and every one of them has been turned to kindling within a generation by our Dragonships. What is really contested is not the sea but the land, and surely you must admit that the reconquest of our wayward subjects will ensure further stability of Tel-Belit’s position?”

“Bah!” Ungernazern waved her away, turning to brood over the dwindling edge of the city.

Ahassunat watched him as he brooded, studying the man as he looked out across enclosed rice paddies and vegetable gardens tended to by the Hazarpresh, eking an existence in this small sliver of territory that Tel-Belit governed. The haggard old Sanghar did not sit well in his purple Dakatha robes or the baubles and gems of office that fitted his fingers, and he fidgeted with them constantly. The gilded scale and leather underneath however… that, Ahassunat noticed, sat as easy on him as a second skin.

“Even if we accept that this is so,” he continued at last, “there is no assurance the war won’t just be a waste of manpower and resources. If Surabhumi chooses to challenge us, we will face the same overwhelming odds our people always have. This is not the age of Hamilkarr, there will be no saviour to leap in and change the course of destiny, no Arcana to balance the scales between us. No… this will be a war both inclement and bloody… a brutal conflict Sanghara has not seen since the first two Century Wars.”

“Preposterous!”

It was their third companion, Machezzar, the doughy faced master of the Traders Guilds who had interjected. Easy living had smoothed his features beneath layers of fat, and rich trade deals had decked him in gold and silver. Unlike Ungernazern and his discomfort with finery, these decadent gems fitted him like a silk glove, for he was a man accustomed to indulgence and leisure. His chubby fingers swept to both sides, taking in the retinue that followed them as he spoke. “Do you trust so little in the power of our armies my lord? I admit that the bovids may bring forth a unwashed horde of untrained peasants on whim, but such armies are easily broken and dispersed by nothing less than a good charge of steel clad cataphracts and elephants. Numbers mean nothing to quality, and the armies of the republic are one of the most disciplined, supplied and well armed fighting force upon Ishareth’s blessed earth!”

Ungernazern smiled drily at that, “I imagine my good guildmaster, you have seen little of war with the Surabhi? They are better trained and equipped than you realise. A direct charge by them causes fear even in the boldest of soldiers, and their numbers are only matched by their tenacity.”

“Numbers and tenacity matter only so much my lord Dakatha. It is coin that wins wars, and it is we who are mightier by far there!” Machezzar’s face practically glowed with pride, the blood of generations of Sanghar merchants shining through to glorify this supposed primal ‘truth’. “Our merchants sail to all corners of the world whilst the Surabhuma make do with poor desert caravans and the exorbitant trade tithes. They can neither challenge us navally nor compete with our merchants in any port, and would be fools beyond belief to try. It is we who control the greater wealth of Vehndathaya and its future, not them.”

“For now at least…” Ungernazern seemed to muse once more on the topic, watching the honour guard of horsemen whose iron glad hooves clattered beside the giant elephant.

He could well understand Machezzar’s trust in them. They were fine looking soldiers, veterans of a dozen fierce campaigns through enemy territory, and with the phalera’s to prove it pinned upon their silken tabards. Clad in amber cloth and fine Belitarian Bronze, their serpentine Tombaks were raised high above them with snapping white pendants that bore the gold feathered serpent of Sanghara. Glossy chestnut and milk white stallions snorted and stamped with pride beneath their riders, as sure in themselves as their own masters were. Their bodies were coated in golden tide of interlocking scales, only matched in splendour by their gilded and coloured bridles and harnesses of polished leather. Above their riders were no less magnificent; equipped in turn in crocodile leather belts and reinforced by scale and banded bronze, they stared out behind grimacing golden war masks and helms with cunning, fierce eyes. Each one bore the pelt of a snarling lion or tiger across their heads and shoulders, slain single handed in the dense jungles and dry southern forests of Shanrilaath, or the mountain wilderness of Tsang-Mah. Within their belts hung ornate Kris Blades, ready to deliver final blows, and the brutal short-bladed Golok to hack down opponents in fierce close combat. Every one had been force to prove themselves worthy of becoming Lion Guard, forced to prove themselves worthy of becoming a elite rider, and so they earned their stirrups through this token of their courage, this symbol of their brotherhood in the equestrian order.

Yes, Ungernazern mused, these were unparalleled warriors. Each one was a titan amongst their kin, a Sanghar of many virtues, and a keen bladed slayer when the time came for blood and steel.

But still…

“I apologise master guildsman, I did not mean to so greatly disrespect the fine soldiers of the republic. Truly they are without peer. But… they are not without number. Do we so easily forget the Battle of the Red Rivers? One wrong move could lose all the experience and skill of tens of thousands of warriors, and Sanghara has not the means to easily replace them.”

Machezzar shrugged, his eyes were dark and deep set in his skull, and his pate and face clean shaven. Ungernazern mused almost inexplicably, that the merchant could have almost been mistaken for a eunuch in the right light. “True enough my lord, but the territory we shall be fighting in is well known to us, Tsang-Mah was an imperial province for centuries. If the Surabhuma betray the agreement, we, not them, shall know the terrain best. Besides…” he chuckled, flicking a silver coin through the air, “there is always thousands of Drakonese sellswords willing to serve in our ranks for gold, pillage and glory.”

“Regardless to all that,” Ahassunat interjected as she shooed away her monkey familiars with a brush of her hand, “the Dakathan Senate has declared that this deal must happen. We small players cannot change the course of a nation, no matter how we might personally disagree with it. Instead we must play the part assigned to us, and look!” she gestured smiling to the final gate of Tel Belit before them, “the stage now opens up before us all, shall we not strike a pose?”

As the mahout brought the great elephant to halt before the great ebony gates, waiting on the forty guardsmen to pull the iron studded heavy doors open for them, his passengers lapsed into silence. Regardless of their personal outlooks on the issue, that was the fundamental truth of it. None of them could or would dare to oppose the motion politically, least they attract the ire of the Senate. Thus they were here in this place, marching towards an embassy just as unsettled as they upon the sandy shores before Tel-Belit, to ‘make peace’ with their nations most ancient enemy.

A peace they each knew could never last.



The personal fleet of Shridaveh Enheduana rested upon the beach, steadily disgorging their contents. Gleaming, mail encased infantry marched in a steady column from the decks of the vessels. They formed a steady column as they streamed from the ramps, seeming to melt into neat rectangular formations, each soldier holding her shield at ready and her spear by her side. Behind them marched archers, similarly armored in mail, but not nearly to the same extent, their bows were unstrung and had only just been taken from the protective wrappings that sealed them from the damaging moisture and salt of the sea. There were of course almost no cavalry with them, save for a small squad of about ten. Each rider sat astride a massive bull, almost unrecognizeable as such beneath the chainmail and segmented plates of steel that covered the beasts. These mounted shock troopers sat silently behind the persons they had been sent to escort, faces obscured by masks of bronze cast in the image of a scowling face.

Behind the soldiers flowed a thickening tide of scribes, attendants, artisans, laborers, and merchants. Heavy crates of goods, gleaming ingots of Ukkayan steel carried by burly smiths, laborers marching with lumber and canvas to erect pavilions, bundles of sugarcane, and more. Even cooks swirled among their number, barrels of both water and rum, exotic delicacies from every corner of Surabhumi. Expensive and lavish gifts and display from the empire in the north.

“It is impressive.” Noted one of the few individuals not bedecked in armor, “But I cannot help but question the reasons for bringing them. We are here to negotiate, not do battle or build a town. Surely a smaller party would have been more practical?”

“You are a genius in many ways, Khalya, but I do not know why you were assigned to this. You are a blacksmith and an accountant, not a diplomat. I do not know why many of us are here, in truth - but bringing such a large escort is a show of power.” The new speaker was also unarmored, but richly dressed in luscious violet and yellow robes. “It demonstrates to Sanghara that we are not a… ‘paper tiger’ I believe is the term they use. It shows we can afford to send a party of such size and magnificence with ease, that we do not come to their meeting cowed and seeking cessation of hostilities. They know as well as we do that they cannot match us on land, and we cannot match them at sea. This is how it has been for some time, and only fools believe otherwise. This is nevertheless an opportunity to flex our muscle and let the might and wealth of Surabhumi be felt across the land, no longer hampered by mountains and marauding Sangharan pirates.”

“You are optimistic, Sujati.” Observed a third beside them. Unlike the first two, she sat astride her mount bedecked in full armor, heavy chain gleaming dully in the light of the sun, a sword and an axe at her sides. “I am hopeful that none of you are under any delusions about this meeting, yes? This is no peace treaty or commerce agreement, this is a temporary armistice. We both have our plans for expansion - Sanghara wishes to reclaim its old continental holdings, we wish to reclaim more of the old empire and to engage in broader trade with the rest of the world. These are incompatible goals in the long run. Say Sanghara conquers some of the land they seek, and we acquire a proper fleet and send trading missions abroad - it can only end in bloodshed. As we begin to cut into their profits the Sangharan lords will clamor to stop us and preserve their coin purses. As Sanghara claims more of the mainland we will have to put our foot down lest they lay eyes on Odhisa, Ditadisha, or other nations in our sphere of influence. The Sangharans know that and so does every one of those soldiers you see marching before you.”

On the other side of the small cluster of individuals, a lone Sanghar woman cleared her throat, drawing the attention of the bickering party. “It is my fleet you sailed on to reach this meeting. And it is my fleet, and the fleet of the nation at large, that we hope to gain some respite for. You speak wisely, Aasmi. The rest of you - yes, Surabhumi is vast and immeasurably powerful on land - and at sea? We have fallen far. My grandmother assembled an armada that could threaten Sanghara itself, only taken from us by cruel fate. Now, a scant eighty three years later - look at us. Sixteen warships. Sixteen warships is all that remains of a force of thousands. My southern brethren may see themselves as the rightful masters of the seas - but I say we haven’t given them enough of a challenge. We must use this… armistice for what it is - a chance to build a fleet that can stand with the mightiest in the world!” She pumped her fist to punctuate her point, the armor she wore jingling with the motion. She was dressed in a curious fusion of Sanghar and Surabhi attire, the loose flowing garments of a more Surabhi bent combined with the intricate ornamentation often worn by Sangharan nobles.

Aasmi, the armored Surabhi, turned her eye towards the impetuous Sanghar woman. “I will not speak of what happened in the past, what needed to be said has been said long ago. But you do realize, my dear - you have in your personal employ half of the shipwrights in Surabhumi capable of equalling Sanghara. The grand total would only be impressive for a middling lord among them. Rebuilding our fleet is an admirable goal - but if you think we can do it on our own, I am afraid you are sorely mistaken.”

“Enough of this.” Spoke yet another voice, its composure and cadence different from the previous. “We are here to negotiate with Sanghara, not to bicker among ourselves.” Atop the fifth mount, a normal horse in place of the bulls ridden by the others, sat Vaidihe Nijasureh Mallam, an experienced diplomat personally assigned by Raani Anushravati. “The effects of this meeting and our forward policy can be determined after we conclude our dealings with the Sangharans.” She nodded towards the procession making its way towards them. “And I believe they are here now.”



The main party of thirty riders crossed the shadow of the Third Tiger Gate without incident, and made its way along the imperial road with good time, passing by hamlets and villages that clustered around the edge of the looming tripartite walls of Tel-Belit. Behind them a trail of seventy scribes, priests, diplomats, servants and footmen kept pace with the elephant, bringing with them the assembled pleasures of the city in expertly carved and painted carts, pulled by heavy draft horses to the shores of the city. As he looked upon the wall, Ungernazern mused that the jungle that now lingered just beyond the horizon had once touched the very gates long ago. But then war had come, and steely sinewed Sanghar had cut it back further and further with each generation, leaving only a plain of farms, grasslands and villages to inherit its remains. Tel-Belit had been a tenth of its current size then, a sleepy township barely beyond constructing its first ziggurat, surrounded by walls better used to oppose bandits than armies.

The Century Wars had changed all that.

It had survived by inches to begin with, then by deliberate measures. Its defenders had staunchly held their ground against the armies of Surabhumi with stubborn tenacity, and families of wealth and power had taken note of this seemingly inconsequential speck on the tip of Vehndathaya. The city had bloomed in a matter of decades, its population swelling with thousands of new arrivals as all clamoured to become citizens of the “Vehndathayan Sapphire”. Its ports and shipyards soon burst to the seams with trade, the cities geographical position becoming useful as a major stopping point in trade both east and west; and necessitating an explosion of dock construction to support with the commercial hub it was soon to become. With prosperity and patronage came the impetus to build the mighty bastions of Tel-Belit, and it quickly rose from a single heap of cemented sandstone to three titanic red-brick walls over the course of two centuries. Infused with the magic of ancient rites and mystic alchemy, reinforced with granite and basalt, and entrenched by ditches, moats and murderholes, these massive structures towered over all but the purple ziggurats and cinnabar pagodas of the Dakatha in their immensity. Up to seventy feet high and forty feet thick, they had provided a nightmarish obstacle for any invading army, and although the Surabhuma had once overwhelmed two of them, they had never overwhelmed all three. The cost of those two alone had seem the deaths of many tens of thousands, and since then Surabhumi had attempted more guileful and patient tactics to seize Tel-Belit, the last of which had lit up the night sky in black and crimson, and turned the very seas to flame. Spreading above even the villages, walls and towers of Tel-Belit however, hung the true monument to its glory, and the staunchest reminder of Sangharan imperial power upon the continent.

The three ziggurats of House Escharaddon.

The central pyramid seemed so immense and huge that it almost cleaved the clouds, mists of vapour drifting around it like the smoking volcanoes of Shranrilaath. Each had been painted a rich non-fading purple and engraved with multicoloured bas-reliefs of festival, war, religious ritual and love-making betwixt brazen bands of shining copper which topped each tier. The sweat and toil of tens of thousands of Sanghar, Surabhi and Tu’mong labourers had ensured that no matter what came, these symbols of the Republic would never fade. With every coming dawn the three daughters of Tel-Belit were lit by the halo of the sun, which crowned them in regal, indefatigable majesty.

Ungernazern found it poetic. No matter how the republic waxed and waned in power, a new dawn would rise over the tops of these structures and signal the beginning of a new day. Dawn would always come again, and with it the resurgent glory of the Sangharan Republic.

“One wonders how much money the magisters could have saved to pay soldiers and build ships if they did not insist on building such massive gaudy palaces.”

Ungernazern shot Ahassunat a look and she smiled wryly in turn, cleaning her nails with a dagger. He knew she was baiting him and he did not rise to it. It was her way of testing the waters, of feeling out her prey and finding the right time to strike. If she ever found her ways into the Dakatha Senate, he would be loathe to give her that advantage over him.

“Much, one would imagine.” He replied in an even tone. “But would it have changed our situation for the better? Our guildsmaster here puts his faith in coin, but even coin cannot avert disaster. Regardless of the waxing and waning of the empire, the pyramids that our grandparents and forty times great grandparents still stand upon the shores of Ditadisha, Jatapu and Odisha. Crumbling though they may be, but they still stand.”

“True… true…” Machezzar cut in before Ahassunat could reply, “and they may stand still longer with the right moves in the great game.” He blinked, and peered into the distance, his jowls bunching as he scrutinised the sight, “and if I’m not mistaken that is our fine guests disembarking on the sands. We best hurry to meet them, the work of several months will not be undone by tardiness.”

As the mahout stirred the elephant to a quicker pace, their retinue spurred their horses to gallop to precipitate their arrival. The sound of trumpets erupted from the four outriders ahead of them, and brought all to a halt before the host that had gathered on the beach. The elephant was the final part of the forward embassy to arrive, its heavy feet grinding to a halt like a monolith as it rumblingly took its place behind the line of Lion Guard.

The first of their escort spurred his horse before the Surabhi and raised his mask, revealing the amber eyes and dusky complexion of a Tu’mong, staring imperiously at the assembled legions of Surabhi almost as if daring for them to challenge him. “We introduce our most esteemed excellency, lord of ships and sails, master of coin and ruler of Tel-Belit - the Sapphire of Vehndathaya, the unconquered city - his majesty lord Ungernazern of House Escharaddon. Furthermore accompanied by Lady Asurbaal Ahassumat Kesh, admiral of the twelfth fleet and victorious captain of the battle of Shamarazil Bay, and his noble eminence guildmaster Machezzar of Tel Taram-Ish who speak today for the Provincial Assembly of the Republic of Sanghara, long may it endure!”

A silence fell as the two groups squared off, examining each other with tense expectancy. It almost seemed as if they might have come to blows there and then, despite the numbers of the Surabhi, when Ahassumat swung down off the side of the elephant and took to heel the ground beneath her.

Dusting herself off, she looked up at the assembled host in amusement. “My oh my! You Surabhi do love to put on a good show, if we thought you’d bring an army with you we’d have brought extra pavilions with the carts. I do hope your soldiers are not going to stand like that all day. The midday sun ... well, it can be brutal around here.”

As Ungernazern lowered himself gracefully from the howdah, waving away servants with his hand Ahussunat eyed the ships with a look of faux-shock. “And what’s this? Sailing under the affectations and ships of the arch-traitoress herself! Tut, tut. Then again, I suppose we did burn the rest didn’t we?” Picking out Shridaveh Enheduana from amongst the assembled dignitaries she smirked viciously at her. “Now, you must be the granddaughter of the traitor I’ve been hearing about. Tell me if this is true, I’ve heard it bandied about the ports so often but I simply must know for myself. Did your grandmother, really drunkenly shit herself to death in a seedy brothel in Surabhumi? I really am desperate to know how ended the days of our most illustrious kindling provider, especially since our throat-slitters failed to find her.”

“Please, please!” It was Machezzar, the guildmaster almost tumbling off the back of the elephant - only saved from shame by the numerous straining and huffing servants beneath him - to intercede before diplomacy soured further. Now that coin and profit was on the table, he was all smiles and platitudes, but Ahassunat knew his daggers were still drawn behind all this flattery. “We are not here to trade in barbs but finalise the agreement between both nations. Shall we let petty grievance and old feuds get in the way of shared prosperity and peace? Come now, we must do better than that for our own people's sake.”

He turned to Ungernazern, bowing as graciously as his aching knees would allow “My lord Dakatha, you carry the final treaties with you of course?”

Ungernazern nodded stiffly to the assembled host, barely hiding a scowl of distaste as he did so. They’ve practically brought a war host to my city for the signing of a diplomatic treaty! Do they think to insult me with threats and sabre rattling? An aloof sigh was all he gave however to the his smouldering contempt, and he mellowed his features into something of a less grim countenance.

“All is ready to be read and for mutual parties engage in final alterations before signing.” He stated dryly, “I trust you have assembled a suitable pavilion for that purpose? Good. Then let us not waste any more time dallying. The midday sun will soon begin to roast us alive if we wait any longer. Your women can find water beyond that dune there, now let’s get this over and done with.”

“Unfortunately,” began Shridaveh, “My grandmother died in her bed at the grand age of a hundred and thirty three, her health had begun to decline. I believe she did have a little too much wine that evening and had flirted with a few servants, but beyond that she passed onto Ishareth surrounded by loving family.” She smiled, “But, my dear Ahassumat, I have to ask the same of you. Is it really true that Hamilkarr was crushed to death ‘neath the folds of fat of her favorite slave-whore? Or that she drowned in the aforementioned slave’s milk? I’ve heard conflicting tales, and am dying to know the truth of the matter. I do hope it wasn’t too fast, such an individual must not leave this plane too quickly after all.”

Another member of the delegation from Surabhumi spoke, a Surabhi priestess of Ishareth who also wore armor, though it was largely concealed beneath the loose flowing grey robes that covered most of her body. Its hood had been thrown back in favor of the kind of straw hat favored by field laborers, and a hint of a smile graced her lips. “Now now, Shridaveh.” She chided, “It is certainly enjoyable to engage in a little… wordplay, but there is time for the two of you to flirt after we have finished our business today.”

“You will find we have brought ample supplies of our own, and I and our entire party invite you to mingle and partake of the dishes and company we have brought. It is a great step we are taking, and we thought it only fitting that we take the appropriate steps to mark the occasion.”



The dusk of the evening gave way to the dim glow of candles and lanterns, and the murmur of instruments as Sanghar and Surabhi musicians filled the coming night air with song and revelry. Tu’mong dancers - with their graceful limbs of burnt copper, flickering through the haze of brazier smoke and incense like wraiths - caught the stare of many an onlooker in their passionate, focused gaze. Before them on a low table a banquet prepared by both dignitaries lay spread, steaming and filling the air with perfumed, spiced and exotic aromas.

On each wing, both sides soothed centuries of tension for a moment, choosing to enjoy the experience. Laughter and conversation rippled melodically through the assembled mass as they feasted, sang and drank, giving the meeting an air of festival which would have surprised folk of other nations. Only a small oasis of tranquility remained, cloistered between the notables of both nations as they hunched in and listened above the celebrations of their courtiers, surrounded by keen eyed scribes who listened to every word they said.

Ungernazern skewered a piece of curried duck with a two pronged fork and brought it to his lips as he eyed his counterparts. Now no longer bound to the conventions of reception, he and the others had shifted to something more civilian and functional. A bluegreen robe of patterned silk, featuring colourful dancing birds of Shanrilaath, lay loose down his shoulders and in great folds around his arms. His chest was bared, opals, sapphires, gold and silver amulets and medallions of service across scarlet skin. He was still well built for a man of his age and it showed, easy life had yet to mellow the hardened lines of his limbs. Then again, as the Dakatha of Tel-Belit, there was little ease in his position.

“So… six thousand bolts of patterned silk from the groves of Tel-Hanat and Tel-Kathit, along with three thousand unpatterned bolts from Tel-Eshtak in exchange for twenty thousand ingots of pure Ukkayan steel. Both merchants will have the right to examine the quality of the goods prior to exportation I assume?

Across the table sat the head of finance for Surabhumi, Aaliyu Navamaba Mallayeh, bedecked in finery, and scarcely touching the sumptuous feast arrayed before her. “Naturally.” She replied in an even tone, “A thousand talents of the finest Ukkayan steel in twenty thousand ingots. Your merchants will be able to examine every ingot personally if they wish.”

Beside her sat the priestess from earlier, still wearing chainmail underneath her plain robes. She seemed wholly uninterested in the mercantile proceedings, instead eagerly eating her fill of the feast arrayed before the assembled delegates. The keen observer would note that her ears remained perked up even as she seemed to gorge herself upon spiced duck and curried fish. Vast dishes of seasoned rice, vegetables in thick curries of spices from both empires. Turning to Aasmi, the similarly armored commander, she gushed effusively. “My dear, you simply must try this - it has been far too long since we received a shipment. I had forgotten how well the two spices complement each other. This dish alone would be worth a thousand treaties.”

Aasmi demurred. She did, of course, partake of the feast - but kept a reserved and aloof air as she observed the proceedings. “Please, Sujati.” She whispered to the priestess, “You do realize we are here to negotiate, not to eat ourselves silly?”

In response, Sujati merely smiled, “No, my dear - it is you and the others who are here to discuss. I am merely a scholar and priestess who was assigned to officiate any rituals and oaths we might make. Besides - how often do we have the chance to enjoy such fine dining in the presence of such esteemed guests?” She held aloft a spoon, vegetables swimming in a heady cocktail of spices alongside mouthwateringly tender slices of crocodile meat. “Humor me and taste this, at least.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Machezzar gushed, eyes glinting at the very thought of counting through such high quality steel. “I’m sure you will honour the agreement as willingly as our silk merchants shall, a gesture of good faith between both our peoples. Truly it has been a long time since such quality steel passed through the ports some of our cities.”

Ungernazern nodded, signalling to the scribes to write down the adjustment to the agreement, only to be interrupted from his elbow as Ahassunat snorted, a mouth full of sweet potato and succulent lamb reducing her chuckles to a mild cough.
“For now at least.” She retorted, clearing her throat and giving a cheerful smile to Shridaveh across the table. “Our smiths continue to explore the deeper alchemy of metals and the forging of bronze and iron-craft, for now Surabhumi holds supremacy in steel, but for how long I wonder?”

Looking up from her meal, Sujati quirked an eyebrow, a broad grin creeping across her face as, further down the table, Khalya’s head jerked sharply in Ahassunat’s direction. “Excuse me, but I must have misheard you.” She called over, frowning. “But I could have sworn you claimed that you would surpass the smiths of Surabhumi in metalworking techniques? Please forgive me, but I find this assertion preposterous. Sanghara may have the edge in the sophistication of magical technique, but to claim a Sangharan smith could outdo those of Surabhumi is akin to claiming I could build a better warship than your finest shipwright. I am afraid, my lady, that you sorely overestimate your capabilities. It is somewhat amusing, in truth.”

Sujati frowned, “Now now, my dear. We cannot fault Ahassunat for what she does not know. Do not be too harsh.”

Ahassunat shrugged, “times change. What has been may come again, and what will be can disappear as quickly as it appears. The world is not a static, stagnant thing. Who knows what the future holds? Certainly not you or I. Perhaps you water-shy Surabhi will learn the craft of shipwrighting rather than flounder, perhaps we shall discover the secrets of steel.” She smiled at that, “perhaps we shall supercede you in both? One decision can change the entire course of history.”

“Irrelevant.” Ungernazern interjected, a scowl across his face as he shot Ahassunat a searching glance, “We are here to discuss tangible realities, not scry futures like two-penny street magicians.”

Ahassunat rolled her eyes and turned back to the food, picking up a rib of paprika and chilli dusted Komodo and gnawing on it voraciously. Ungernazern, satisfied that Ahassunat would not interrupt further, turned again to Aaliyu, eyeing her evenly. “Naturally there are other topics to consider; the flow of sugar and spices between both nations being one, I assume our financiers can discuss the minutiae of such things. One matter that has doubtless been of some concern will be the flow of coffee from the southern nations of Vehndathaya, Tsang-Mah and Nam Leng in particular. I believe this has been discussed prior, but a settled agreement in economic terms has not yet been decided upon. I propose that in return for a… generous price drop in expenses of coffee exportation, both nations agree to mutually declare for the recognition of Nam Leng’s neutrality for the extent of the pact.”

Machezzar nodded agreeably, “that would benefit both empires, with the subduing of rogue provinces and the formation of more natural natural borders, doubtless tensions might potentially arise that we do not yet foresee. Respecting Nam Leng as a neutral nation - with the consent of their divine emperor of course - would allow us a far less politically charged environment to maintain this mutually beneficial peace.”

A barking laugh came from Machezzar’s elbow, followed by coarse, drunkenly slurred mockery. “Peace? Pah! Who is anyone at this table kidding? No sooner than we agree to terms than they’ll be at our throats, taking advantage of every bit of leeway we give them. Peace is an illusion, there can be no peace between us and heterodox heathens who barely share the same goddess as us. The Great Children preserve us, Ishareth worship polluted with half a billion black hearted pagan bovids has taught them nothing but trickery and deceit! I’d sooner make a peace treaty with a tiger, it at least would be more honest with its intentions.”

A dead silence descended upon the assembled diners, and it was Sujati who first broke it. “Excuse me,” she said, smiling sweetly as she stood. “Pardon me, Aasmi, I have something to attend to.”

Slowly, she made her way around the table, the armor underneath her robe clinking in the still air. “Now, my dear.” She asked, approaching the Sangharan who had spoken, “Could you please repeat to me what you just said? I’m afraid there was a bit of a din, and I don’t think I heard you correctly. But it sounded as if you claimed I, and all Surabhi, are heathens and ‘black hearted pagan demons’ who besmirch the worship of our Mother?”

The Sangharan snorted. “Prove me wrong! we’ve had nothing but trouble with Surabhi for over a thousand years, with their fantasies of putting us back in our place in ‘their’ empire. Your obsession with enforcing rustic superstition and farcical irredentist heathenry can be called nothing less than black ignorant savagery. It’s amazing you haven’t totally drowned out the goddesses scripture with peasant totems and retrograde customs, especially with those bands of prancing conniving crones you call priestesses!”

Sujati’s face darkened at his words, her eyebrows furrowing into an expression of loathing. “You ignorant, loudmouthed, shrieking eunuch of a man.” She hissed at him, drawing in close and jabbing a finger hard into his chest. “You know nothing! Nothing!" Her eyes narrowed into slits, centimeters from his own. "Every word that spills from your mouth reeks of centuries of societal decay. You call the order of priestesses a band of crones, yet you profane the name of our Mother with revolting orgiastic frenzies. Maelstroms of wanton excess and decadent carnality! Our customs hail from centuri- no, millenia of history, from the inception of the old empire onwards - and you dare insinuate I and my sisters are the ones who corrupt the scriptures while you slake an unholy thirst for vulgar excess and profane Ishareth’s name by saying it is in devotion to her. My dear inbred noble scion of the bleakest womb, every word that falls from your mouth is utter rot, the same rot that affects what small vestiges of a mind you still cling to.”

As Ungernazern watched the spiralling chaos unfold, he began rubbing his eyes with frustration, shooting the Surabhi emissaries a look of askance before signalling to the Sangharan Lion Guard to bring this farce to a halt. Quickly the armoured soldiers marched forward like lockstepped automatons, Goloks pulled an inch from their sheath as they warded off the irate priestess from further advances.

“We are here to complete a peace treaty, not rip each others throats out over doctrinal differences.” He growled irritably, shooting a look that could kill at Sujati and the drunken Sangharan, “Leave theology to those goddess-mad black-pyramid scholars to argue for an eternity, it won’t make a lick of difference.”

“Like hell I will after what that blasted cow just said!” The drunk roared, trying to pull his Kris blade from its sheath but only getting more tangled up in his scabbard, “I challenge you to a duel you withered old whore! Prove your courage or be called a coward as well as a heretic!”

Sujati’s eyes widened for a moment as he made for his sword, then narrowed, a spark of righteous indignation and excitement burning in them. “I accept.” She called to him, turning her back to him and marching away. “Please inform your next of kin of your last wills.” She taunted over her shoulder, exiting the pavilion.

Ungernazern’s face darkened, eyes practically burning holes in the back of the drunks head as he tottered about. Quietly, very deliberately he spoke, each word measured and controlled in a voice that dripped with potential violence.

“Our guest is wearied, Captain Ekurzakir, escort him to his tent.”

The drunk still hadn’t realised the situation and stammered incoherently, confused by the turn events as he gaped open mouthed and bleary eyed at his master. “B-b-but my lord!”

“Leave. Now.”

Ungernazern’s voice was uncompromising, and at last the drunk seemed to realise the ramifications of his situation. He made one last attempt to convince Ungernazern, stumbling towards him to plead his case. The Lion Guard stopped him before he even took four steps, clamping gold gauntleted hands on his shoulders as they took him away. As he stumbled off muttering silence quickly fell across the table, until Ungernazern turned once again to the Surabhumi emissaries.

“Now…” he spoke evenly, hardly even acknowledging the prior interruption, “I believe we were discussing trade and diplomatic recognition in the southern half of Vehndathaya?”

Vaidihe nodded, steepling her fingers. “I will speak with the priestess after we conclude meetings. Your proposal is fair, Dakatha. We will, of course, discuss minutiae after. I endorse the suggestion of formal with Nam Leng, but I propose an addendum - should Nam Leng come under assault, both empires will contribute militarily to assure the independence of the supply of coffee you enjoy so much.” She smiled slightly, adding with a hint of playfulness, “And, I suppose, the nation itself too.”

“Done. I assume both parties will also curtail any piratical or privateering activity in the region? Doubtless Sangharan and Tu’mong ships can assist in that capacity and ensure the trade lanes are opened properly once again. Golgossar shall be tricky, but despite what the pirate lords claim they are still small men squabbling over their small world. I shall inform the diplomatic embassy being sent there when I am next able. Besides…” he smiled thinly at her, but beneath it there was a hint of mirth. “you act as if you haven’t been missing a proper supply Tsang-Mahan and Lengi coffee, but you can’t fool me. I heard the administrators of both nations wail across the ocean in terror the last time shipments were sporadic.”

A small chuckle escaped her, “Yes, I believe I heard tell at least one general threatening to go to war if her administrators did not receive the coffee they apparently required to function.” Shaking her head, she sighed. “Well, the details can be sorted later, Dakatha. For the time being there is a great feast before us, we would not want to disappoint the cooks would we? Tell your retinue they are free to partake of it if they wish, we have brought enough to feed twice our number and yours combined.”

Ungernazern nodded and signalled to his men, turning back to Vaidihe he smiled, “my gratitude, one can always appreciate the bounty of Surabhumi, although perhaps you should not have brought so much. The wastage of such an abundance of quality food would be quite a shame.”

Her smile broadened into a genuine one, “Clearly you underestimate the appetite of the average soldier. Whatever they do not finish now will surely be gone by tomorrow morn.” She raised a ladle full of a rich curry, spices exclusive to Surabhumi and Sanghara flavoring its contents, “Besides, who could refuse an extra serving of something this good?”

“Perhaps...” Ungernazern mused, accepting the proffered ladle onto his own plate, “I should enjoy it while it lasts shouldn’t I? As oafish as our missing companion was not long ago, he was right about one thing. This peace does not feel meaningful, if anything it is more a calm before a mighty hurricane. I very much doubt it will be many years before the politicians of both our nations are baying for each others blood, no matter how economical the peace is. This pact …” he looked saddened, his stern demeanor crumbling slightly, “I lost four brothers to the last war. How many of my kinsmen will I lose in this one?”

He was silent for a moment before breaking from his ruminations with a start, taking a heap of fresh curry on his plate with naan bread and saffron coloured rice. “Yes… we should enjoy it while we can Vaidihe, true peace may come in some new and distant age, but I cannot see it being so in our lifetime. For now, let’s enjoy what little small luxuries we can gather from this antebellum.”

Grimly, Vaidihe nodded. “I understand. I too lost loved ones in the last war, and I do not relish the possibility of another. Sadly, the wheels of politics grind away, and I doubt our masters will stand the sight of the other growing stronger. But…” she trailed off, before a small smile crept back, “Let us enjoy this peace while it lasts, and the curry that comes with it.”



The light of the new dawn peeked over the horizon, lighting up a dozen figures that stood on the sandy shoreline of the beach, the fluttering of banners and red sails providing a harmonious ambiance to the scene. Ahassunat blinked, bleary-eyed in the sunlight from the the nights hard drinking and covered her eyes as she rubbed them, trying to clear the film that had clouded her vision. Before both delegations a ornate teak table stood, its mother-of-pearl embellishments and claw-footed legs somewhat out of place on a barely occupied beach, which rarely if ever even saw the disembarkation of fishing boats let alone the pride and glory of two great nations, once unified, now divided.

A length of parchment lay before them, worked in beautiful calligraphy and scrollwork, and displaying in detailed intensity the terms of the pact. Beneath, tens of dozens of seals flapped, each with the symbol of a major house of the Sangharan state to officiate the agreement, and numerous of the Surabhumi political elites following suite in their own manner.

Last night had been enlightening for Ahassunat, both in probing the pacts preexistent tensions, as well as the access it allowed her to explore a foreign culture, its traditions, and its leaders weaknesses. Ahassunat felt she had learned a lot amidst the feasting, drinking and debauchery... perhaps some of which might even prove useful later.

As the mist of the hangover began to ease off, she watched the scribes of both nations scamper around the agreement, combing it for any errors or loopholes in its structures that they might oppose before its signing. When both sides looked up and nodded to their respective dignitaries, she let out a sigh of relief.

At last I can get my toes back on ship planks again…

“My Lords and ladies!”

It was Machezzar, looking far less worse for wear than most of the other emissaries in his loose cloaked tunic of teal and gold trim. Ahassunat scowled at that, clearly she’d underestimated the fat little penny-pinching worm, he’d drank as heartily as the rest of them - or at least had seemed to do so - but he’d been keen eyed all throughout the festivities and was just as much today.

“What we complete this morning begins a new epoch in Sanghar and Surabhi history, a new age of growth and prosperity between both nations. We must each ensure that this pact becomes a foundation stone from which future and meaningful peace will arise from, and abide by the word of its law. May it ensure a greater future for both the high halls of Surabhumi, as it does for glorious pyramids of Sanghara, and ensure eternal cooperation between both nations from this moment into all perpetuity!”

With that, the short Sanghar took a step back and bowed to Ungernazern and Vaidihe. Ungernazern worked a shoulder uncomfortably in his robes of state and ceremonial armour, the shifting of his weight resulting in a clinking sound of the golden scales across hippopotamus leather buckles and straps, even as his cinnabar and tyrian robes fluttered in the wind. A snarling tiger skin strapped to his right shoulder and silver kris blade in the other completed the effect, giving him an almost regal aspect. He turned to Vaidihe, and for a moment it almost seemed as if all the weight of his office has flowed from his shoulders, leaving behind a younger, less haggard man. It lasted only a few seconds before it returned with a stern nod, his face contorting into a look he almost constantly had of grim cynicism, but for a moment, the Sanghar had looked almost relieved at the completion of the treaty.

“Do you wish to do the honours first?” he asked her, genuinely deferential to her compared to Machezzar’s flattery and Ahassunat’s mockery.

Vaidihe frowned, considering his offer for a moment, then shook her head. “It was Sanghara that first reached out to begin these dealings. It should be the Sangharan representative to sign the treaty first. It is only fair.” She inclined her head, stepping back half a pace and gesturing for him. She could feel the robes of her office weighing heavily on her - even a lifetime of service as a diplomat could not erase the sheer weight of responsibility placed on her. Even with the immunity granted to her - a centuries old law protecting diplomats such as her from prosecution should the treaty end poorly - she could feel the responsibility for potentially hundreds of thousands or millions of lives resting on her. She silently prayed that she had made the right choices.

A slight blink of surprise was all that Ungernazern gave in reply, a silent moment of understanding passing between them as they shared each other’s gaze. Then he turned, striding towards the table and taking an ornate phoenix-bird quill from one of scribes who hovered around the parchment. With a flourish he wrote his name, the more organic advanced cuneiform of Old Sangharan coming back to him from lessons neared with his old tutors half a century ago. With a final mark and dot he finished, and another scribe followed with hot red wax in a pourer placing it before him.

Taking his time, he found the central fray in the bottom of the parchment and poured, the quickly beginning to cool as he watched. With one age worn hand he pulled on his finger, taking from it a signet ring of his personal sigil and pressed it into the semi-hot wax, before pulling it back after a time, leaving behind the symbol of Esharaddon upon the now hardening liquid. Shifting pose, he made room for his counterpart as she advanced in turn, allowing the Surabhumi emissary ample room to make her mark. Vaidihe in the manner of the Surabhumi completed her own mark, looking on it with relieved finality.

“The pact has been completed!” called out Machezzar, raising his hands in the air at the assembled crowd of both emissaries, “The decades long conflict between the Sangharan Grand Republic and the Realm of Surabhumi is at an end. Long may it endure!”

As both sides erupted into appreciative roars of celebration, Ungernazern clapped armed together as a final sign of respect between the both nations.

“Long may it last, Vaidhe.” Ungernazern smiled, both relieved and thankful that their diplomatic efforts had been successful. Still… a small aspect of it wormed away inside him, and he knew that for his counterpart it was the same.

Long might the peace last… but for just how long?
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Bright_Ops
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Bright_Ops The Insane Scholar

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Opening the Door


A general sense of worry and unease seemed to hang in the air around the Isbryder as the ship glided along a lazy sea. It had long been accepted doctrine of the merchant and diplomatic castes to avoid sailing along the western coast since it belonged to the savage, bloodthirsty green skinned menace that plagued the lands west of Tushina that made land routes dangerous. Truth be told, they weren’t quite sure if the green skins actually had a navy to speak of, but the point had been made to avoid their waters in the event that the answer turned out to be yes.

Sailing with land clearly visible to the west clearly put the sailors manning the ship on edge. Taler couldn’t exactly blame them for their nerves, but as the small ambassador flicked his large, fur covered ears while gazing out at the land that had for longer than Tushnia had existed been firmly clenched in the hands of the goblins, the small diplomat couldn’t help but respect the men and women who were defying their worries to go on what some back home had considered to be a pointless sucide mission.

The skirmishes against and by the greenskins in the western mountains had started back during the city state period decades before Tushina had been forged in diplomacy and war and had continued since. There were many in the republic who believed that the only way that peace could ever be achieved in the west would be to march there in force and drive off or kill every last goblin they could be found, but there had never been the risk of a majority to make such a movement reality.

...At least, until recently.

The leader of what could be considered the ‘Purge’ movement, Blodige of the Western Gates, had managed to make a surprising alliance with a number of the merchant caste representatives in the senate. His arguments that purging the greenskins completely would not only expand Tushina’s borders, secure their cities and people from further attacks and gain fresh resources had been arguments that had long been used before, but Blodige’s arguments for creating and securing land trade to the west while eliminating the possible threat of goblin piracy on the seas and won him a dangerous amount of support for war.

Unable to stop the idea of a war of genocide outright, Taler had made a comprimise agreement between those who wanted war and those who didn’t: Diplomacy would be attempted to bring their age old conflict to an end.

Of course, walking into the mountains would have been suicide. History had proven time and time again that the greenskins in the mountains couldn’t tell the difference between a member of the military caste and Too’ave of other castes and thus took a ‘kill on sight’ approach to any Too’ave they saw… so instead a different idea would be tried.

Instead of reaching out to their immediate neighbours, from whom there was bad blood on both sides of their border, Taler would take a ship to meet with one of the tribes further down south who might be a bit more inclined to enter a dialogue.
While he was small in size, Taler’s soft golden fur had started to turn gray with age. His time among the living wasn’t over by any means, but as his blue eyes focused on what appeared to be some kind of jetty ahead that could be landed at he made peace with the fact that there was a very real chance that he would never get to see his family again. He couldn’t ask another of the diplomatic caste to take his place since he was the one leading the move to stop a bloody war from beginning, despite his status as a senator…

All he could do was hope that his plan wasn’t as insane as some of his peers thought it was as the ship pulled up to dock. Hopefully the locals were relatively friendly… or at least friendly enough not to murder the crew of a strange ship pulling up on sight.

There were good omens as the ship pulled up into the docks. The sun was warm, the sky was cloudless, and the winds were relatively calm. But probably the biggest reassurance the crew could have received was knowing that they were not the only foreign ship in the harbour. Granted, most of the foreigners in question were humans, but at the very least there were more than just greenskins around in case things went south.

But of all the foreigners around, the Too’ave were certainly the most alien to the goblins. As a show of solidarity with their aggrieved brothers, Bwca had a total embargo on any and all Too’ave ships coming into the harbour. This would have been the first time most of the traders on the dock would have seen the beastmen.

And that embargo was still clearly in place. Even before they had docked, there was a contingent of guards waiting for them, ready to arrest anyone who dared drop a gangplank on Bwcan soil.

While it was true that the crew of the ship weren’t exactly… happy to see a bunch of armed guards ready and waiting for them, all of them made a point to stay back (and close to weapons that could be grabbed in a damn hurry if need be). The only Too’ave to walk up to the side of the ship to look at the guards (having to actually grab onto the railing and pulling himself over it to get a clear view), Taler tilted his head as his big ears flopped a little while offering a friendly smile. “Hi there! My name is Taler. Can I speak to your leaders?”

“We don’t take ships from Tushina,” one of the guardsmen, presumably their sergeant, replied. His voice had a strange sing-song quality to it, and he turned the vowels into their own syllables. “You best turn around and go home now”

Taler’s ears drooped a little… before they flicked back up. “Well can we at least drop off a letter, saying when a diplomat is going to arrive?”

The soldiers were obviously suspicious of anything aboard that ship. One one hand, if it was an invasion, they’d surely have brought more men along. But on the other hand, you couldn’t be too careful…

“Alright. One of you, on your own, with no weapons. No more,” the sergeant said at last.

Taler beamed a little, before holding up one of his hands to say “One moment!” before dropping off the railing and disappearing from view of the guards for the most part. After a few moments had passed, the gangplank was lowered and Taler strolled down it alone with no weapons on his person. In his hand was a rolled up and official looking document with a wax seal imprinted on it.

Once he was officially the first Too’ave to step foot on Bwca’s soil, a grinning Taler offered the document to the sergeant as he explained “We left the date of arrival blank because we weren’t sure what calendar you use… what’s the date today? Also, what’s your name and rank?”

The Sergeant opened his mouth as if to speak, but it was another voice that echoed across the dock.
“Thank you, gentlemen. You may go.”
The troops looked towards where the voice had come from. There, walking towards them, was curious figure even for goblin standards. He was tall for a goblin, and his arms were criss-crossed with the scars of old battles, perhaps a lion or a bear of some kind. Unlike the cloth-clad guardsmen, he was decked out in a full suit of lamellar, neglecting only to wear a helmet. But the oddest thing about him? He was white. Not simply pale, but pure ivory white, from head to clawed toe.

“But the law, sir…” one of the soldiers tried to interject.

“If our guests are lying, and they have no authority, I’ll see to it that they are punished.” The newcomer spoke with a cool, breezy tone. Just the sound of his voice was refreshing. “But if they aren’t, we can’t very well throw a diplomat in jail for the crime of showing up”

He had a point. It was really following the letter, and not the spirit, of the embargo to send them on their merry way when they weren’t even traders.

Watching the small exchange, Taler’s ears flopped a little from side to side as he turned his head to focus on whomever was talking at the time in silence. Finally, when it seemed the conversation was at an end, he finally asked the goblin he had been talking to moments ago, before the pale one arrived “I guess I’m being booted up the chain of command. Well sir, it was nice meeting you. Take comfort in knowing that I’m no longer your problem to deal with!”

The goblin sergeant scowled at the diplomat. How arrogant! He almost wished he WAS a criminal, just so he could punish him for his impudence.

“That’s enough of that,” the white one interjected. “They were just doing their job. No need to rub it in.”

Taler blinked in confusion. “...I wasn’t trying to rub it in. He just seemed upset that he didn’t get to deal with me anymore.”

“You’d do best to watch your manners here, Mister. Especially given your, ahem, precarious position.” The white one strode forward, standing between the ship and the contingent. “Do you have any evidence that you’re a diplomat? A royal seal, a letter from your leaders, something to that effect?”

In a moment, the happy go lucky, earnest but maybe a little too enthusiasticTaler’s seemed to lose all of its youthful energy, his expression fading into professional seriousness as he offered the document over to the pale skinned goblin. “Senator Taler of the diplomatic caste, representative of the city of Tro, at your service. I have been empowered by the Senate of the Republic of Tushina to speak with the nation of Bwca and your mountain dwelling kin further up north in order to bring an end to the conflict that has plagued our people for centuries now.”

The white one scanned the document, before nodding, satisfied. “You may call me Ban. Harbourmaster. Anyone who docks here answers to me, and for now, that includes you. Have you contacted anyone from the north before you came here?”

Taler politely shook his head. “Considering that the standard greeting of your northern kin in the mountains when encountering a member of the diplomatic caste is to kill them and take their pelts and tails as a prize, we decided it might be better to try and start this off with the people we’re more at war with in name rather than spirit.”

Ban pinched the bridge of his nose - or at least he tried to. Looked more like he was tweaking the whole thing. “Of course they are. That complicates matters somewhat. I can write you up a stay-of-execution for the time being, so you and your men can get booked into a hotel of some sort - no freebies, I’m afraid. If we had known you were coming, we could have gotten it all sorted. Make sure to keep it on you at all times.” The harbourmaster grumbled. Once again, those short-sighted boneheads at the Foreign Office made his job much more difficult than it had to be.

Lifting a hand, he politely waved off Ban’s concerns. “Oh, we’re more than happy to stay on our ship. We packed assuming that it would take a while to get things organized since we weren’t confident in getting a message saying we were coming out here. After all, considering how… tense the western border of Tushina is, we weren’t completely sure if their ‘kill on sight’ approach had been adopted down this far south… but I’ll happily accept your stay-of-execution so that we can do some trading for fresh supplies and stretch our legs on solid ground.”

Well, they kind of have to accept that, Ban thought. If you didn’t, you’d be arrested. But he didn’t say anything, preferring instead to whip out a notice and scrawl a signature at the bottom.
“Here,” he said, offering it to the diplomat. “Anyone harrasses you, just show them this. If they still won’t listen, mention me by name.”
“Noted. Thank you for the help Ban. I’ll be sure to make our stay as easy for you as possible.”
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by bloonewb
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bloonewb Primordial and also soupy

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"Why did you ask me to meet here? You know you're not allowed within," said Guba, calling out to the darkness. The moonlit chamber was massive, stretching far above his head. Large enough to fit a court, which during the day, it did. At night, however, the government, like all other institutions, return to their homes to rest, and one man within is very lonely indeed. Pillars dot the great expanse, casting shadows about and shrouding all but the sections nearest to the massive window in pitch. It was before this window Guba stood, peering out at the moon and the land that basks in its light.

"Sas ney tafeca sli, Unitas idir," responded a voice, somewhere in the shadows. His voice, yet someone else's. Guba did not bother to turn.

"Too true," Guba said. He could feel in his bones that tonight was a night of fate. The future called to him through the glass, beckoning him in a way none other than the voice may ever have a chance to understand. "Come join me by the window, brother."

"I would," said the voice, followed by the tapping of sandals upon stone. The dim light exposed a face, Guba's own, and yet not. They were of a form, nearly perfectly in all ways. Two they were, and yet one, so the wise man had once said. Indeed it seemed true, but for their spirits, for the many paths of fate had seen to it that their spirits were made differently. An ironic joke of the universe, perhaps, or a mere error on the part of the cosmos, or less likely, a path intended for them to take, unexpected as it is to them now.

"Gugurta, dare you wear the sword in this hall?" Guba snapped. It made an unmistakable rattle as he walked with it. "With a single demonstration of it, you were thrown from the favor in the palace. Not even our brothers in cause would tolerate such radicalism." Gugurta let his hand travel to the fine hilt of the sword. A Varacci sword it was, light and elegant, so different from the harsh spathae of the legions.

"Do you not like it, brother? I myself find it fetching. We are, after all, of the belief that the poor orkh be lifted of his oppressions in the inner isles. Unless, of course, I had forgotten the day on which we changed causes." It was as if Guba could hear the impish smile on his face. It led him to deepen the furrow in his own brow.

"You're lucky the new king is of our sensibility. I fear the executioner's axe comes baying for our blood. Let us go into the night, brother mine, before your little joke of meeting in this hall grows weary, not only to us but to the eye of the barbaric Optimates. After all, I hear the Cohorta is performing its induction ceremony tonight." With that, Gugurta pulled the head covering tighter around his face, and the two strolled out.
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"Today, is a day of greatness!" shouted Mario. A roaring cheer followed, deep and bellowing. The roar of the Varacco. It carried over the waves, into the sky, so loud even the spirits must hear it. "Greatness for the sun, and greatness for the Sumitaga!"

"Greatness for the sun, and greatness for the Sumitaga!" shouted the young Varacci that joined him. Mario looked into their faces, and saw the conviction he and his cousins had beaten into them.

"When you raised your swords, and swore yourself Cohorti for the first time in your lives, you were but boys and girls." Boos, hisses, and low growls punctuated the words. "Now, as I have seen your tusks grow long, your brave vigor strengthen, I may no longer find these children. I find men, and I find women. Cousins to further the greatness of the Cohorta!"

"Greatness for the Cohorta, greatness for the sun, and greatness for the Sumitaga!"

"I swear to you, my cousins today, and in battle my brothers and sisters, that I, Mario di Aggiapo, shall in my life guide you on the Cohorta warpath, to serve with honor the sun-king's crown, to defend our land, a land of imperator's pride and doge's reverence!"

"Greatness for Mario di Aggiapo, greatness for the Cohorta, greatness for the sun, and greatness for the Sumitaga!"

"Watch the moon rise! Watch as the spirits descend from the sky, and inhabit us, for but a few moments! The moon! The moooon! Agh . . . agh! AAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" Mario tensed up as he felt the familiar sensation wash over him. That moment, when his spirit falls away and a foreign one rushes in to fill the void left behind. The war-shamans called it "il vegliare somo", the waking sleep. Sleep, however, was the least accurate term for what happens next. The wave of fury washed over the young Varacci, and they too were wracked with the great pains and pleasures of being filled with excessive spiritual power. One young male drew his sword, and with a deafening scream snapped it in two, throwing the shattered remains into the sea. A female beat her fists together, not stopping even as they gushed with blood.

"AWWOOOOOOO! AWWOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Together, they howled at the moon, demonstrating the fury of the Varacci, the fury of the sea and the sky itself.

From a distance, Guba and Gugurta watched, as they had year after year, for many years, beginning when they were children. They knew that hidden in the shadows, many Imasicians enjoyed watching the brief lunacy, some with disgust, others with wonder. They were a magnificent spectacle, these induction rituals. When the shreds of civilization were wrenched away while the flesh remained. Guba, in his heart, longed to be as wild as they in those moments. "Imagine," he whispered. "They serve the king more closely than we."
_____________________________________________________
"My lord Lucca," said the servant. "A message for you."

"Throw it in the fire," Lucca responded. In his hand was a bottle of rum, once full, but now half empty. "Do not give me that ridiculous look. I know, as well as you, that it was sent from Lady Amara. I wish not to hear from her."

"As you command, my lord," she said. The crackle of the fires intensified for a moment as it was fed fresh parchments. "I take my leave now, if it please you- oh!" she winced, and clutched at her arm.

"What is it?" Lucca asked, standing up. He swayed a bit under his weight, but his eyes remained resolute. He stumbled over to the servant, leaning on the wall for balance. She shook her head, but an intense glare from the near-legendary doge led her to meekly pull up her sleeve, revealing a distinctly spatha-shaped cut wrapped sloppily in cloth. The blood was still wet, by the looks of it. "Where did you get this?"

"I was not careful, my lord. I was visiting the blacksmith's. I asked about your spad-"

"Where? Do you think me stupid?" Lucca was too far gone to contain his usual composure. Lucca the Wise, they called him, despite him being one of the youngest Varacci to ever serve as Serene Doge. They think he does not know, but he realizes that in the far islands, they call him Lucca Augustus, for which they would be killed if the human authorities ever heard.

". . . Il taverna, my lord."

"Who was the dog that would dare lay a hand on my employ? I would castrate him with his own sword!" His nostrils flared, so large they could perhaps swallow a grape.

"A . . . a leggionare, my lord." She shrunk away at the answer.

"Leggionare? On Sendimenti? They would not dare. Why did you not fight, as is your right on this island?" Lucca's face fell from anger to shock. He could not feel them, but he could hear his teeth grinding like stones together.

"I could not! I was afraid. He said . . . if I did not stand still . . . he would tell the Leggiato, who would tell the Senatores, who would break our peace with the Imazzicci." Lucca huffed, and he turned to leave. "Wait, my lord!" the servant cried, descending to her knees. "Do not write to the Imazzicci! I am a woman of the peace, I do not wish to attract the ire of the human signori." Lucca sighed, and rested his hand on her shoulder.

"I will investigate the matter thoroughly," he said, trying to return to his regular, calm tone. "Let it be known that you need not fear any false hands from now on. I shall rest, and think of the matter again in the morning." He stumbled up the stairs to his bedchambers, clutching his head. As he did so, another servant descended the stairs, stopping to bow absentmindedly as the doge passed him. Lucca did not seem to take any notice whatsoever. When the servant reached the bottom of the stairs, he tiptoed over to the other.

"Did you sway him?" he asked.

"Perhaps I did, perhaps I did not," she responded.

"Perhaps," he mused, looking up at the stairs. "You have done a great thing for the Varacci. In time, we shall find ourselves free again, led on by mighty Lucca. Until then, we may only hide and wait. Rest easy tonight. It took much courage to suffer as you did." He pulled an Imasician spatha from his pants as he did so, cracking a wry smile.

"No courage at all, knowing the risk," she responded. The two of them began to chuckle, as old friends do, but immediately stopped, remembering not to awaken the sleeping.

"Good evening, then. Greatness for Amara di Molobenini."

"Greatness for Amara di Molobenini."
_________________________________________________________________
Masinissa leaned over the railings, and vomited into the sea. "Will we see land soon?" he asked.

"Soon, boss," shouted a sailor. The deck roiled and rolled, and Masinissa felt the influence of another mouthful of acid threaten to pass through his lips. He hated this, and he suspected many of his men did as well. But what choice did he have? It was his solemn duty to win the necessary glory for his king and rightful ruler. If that meant traveling near a thousand leagues by ship, then so be it.

"I will not have soon. I will have sooner. Tell your rowers to make double time for this final stretch. I will- hulph!" He could not hear quite clearly, but he thought he heard the Drakon mercenary laugh. He grimaced, wiping the yellow bile from his face. He hated those Drakonese as well. One could never tell, by their seemingly honest faces, what they were thinking. "Courage, man," he told himself. "Courage, for a few leagues more. Surabhumi is on the distance now, I need but reach out and take it for my own."
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by DELETED32084
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Aseophin


The ocean was deadly calm save for little patches of wind dappled waves that skittered here and there across the almost glasslike vastness. There was no land in sight, not even a cloud in the azure blue sky that stretched from horizon to horizon with nothing but the blazing sun to mark the passage of time.

Amid the huge emptiness lay two vessels that would serve to strike awe into any race who relied on wooden warships and sails for speed. A pair of Miruk Flesh-Constructs rose and fell gently with the near invisible swells that never cease to sweep the ocean, their sides and decks alive with a swarm of Aseophin.

Both constructs lay much deeper than they normally might in the water, water having been pumped into the lower ballasts tanks in order to settle and stabilize them for the task ahead. Great thick cables of woven kelp ran through out rigged pulleys and then vanished into the ocean. The cables served two purposes; they allowed the Aseophin to move quickly between the constructs and their prize, and to eventually bring that same prize to the surface.

Organized chaos at its finest. Cearirne smiled to herself as she brushed a small tentacle behind one ear. She watched as a work party began to unspool another cable and lower the weighted end into the sea. Two younglings, still new to their tade, whooped with laughter as they rode the weight into the sea with a crash. They would hang onto the cable now while it pulled them down several hundred metres to the bottom. I should have a look myself. Always important for the leader to know what is happening.

She stepped up to the edge and caught the eye of the construct captain who nodded in understanding. Then she dove. It was a quick dive, arching out to ensure she was well clear of the main mass of the Murik Construct and its bulky size. She could feel her tentacles weight immediately tucked her arms close to the side of her head, her hands forming a spearhead so that she sliced cleanly into the water with barely a splash.

Shafts of sunlight shot through the water, great columns of gold amid the deepening blue and green, like a mighty cathedral that dwarfed any structure on land. The ocean below her was vast and filled with a thousand species of ocean life from the tiniest fish to a pair of Orkiathan that cruised through the heavy cables, ignoring the panic they caused among the smaller sea creatures around them.

Such deadly beauty. She gave the two a wide berth as she began to swim downward. She was aware of the sounds of the Orkiathan as they displayed a scant interest in her passage. They would have to ne truly hungry to risk attacking an Aseophin. She kept a dagger strapped to her otherwise naked thigh for just such an occasion.
She reached a cable swiftly enough and began to pull herself hand over hand downward into the deep. It didn’t take long for her destinations to reveal itself. A leviathan corpse, its body mostly intact, was being swarmed by flesh scavengers as much as it was by the Aseophin workers who were setting the cables into place on fins and armoured head. They could not stay down forever however and a steady stream of workers came and went to the surface.

Perfect. The Elders said we needed a new trade construct and this one is ideal. It will require some flesh removal or course, and the organs will have to go, but its easy to work one like this. She swam lazily above the corpse, noting carefully the placement of the cables among other things. Sandyish bottom. It’s going to need that sudden jerk to get it off the bottom. Can’t break the suction any other way.

Two passing Aseophin offered her toothy grins. They carried tridents, hand held crossbows, daggers and little else. Armour only served to weigh you down under the surface and clothing was impractical and pointless. Aseophin rarely wore clothing at all unless dealing with other races who seemed strangely determined to wear the skins of their dead enemies at times. She had never understood that at all.

Satisfied with her view from above she kicked hard and dove close to the leviathan. It was a Toiyr, a sought after creature for creating trade constructs due to its heavy armour and size. It would ideal for moving valuable cargo as it was impervious to almost anything a common pirate could throw at it. Provided it was properly modified and rebuilt.

I think that will do nicely. She turned and took hold of the nearest cable; ascending to the surface rapidly without needing another look behind her. She burst out of the water and landed gracefully on the low platforms that sat only a foot above the surface of the ocean. Water cascaded off her and she paused, taking a moment to untangle seaweed that had attached itself to her ankle. She tossed it back into the water before making her way back to the captains platform where the salvage chief waited for her.

He knuckled his forehead to her as a show of respect and then raised an eyebrow on his v-shaped head. She had always found his tribe pleasing to look at it. They had completely smooth skin, streamlined fins, and none of the extra appendages that some tribes had.

“You have done an excellent job.” She stated, the words gurgling slightly at the back of her throat. “You may began raising it whenever you are ready.”

“Thank you, Magi.” He turned away from her to look over the chaos below. The last of the heavy cables was being swung into position and the workers were beginning to clear the water as they finished their tasks.

Cearirne turned to the small plain chest, made from the shell of a giant scallop, and opened it carefully. Inside glowed a crystal, a round pulsating stone of pure white that had been brought from the depths by a harvesting team a few years previously. She caressed it gently, turning it over in her clawed hands, marvelling at how it showed no marks on its gleaming surface. She did not need it to increase her power, but rather to help her focus it. She was one of a score of powerful mages in Aseophin and creating construct vessels was her speciality.

“Stand clear!” The chiefs voice echoed across the water between the two constructs and all of those assembled took shelter away from the cables. If one snapped, it would cut clean through any Aseophin it struck and leave a tremendous dent in the side of a construct.

“Cut away!” Several Aseophin, lower down, began to work the heavy pumps that began to drain the ballast tanks. Sea water poured out of small ports on the sides of the constructs and they lifted slightly from the sea. Heavy stone weights hanging below the surface kept them partially submerged still and more workers stood by their lines, waiting for their order.

“Let got the weights!” The constructs had come as high as they could with the ballast tanks pumped free. Now the weights were cut free with axes, dropping toward the bottom immediately. The two constructs, freed from the burden shot toward the surface, Aseophon clinging to anything available and whooping as they went.

The cables snapped taught and the constructs keeled slightly inward toward the strain being put on them. After a seconds pause the carcass far below popped free of the clutching mud and the two constructs floated upright to cheers from their crews.

Next would come the cleaning of the carcass. All the internal organs and flesh would have to removed. Then, and only then, could Cearirne begin the process of transforming the dead hulk into an ocean going construct. Nothing would make her happier.

Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Antediluvixen
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Antediluvixen Kemonomimi Dystopia Creator

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Asmaki Khalya Xaaviya D'aldrati Zhetiveh: Governor-Matriarch of the Aasiti Province, on the southeastern coast. A dedicated and adept administrator, her military training is only rudimentary. Intelligent and shrewd, she is prone to bouts of mania and depression. She has mustered all available militia within two days’ march to rendezvous with her and try to protect the town of Patnai and hamper the advance of the Imasician Legions while the Province’s Matriarch-Militant marshalls the army proper. Many of her soldiers are lacking the armor and weapons they trained with, and they are tired from two days of forced marching.
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The dawn rose beautiful over the green hills. Masinissa watched the flashes in the armor ring back at him, many glints on the fields of silver. They are called Legii XLVIII through LVIII, and they would conquer this land. Masinissa’s heart swelled, watching the perfectly formed ranks march across the grass, flattening it under their footfalls. It was a perfect representation of the Imperium, before its tragic end. Yet, as they advanced towards the pitiful garrison that was to be their enemy, perhaps it was time the Imperium rose again, stronger and wiser than ever before. A new Imperium, under the eyes of Imasicia, the last son of that venerable civilization. “Army, forth!” he called, and as one, they assembled upon the hill, overlooking the enemy forces below. In the lifespan of a candle, they shall fall.

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Asmaki surveyed the force arrayed before her with cold dread hanging heavy in her gut. Like a pouch of leaden sling bullets, a foreboding sense of doom filled her being. Her army was no match for the one arrayed before it, she could see that as clear as day. The scouts she had available counted at least forty thousand among the enemy’s number, if not more. Her own forces numbered a comparatively scant twenty thousand, many of them without even the weapons and armor they had trained with. This was a doomed venture from the start, she knew.

“Varidi, instruct what professional archers we have to retreat to Patnai, they will be necessary in the city’s defense.” She murmured to an aide. “We may die today, but we will ensure these invaders do not profit long from their victory here.”

____________________________________________________________________________

“Signor, I see them,” whispered a Varacci auxiliary prefect. He pointed with a mangled finger at the sea of horns assembling below, ragged and shivering. Masinissa’s breath caught in his throat, as it so often does before a battle. “They are . . . ten thousand? Twenty?” His brow furrowed. “I see no armor. What if it is a trap?”

“A trap? Perhaps . . . “ Masinissa whispered. “Who knows what these devious Surabhi may be planning . . . “

“Praetor, we await your decisi-” a legatus began, but Masinissa waved him away.

“. . . Approach cautiously. Send in a few greens, nothing we can’t afford to lose. Harry them and break their lines, and watch the damn corners. If it is a trap . . . “ Masinissa said, his voice slowly giving away to near-silent rambles. His eyes darted about, expecting to see an unending horde of cow-women appear from anywhere and descend upon him. The legati gave each other a grim look, and immediately left to organize their own legions. The auxiliary prefect did the same, shooting a suspicious glare at the Surabhi lines.

____________________________________________________________________________

Asmaki frowned at the approach of a small segment of the Imasician forces. It was a trap, it had to be. Skirmishers, to lure her smaller forces away from their defensive position and into the open, where they could slaughter her forces wholesale. This enemy commander was a cautious one for sure, and her hopes of forcing him into even a pyrrhic victory were slipping steadily by the minute.

“Varidi, instruct our remaining archers to take up their positions and await my order. We should reserve arrows for the main force of their advance. Tell the skirmishers and whatever infantry have their armor to move to the front - I want skirmishers to drive their own back, the infantry to protect our archers.”

Her expression was grim as she surveyed the field from atop the hill. Even dug in as she was, she knew she was no match for a properly trained and experienced general - let alone one who outnumbered her own forces by such a wide margin.

____________________________________________________________________________

“Run and release! Run and release!” shouted a centurion, lost in the mob. His voice was picked up by the remaining command, and rose up in a chorus alongside the charging skirmishers. Cries of “Get moving, damn you!” and “Bleed them dry!” joined shortly after, and the cacophony of overlapping voices grew to a mess of noises, only some of which may even be considered human. Metal rings rattled on metal rings, as the charging force ran right up to the quickly-forming Surabhi skirmishers, seemingly about to throw themselves upon them in melee combat. Then, they slow, halt, and pull from their backs a single metal-tipped javelin. With roars of fury, they hurl the javelins at the unarmored Surabhi, painting the grass red. Another volley, in quick succession follows, tearing gaps in their lines. Then, quick as they approached, they book it for the safety of the legion.

However, as the enemy skirmishers face them down, the roars quickly turn to screams. A javelin buries itself into a skirmisher’s back, and he collapses. More missiles join the first, each finding its mark with a power unexpected of a peasant levy. Desperately, the force raises their round shields, small protection that they are, to the sky.

“It’s no matter, the damage is done . . . “ muttered Masinissa. “I trust you are aware of your own role.”

“Si, signor, it will be,” replies a guttural voice. The Varacci prefect steps out before his kinsmen, and begins banging on his shield. The effect is an instant seeming hypnosis of the auxiliaries. The banging slowly gets faster, louder, but even the sound of metal is naught compared to the breathing of the Varacci themselves. The entire unit seems to vibrate, with how much they are twitching. “Ahhh . . . ahh . . . ahhh . . . AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!” The shout comes up as one, and the unit charges, blood in their eyes and on their tongue, and all the world disappears in a haze of anger.
____________________________________________________________________________

Asmaki smiled in grim satisfaction at the losses inflicted by her own forces on the enemy’s skirmishers. She knew that her and her own force’s odds of survival were still slim, but it filled her with a faint glimmer of hope to see the foreign soldiers flinch and flee in a rain of javelins.

However, her eyes narrowed once more as she saw a fresh detachment of the enemy break away from their force, an unearthly yell reaching her ears, the sound carried by the wind.She could see these new enemies wore little armor, and seemed markedly different than the other members of the Imasician army. Hurriedly, she struggled to compose herself. “Archers!” She called, signalling to her aide, “Loose at will when the enemy draws past two and a half hundred yards! Skirmishers, to the flanks, to the flanks! Spears, counter! Hurry!”

Her orders were hurriedly conveyed through the ranks by her aides, but even as she watched them carried out she knew she had given the commands improperly, and she wracked her brains for the correct terms. The skirmishers lingered in a confused mass, only beginning to part after far too much delay, the infantry similarly was sluggish in its response, and its response was a confused one at that. Asmaki cursed herself, and wished only that the provincial commander could arrive to save her force. The few properly equipped elements of her army that originated from the standing garrison of the town formed themselves into a long, thin line of bristling spear points, many of the lighter armored soldiers who had not received their full equipment clumping in behind them.

‘Counter’ was not a standard order amongst the military, and many unit commanders, uncertain of what it meant, lead their forces in a sally against the onrushing berserkers. Asmaki screamed for them to return, but her voice was drowned in the wind, and a gaping hole opened in her line. It was soon being filled by one of the reserve units, but she knew they were raw recruits with minimal training, many of them not even full adults, hastily handed spears and shields and pulled along into her ragtag army.

The only contingent of the army that did not suffer in her breakdown of communication were the archers, even as one of the signalling officers desperately waved her colors at the unit that had broken from the line, the archers raised their massive war bows, loosing their deadly volley of arrows into the onrushing mass of orcish berserkers.

____________________________________________________________________________

Two. Two arrows. That was how many Centorio Silano Giulio had sticking out of him. Maybe, at least. He was judging purely by the snatches of color he could see. Still, blurry images, that flash before him, one after the other. Between each one, nothing but darkness and blood and the vague feeling that something, some part of him, isn’t quite moving the way it ought. A splash of water struck him in the face. No, not water. Salt, he could taste the salt. It was blood. Was it the poor woman screaming he could hear, or his own? There! He felt it! A third arrow drove home into his shoulder. Was he losing it? No, no, he can’t! He was a Varacco of the Cohorta! The screaming intensified, but it sounded different. Silano was almost sure it was his own. His hand closed around something. A pipe? An image flashed before him. Not a pipe. A horn. There was resistance in his hand. He’s pushing, pushing, but it won’t give. Everything is going dark, and he’s finding it hard to recall now. Why does that soldier have a broken horn? What’s that piece of white pipe doing in her eye?

What was he doing here?

With a gasp for air, everything comes into sharp focus. Red stains in his eyes. Everything hurts. Four, five, he can feel them all now. They hurt like death, they hurt like storms upon the tranquil sea. He falls, caught in the arms of an earth spirit. At last, the scream dies down. However, he knew in his heart that he should be proud. It was a day of victory! The king, the king would be proud of him. He will tell his father the sun all about the victory of Centorio Silano Giulio, who fought like an evil spirit while his brothers fell.

Masinissa had to resist the urge to look away. The Varacci weren’t warriors, not by any definition he knew. They were fireballs, moulded poorly into a humanoid shape. Their lives were dedicated to releasing that hot energy simmering away within them in a single massive explosion. He was watching it for himself, this terrifying inferno, this forbidden vision.

“I shouldn’t be dedicating this many soldiers to this battle . . . “ he mused, his brows creasing with worry. It could still be a trap. It had to be a trap, right? He had been overzealous. Where were the reserves? Did the Surabhi dare cut this many lives so flippantly? “Turtles, I want turtles down there immediately. Fill in the gaps with scuta and spatha. Legatus fifty-three, you’re in the center. Legati fifty-five and fifty-six, wrap around. Let’s squeeze them until they shatter.”
____________________________________________________________________________

Asmaki gasped aloud in shock as the orcish tide crashed into the still forming line of spears, even as great gaps were rent in their figures by the punishing arrows of her archers, she could see many of them charge on, heedless of the fatal wounds they had suffered. “Reinforcements! Reinforce the front, cut those things down, whatever they are!” She cried, motioning with a distraught hand at another aide.

Where are you when I need you, Kuirroda? she wondered, casting a glance to the horizon as if expecting the provincial commander to arrive at the head of a relief army. I’m not a commander, I’m an administrator! You could have delegated a lieutenant to organize the conscriptions in the west, but you had to go yourself.

She was broken from her thoughts by something in her peripheral vision - yet more detachments of the enemy’s army breaking off from the main formation, swooping down on each of her sides, their shields raised. “Archers, loose on the enemy!” she cried, her voice hoarse with desperation, “Heavy arrows! Something!”

Despite her shortcomings, even the reserve archers were well drilled, and nocked new arrows on their bows, drawing and loosing the heavy shafts with well practiced coordination. Even the heavy wooden shields of the Imasicians fell prey to the punishing rain of arrows, cruel steel heads with hardened tips that punched through maille armor and wooden shield alike. But it was small respite against the numbers of the Imasicians, and Asmaki had sent half of her archers away, knowing the outcome of the battle would not favor her.

Infantry captains, acting without orders, rushed their units to the flanks to meet the oncoming foe, but their troops were yet more inexperienced and untrained recruits, barely adults, often armored with little more than a padded shirt and carrying only spear, shield, and a knife. Asmaki closed her eyes, knowing the result would not be one she wished to see.

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The ground was a pile of bodies. Surabhi arrows distinguish poorly between officer and footman, and many bodies lay together in repose. They tear through the thick shields almost as if they were air, and are still strong enough to punch through mail armor, segmented armor, and the flesh and bone beneath. A line of soldiers threw themselves on the Surabhi spear-women, carrying the feathered corpse of their centurion. Masinissa distinctly remembered that one having once been a testudo. It was the arrows, that was the key to their warfare. If he could somehow get to them . . .

No matter. Their infantry was no match for his own. As they poured through the slowly thinning defenses, a familiar chill swept through the air. He could almost smell their fear. They may not know it yet, but they are about to break, and he would see they did by his hand.

“Senator’s sons, by your fathers!” he shouted, gesturing with a hand. A member of the civilian staff wordlessly ran over, clutching the rope about a horse’s neck. “Hello, Fulgongula,” he whispered, petting the horse’s neck. With a practiced swing, he landed astride and slung his quiver of javelins. “We’ll make three passes about the lines. You see a head with a horn, you throw. Away!” the young blood with him followed. Thunderous hooves marked their advance, leaving behind them a trail of trampled grass. As the horses approached, their riders let loose a volley of spears. They have practiced long enough for each to find a mark. “The archers, focus on the archers!” Masinissa shouted, as they wheeled about for another charge.
____________________________________________________________________________

Asmaki caught sight of the enemy riders just as the first murderous hail of javelins slammed into the exposed backs of her ranks. She swore, wheeling her mount around to face the enemy as she desperately called out. “Archers! Focus volleys on the cavalry! All archers focus on their cavalry! They will destroy us!”

Chaos surrounded her, all around, the shrieks and cries of war and death rang through her ears, an orchestra of terror and pain. A scream slowly filled her ears, and through the haze of adrenaline and fear she idly wondered from whence that scream came. It grew louder and louder, soon drowning out everything else - and she realized it was her own screaming, rage and anger coursing through her, a heavy javelin pinning one of her aides to the ground, the young aide’s blood hot between her fingers as she desperately tried to stem the tide, the cruel iron head having slammed home in the neck of the poor girl. Rough hands pulled at her, and she was standing - her aide was gone, she could see that now, but all around them surged the battle, more and more of her army dying by the minute.

In that moment, Asmaki knew her forces had lost the day. As she surveyed the thrashing carnage, she felt hot tears streak down her face. She had been a fool to even attempt such a stalling action. She knew that now.

Wiping the tears from her face, she strode back to her mount. “Call for a retreat.” She said grimly to one of the remaining aides, “Signal the archers to make for the town, tell whatever infantry can to cover them.”

She reached for her helmet, hanging by the side of her mount’s harness, sliding the steel in place over her skull, tugging its straps tight. “We will buy them time.”

One of her retinue seemed intent on speaking, her mouth opening in protest - but no sound came. Instead, the woman remained silent, staring her commander down for a moment, before nodding, turning to her comrades. “Daughters of Ishareth!” She cried, pulling an axe from its loop on her belt, “Do you wish to live forever in heaven?!”

Asmaki was deaf to the world now as she raised her own blade, a defiant scream of vengeance rising from her throat as she lead her small retinue into the thick of the enemy cavalry, the shock of the heavily armored riders, even numbering only eighty one in total, threw back the lightly equipped enemy cavalry, many of whom seemed taken aback by this suicidal charge. She was no warrior, even less adept with a blade than she was in command, but raw, animal savagery and rage fueled her motions as she drove the tip of her sword into the throat of an Imasician rider.

____________________________________________________________________________

In another life, Arbatus Medurus would have been a senator, as his father is. However, fate has decided another path for him. Masinissa hoped silently that his pitiful death meant the aversion of an even greater malady to befall Imasicia. Medurus stubbornly refused to die, struggling and spasming on the ground as he coughed blood onto his hide armor. Masinissa drew his sword and plunged it into the awaiting neck of a similarly occupied Surabhi rider, between the gaps in her armor. Then, he swung his sword low, clanging it against the steel blanket of another’s riding bull. The host was flung clean from the mount and landed with a sickening thump in the dirt.

Her fall was the signal the other soldiers needed to finally break and run. The archers fell first, making almost with a purpose for the dense woodlands. The spears followed shortly after. The legions made a chase for the routing army, but quickly realized it was pointless, to chase down their unarmored foe dressed entirely in segmented metal.

“. . . Triumphator!” a single voice shouted, from one of the unseen voices in the mass of bodies. “. . . Triumphator!” Another joined. Then a third. Masinissa basked for a moment in the sea of voices. “Triumphator! Triumphator!” Imasicia has not seen battle in many generations, and the title had not been even uttered in perhaps years. Now, here he is, a victorious commander. He gazed back, in sudden awe at the bodies he left behind. Could he have killed ten thousand Surabhi barbarians? Fifteen? He threw his arms up and let the shouts wash over him. “Triumphator!”

As the voices died down, two legionnaires dragged the limp body of the fallen rider. Judging by her decoration, it became immediately apparent as to what her fall meant. She was likely as not the commander. “I would parade her down the streets of Mirgamas,” he said, speaking not to her, but to the soldiers first. Then did he lean over her to grasp her chin and look into her eyes. “What’s your name? Whose sister must you have been to be given command of any army larger than a flea-bitten neighborhood guard?” he asked, in Imperial first, then native Imasician.

Asmaki did not speak in response, instead staring the man down with hate burning in her eyes. She understood the gist of his words, but felt no need to speak to the invader in his own tongue. Instead, she spat in his eye, a wad of dust, blood, and spittle splattering across his triumphant features.

Masinissa shrieked, and pressed a gloved hand to his face. A legionnaire enclosed his hand into a fist and slammed it into the commander’s face. “Your name is canina,” he said. Masinissa waved his other hand, gesturing for her to be taken away. Only would a barbarian be so stubborn. Yet, he cannot let a speck of grime stand in the way between him and his goal. Stroking his horse’s mane, he turned it around to face the direction of the town, just below the horizon. The true victory had not been won yet.

“Army, advance!”
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Drunken Conquistador
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Drunken Conquistador

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USHARID SULTANATE
The capital city of Al-Dourem.


Al-Dourem was the jewel of the Usharid crown, an entirely new city built near the abandoned Hijarki metropolis of Tar-Vamir. Not that one would notice it with a simple survey of the region. The Usharid conquerors were incredibly efficient in reusing what material was available in the ruins and destroying the rest. Leaving Tar-Vamir to inhabit solely the realm of history. Subsequent generations of Usharid Sultans and magnates spared no cost or effort in further building up Al-Dourem. The city was, after all, theirs from the beginning. Built from the ground up by the former desert nomads and not simply another urban area subjugated and colonized.

Not to say that the city's layout and architecture is utterly devoid of foreign influences, for the Usharid themselves have no hesitation when it comes to adopting concepts and ideas if it benefits them. And if one were to look closely, the influence of Hijarki, Surabhumi, Neferher and even Arqantay styles had on Al-Dourem. But for once, the Usharid managed adapt and build upon instead of merely copying what their "civilized" neighbors already possessed.

Architecture, however, was far from the minds of the great potentates gathered in one of the Sultan's sumptuous solar rooms.

Grim news from the far east had once again made Sultan Ishaq gather his trusted councillors (or at least which ones still remained in the capital) for another round of emergency meetings.

"This pact will not hold for long." Spoke short and stocky Grand Vizier Tawus as he paced the length of the -now empty- musician's platform. "It won't. There can be no lasting peace between Sanghara and Surabhumi."

"It will hold long enough." Prince Kasim, sprawled atop the pillowed divan, countered. "Too much work has gone into it. And the way news travel." He shrugged. "The armies are already on the move. For all we know, the fighting has already started." He paused to pop another grape into his mouth. "Barring a miracle, the small realms of the Far East will fall. Only then will Sanghara and Surabhumi turn on each other. As they often do"

"The shift in the balance of power might prove disastrous." Spoke the goat-like Emir Rubbayat. Propping himself on his hands as he rose up from the veritable nest of feathery pillows he had built over the course of the meeting. "But for all that a decisive victor in the Far East might influence us, the real danger lays much closer."

"Anahama." The Sultan added. "The Mountain Realm also claims overlordship over all the former Empire. With both Sanghara and Surabumi busy for the foreseeable future, and most likely soon to fight each other again, there's no great power at hand to stop them from striking out against Ikkam, Jabpu or the other lesser nations."

"Surely you dont believe Anahama can overcome all the might of the region, father?" Kasim asked as grape juice ran down his chin.

"It doesnt matters. Whether Anahama wins or not, the entire balance of power will be uspet." Sultan Ishaaq replied grimly. "Cities razed, fields salted, armies slain, nations toppled. Anahama marching to war will upend the whole region."

"That's not even thinking of what those fanatics of Arqantay might do." Rubbayat sighed, leaning over to grasp a succulent tangerine from the bowl by his pillow fortress. "No matter what action we pursue, we must always keep wary eyes to the northern desert."

"Let them come!" Kasim shouted suddenly, sending the plate of grapes tumbling into the floor in his excitement. "Those inbred savages are no match for our steel. Slaying a few of their hosts ought to teach those arrogant fanatics to stay away from our lands."

"If they come, then we shall fight them." The Sultan replied evenly, as he often did when his firstborn got into one of his boastful moods. "But it will do us no good if we set out seeking a fight. We are already maligned as it is. Besides, we can't afford to have our attention diverted if war does starts to our immediate east."

"So are we simply to stand and watch?" Kasim frowned. "Like scared merchants clutching our purses at the thought of raiders riding over the dunes?"

"We prepare." The Sultan replied as he moved closer to the center of the room. "I have already sent emissaries to assess the readiness of the Junds. Call upon our agents and spies for information, specially on the happenings to our east." The Sultan paused, looking over the room to ensure he had everyone's attention. "Soon, emissaries shall depart to Perishem and Mihajla, to offer terms and seek treaties to secure our western border and our seas."

"What kind of terms?" Kasim interrupted.

"Favorable trade deals, more promises of friendship and non aggression, gifts, a coalition to drive away piracy from our shared sea lanes." Grand Vizier Tawus replied, giving the Prince an annoyed look.

"I've talked with your brother, son." The Sultan spoke up. "He has agreed to take one of their ladies as wife, should they prove amenable to the idea. And your daughters are old enough to marry. It would please me greatly and render our people a great service if you were willing to consider offering their hands to them, should the opportunity arise in the future."

Kasim remained silent for a few moments, weariness clear in his handsome bearded face, before finally relenting with a nod.

"Thank you, my son." Ishaaq smiled. "These coming months will demand much of us all. We shouldn't shirk from our duties.”
Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Ever Faithful
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Castellum
Steel Legion of Arcana


The road to the fortress-city was bustling with traffic in and out. To enter Arcana from the rich mercantile lands of the South, one had to pass through the Castellum, one of the oldest fortresses in Takani history and the largest. The former abode of the Arcanan Warwizards of old was now the shield and the breadbasket of the Ecumen. Its walls ran as far as the eye could see and loomed over the countryside like a mountain. In the midst of all the hustle and bustle, another small group of cloaked travellers aroused no interest or suspicion. The riders approached the formidable gatehouse, a castle in its own right, and when their turn for inspection came the lead figure spoke, "I request an audience with the Grand Marshall." The figure removed his glove and showed a flash of a crystalline orium ring stamped with the entwined dragon and fairy sigil of House Pendragon, the Sovereign Family of Arcana. The figure leaned forward to the guard and slipped him a few gold coins, "And please keep it discrete."

The guard gave a nod and signaled the men at the otherside to raise the gates. Two armored sentries then escorted the group deeper into the castle of the Grand Marshall. Like the ring of forticications, the castle also had thick stone walls and tall towers that can see in all directions. Being the center of power in the Castellum, this place was nicknamed "Palace of Violets" from the amount of purple used in the artworks that was painted on the walls and ceiling. The banners of the Steel Legions flew high in the breeze as their tails flapped around. After getting past the first layer of walls, the group ha entered the courtyards. The sight of armored knights on guard has been replaced with debutantes, female servants, and young ladies-in-waiting. They were everywhere: sitting next to fountains, walking around the rose bushes, gossiping in the pavilion undner the shades or wandering the corridors. Some were visibly pregnate yet all were wearing brightly colored dresses. They were too busying entertaining themselves to notice the group walking past. After the courtyards they headed up several flights of stairs before walking towards a set of doors flank by two knights. The company's escorts went away and one of the guards knocked on the heavy wood to announce a visitor before opening it to the cloaked men. Inside, there was a meeting between the Grand Marhal and her cabinet of generals, castellans, and stewards discussing matters of state before eyes turned towards the guests. The Grand Marshall wasn't in her usual battle armor but instead in a red gown just like the ladies in the courtyards but with golden embroidery that made the dres all the more exquisite. The deity's purple hair contrasts well with the red and gold. Her bright violet eyes looked at the cloaked men with mild confusion. "My Lords, is there an emergency?"

The leader of the group threw back their hood, revealing a young, comely visage. The man looked no older than twenty but had the bearing of a veteran twice his age with keen, calculating eyes and a scar tracing his right cheekbone. His blonde hair was cropped short and his icy blue eyes took the measure of everyone in the room quickly. Ser Daemon the Black, bastard son of the late king Hector and older brother to the Prince of Avalon inclined his head respectfully to the Grand Marshall, "Lady Bellona. My sincere regards. It has been some time." His companions all shed their hoods as well, revealing well-known young lords and knights of the Magi Orders. Daemon came forward to shake Bellona's hand and said, "I come to you in the spirit of friendship and with a proposition. My lords, my lady, I come to you and say I seek glory. Honor. Riches. War."

The council looked at one another quizzingly. "War?" Castellian Markus of the North division of Castellum. He wore a dark green vest with copper buttons that twinkled in the light as his face looked left and right. "Now?"
"Calm down, Markus." Bellona shushed, motioning her hand down. "Ser Damon, pardon my castellian. He is shocked that our meeting has been postponed by your proposal. Please enlighten us."

Daemon smiled, "Gladly." He pulled his cloak to the side and raised his hands as he walked among the lords of the Castellum, speaking with verve and conviction, "Arcana is one of the most enlightened realms that the world has ever seen, this we all know to be true. Our peoples enjoy peace and plenty that few across the world do, and we shepherd freedom and justice in a manner that no other government on this continent even cares to. Arcana, thanks in no small part to you noble warriors of the Steel Legion, is the greatest land. But we represent only a small portion of this world. The empires of the west choke Takanis with their excess and cruelty, grinding down countless lives with their malice and tyranny. Horrors afflict the continent every generation due to their barbarism and avarice. Arcana's light shines brightly, but the rest of the world is enshrouded in blackest night."

The young knight turned stern then, "And now this night threatens our own security. Drakon, that most perfidious of graspers, encroaches on us more and more by the day. Their ships skirmish with ours, their spies steal from our scholars and visionaries, their assassins murder and brutalize our officials. They wage insidious economic war. They will not rest until our trading system is theirs to control and all of our knowledge is theirs. And all the while they spread the vile evil of slavery." Daemon spit on the ground then, Arcana having long abolished the practice generations ago, "Arcanan sailors set upon by pirates are sold in Drakonese slave markets. And not just seamen but doctors, priests, poets. Men, women, and children of our homeland toil in bondage in the name of coin. Drakon builds their fleet, amasses its armies, sinks their spies and bribes into every nation. And we think they will remain idle? Content with being just one of the richest traders in the world? No, no they will come for us my lords. While I was riding here a ship filled with priests, nuns, and novices of the Church was taken by corsairs. By nightfall they will be Drakonese slaves. Even now they undermine the integrity of our institutions, corrupt our integrity to enrich themselves. And what does the Magisterium do? What does the the Council of Regents do? What does the Circle of Magi do? Nothing."

"Grand Marshall, my lords. I say we do something. The time has come for us to put an end to Drakon's evil and save our people from their greed and envy." Another young man stepped forward, one with the seagreen hair and wispy white eyes that bespoke his heritage as one of the Mer from the settlements in the Cerulean Islands, "I have made common cause with the First Sea Lord. A thousand ships are ready to set sail. The Nemesis is with me, and with her a vast network of contacts and informants within Drakon itself. Soon, even Drakon's own greedy mercenary captains will be with me. The courageous young wizard-knights of my generation stand with me. Do you stand with me? For glory, for honor, for justice, for freedom, for our people? What say you men of the Steel Legion? Will you ride with me?" Daemon's voice had grown steadily greater and stronger in tone, his gaze more and more firm, until he was nearly shouting in the chamber with the passion of a priest and the mastery of a politician, all steeled by the conviction of a warrior.

The council looked at one another as they internalling debated on his ambition. Bellona seem to speak their thoughts. "This is a bold move on your part. Drakon has the men and magic to match our strength and even if we do manage to breakthough their armies, Drakon itelf is a fortress-city."
"It could withstand a siege for many years, my lord." General Horvath chipped in. His gray mustache fidgeting on his lip. "If they're of silver tongue, there's no telling how quickly we can find new enemies attempting to relieve them."

Daemon only smiled in reply, "They won't get the chance. With our navy encircling their city, they will have no chance to send out aid. No army can cross their barren desert easily and no fleet on this side of the earth can match even one Arcanan armada. They will retreat inside their walls, thinking that they are safe. But they will be wrong. No aid will come, I have the means to disrupt and disable their vaunted mirror communication system. For Arcana's wizards are more than a match for their pitiful spellcasters. Our men are loyal and convicted of purpose. Their men follow only coin. Already I have many on my side. When the situation turns against Drakon, her practical minded mercenary captains will abandon her in droves. They may match us in numbers, we overpower them in courage and honor. Furthermore, this will be no siege. I have agents who will ensure the gates will be opened to us and their ability to resist will be crippled. This will be no long, protracted game of waiting. We will storm them when they least expect it and put an end to them. Once we are inside, they will be lost. Their gates may be made of stone and metal but the men holding the keys are easily corrupted." Daemon unfurled roll of parchment and passed it to the nearest Castellum officer who would see schematics and detailed layouts of Drakon's fortifications as well as secret routes and battle plans.

"They've already lost, they just don't know it yet."

"He's right." General Klefford agreed. "We have to strike hard and fast in order to prevent them from furthering their defenses."
"Enough." Bellona silenced her generals, "We'll discuss strategy later." She turned towards the bastard knight. "I'll call the banners. I assume you have a proper provocation for a war this sudden?"

Daemon unfurled another message and showed it to them all, "This was intercepted by our own spies. A communication from one of Drakon's vaunted assassin guilds. They do not note their benefactor, but identify a codename for one of their agents and their target. The assassin was captured by our Nemesis ally and put to question. She confirms our suspicions." He lets the moment grow.

"King Hector, that wise and just leader, my father was killed by a Drakonese cutthroat. Your Sovereign, murdered by a foreign assassin to make slavemasters grow even richer and fatter." Daemon ripped off his glove and drew his sword, slashing his palm with the blade and displaying it to them. He was proclaiming a blood oath on Drakon, his conviction to not rest until his revenge was satisfied. "I will not stand for it. Will you stand for it? Or will we ride and send them all to hell?"

Everyone looked to the Grand Marshal. She is the Steel Legion and the Steel Legion is her. Finally, she spoke. "We'll ride. When do we start?"

Daemon nodded grimly, "The ships are already gathering at the coast. Muster your men and we will sail immediately. We can plan the assault on my flagship. But I think it best that we address your men Lady Bellona. Let us put fire in their bellies before we loose them on Drakon."

"I admire your ethusiasium, Ser Daemon." Bellona replied as she dimissed her council to start gathering the Steel Legion. "But that won't be necessary. The Steel Legion have been too idle after all. But other than war, are there other things you have come here for?"

Daemon nodded to his own companions, who filed out of the room to leave the two of them in privacy. "Yes. You are the shield that guards our Ecumen. Arcana's security is ensured by the Steel Legion. But you are also one of the oldest, most vaunted denizens of the realm. Less than a handful of wizards can claim to be your peer. When we return to Arcana I intend to have a Triumph. And I intend to claim my father's sword and his throne. I will make my claim as Sovereign. Your support will be essential, my lady. Will I have it?"

"Ser Daemon, you mustn't forget. You're still your father's bastard child. I won't deny that." the deity frowned. "Under traditional law, only the true heir can inherit Arcana's throne. Unless you can convince your younger brother to legitimize you, you have no claim even with the Steel Legion. The laws of inheritance and of Arcana must be honored in order to be justly."

The black knight crossed his arms and replied, "I am aware of the succession laws. I have numerous cousins ahead of me. But I am older than that boy Ciaran, he is not a man under Arcanan law. Not for two more years. My uncle and my stepmother are unequal to the task of protecting us from our enemies in the meantime. But when we return in glory, the Regents and the Magisterium will have no choice but to grant me my father's name. With that, I will be first in succession. And even if I do not, there is a law older than any code. Older even than you my lady. If I draw the sword from the stone, then I will be king. Any of royal blood have the right to attempt it. If I avenge my father, the gods will smile on me. And the Star Throne will be mine. Will you object then my lady?"

"I cannot." The Grand Marshal answered. "If war goes well, I'll see that your words become true. Either as your witness of your glory or of you drawing the sword from the stone."

"Let us be comrades then, for the blood we share from the heavens. Let us avenge our nation and thrust her to the greatness she deserves. Let us shake the world and rebuild it anew." Daemon reached his hand out to grasp Bellona's arm, signifying their alliance and bond as comrades-in-arms.

Oh, Father, Belluna thought to herself as he grabbed her arm, He's one of those claimants.
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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Antediluvixen
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Antediluvixen Kemonomimi Dystopia Creator

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Kuirroda Dheniku Anvika Hjupeli Ghrolda: - Supreme Commander of the military forces of the Aasiti Province, on the southeastern coast. A flamboyant and jovial individual, she is nevertheless an excellent military commander and formidable individual fighter. A priestess of Ishareth, like many high ranking officials in Surabhumi, she has foregone the plain robes and traditional clerical sword for brilliantly polished steel armor and a two handed falx.

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“To the barbaric scum who has dared set foot on the soil of our nation; I am Kuirroda Dheniku Anvika Hjupeli Ghrolda. I demand that, effective immediately, you lay down your arms, surrender all plunder, release all prisoners of war, and allow your soldiers to leave our lands alive. You will all be spared and permitted to return home upon repaying the debt you have incurred with Surabhumi. Resist, and I will destroy you and repay tenfold the harm you have wrought on our land.”

Kuirroda’s face was taciturn and severe as she dictated the message to be sent, bereft of its usual humor and good nature. Her eyes were narrowed into slits as she surveyed the terrain before her, the rustle and clatter of armor and weapons filling her ears. She had received little information on the disaster that had unfolded while she was away, save that Asmaki had fallen and her ragtag assemblage had been shattered with little difficulty. Now, as she scanned the gently rolling plains before her, the full magnitude of the situation became evident. Patnai, the town Asmaki had tried to save, lay in the grip of a full siege, smoke rose from both sides of its walls and even from afar she could see the ruinous piles of rubble where once had stood buildings.

As she sent off the messenger bearing her letter, she called to her army and aides. “Units, assume bull’s horns! Skirmishers screen, keep the cavalry in reserve! Pikes to the center front!”

Like a well oiled machine, the army broke from its marching column, ninety thousand strong, and began to follow her orders. Ten thousand Surabhi bearing three meter pikes marched in perfect lockstep, forming dense squares in the center of the formation. Each of them carried a small shield in complement alongside the axes and swords they carried as sidearms. Each pike bearer was bedecked in thick chain armor, with dully gleaming burnished steel discs and plates secured in place on their torsos. Their faces hidden by sheets of more chain, horns coated in spiked stripes of steel. Behind them and on the wings marched the regular infantry, each woman bearing a large wood and steel shield, a spear, a two handed falx, and a short sword or axe. Each of these, numbering some forty eight thousand in total, was armored in a similar manner to the pike bearers. Taking up their positions in the core of the army were the archers, thirty thousand in number. Not as heavily armored as their compatriots equipped for melee, the archers sported sturdy woven vambraces in addition to their helmets and chainmail shirts, each archer carrying sixty arrows on their person in addition to the great war bows they held at their sides, many of them taller when unstrung than the Surabhi who wielded them. Behind them walked the cavalry, roughly six thousand in number, lightly armored and armed, they were used for harassment, screening, and pursuit. Each rider carried a sack of javelins with her, in addition to a light lance, wicker shield, and a light axe or sword. Their armor consisted solely of a padded shirt and sturdy steel helmet, and their ranks often consisted of the Surabhi smaller in stature than their brethren, easier able to ride on the backs of horses without tiring their mounts. Upon the wings of the formation were the skirmishers, numbering six thousand. Armed and armored in a similar manner to the cavalry, they carried additional javelins and a sturdy thrusting spear, many sported slings and additional armor. They would harass the flanks of the enemy and screen the deployments of the infantry in the field. Behind the archers rolled hundreds of various pieces of artillery, ballistas, scorpions, and more.

Kuirroda smiled, kicking her own mount into motion. Her personal retinue, sitting astride massive bulls armored so heavily there was nary an inch of hide exposed, numbered only a few hundred. They were to guard and escort her during battle, and to defend their commander with their lives. However, unlike Asmaki, Kuirroda had no intentions of allowing the battle to come to that.

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“Army on the horizon, Praetor,” said a grim faced legate. Masinissa followed his pointing finger to the flashes of light in the distance. There were enough of them to illuminate the entire surrounding fields in blinding light, especially in the scorching midday sun. He could guess as to the relative strength of this particular army, compared to the previous.

“Turn the catapults around,” Masinissa ordered. “The settlement can wait.” Immediately, his words were quickly relayed through the ranks. “Call up every soldier I took off duty as well. I want every hand. Now!” How many Surabhi were there? Fifty thousand, like his own? No, even more. A hundred thousand, perhaps. He was outnumbered nearly two to one, bad enough against a human army. Knowing that the enemy was so often taller, stronger, and more possessed of the zeal of fighting on home ground, who knows?

The rumble of wheels on hardened earth thundered through the army camp, pushed along by desperate hands and low voices. A military magus followed, inscribing prayers on various sections of the catapult, written in magic dust. The text glowed, then disappeared, and from the well of the catapult grew a mighty ball of fire.

“Wait, hold,” said the commanding centurion. He drew from his robes a letter, stained brown, along with a near-dried pair of gloved hands. “Strict orders from the praetor.” He placed both objects in the well, and the crew watched as the objects burned to a black crisp together. “Alright, let loose.” With a whoosh and a blast of hot air, the catapult released its deadly ammunition. Other catapult units quickly followed suit, and the air itself was alight with fireballs. Imasician magic was formidable, rivaled only by a select few in the entire known world, and will decide the fate of this battle.
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Kuirroda’s mood was further worsened when her messenger returned, bloodied stumps where had been the strong hands of a loyal soldier and messenger. She had come to the battle expecting an enemy with little respect for the laws of war - she had no delusions about notions such as ‘honor’, but the mutilation of her messenger filled her with disgust. She had hurriedly sent the distraught woman away with the best healers to be had, alongside a heavy sack of silver to buy the services of the best flesh shapers available. The soldier would have her hands back, and the scum who had maimed her would pay dearly. The carrion birds would feast well today.

The skirmishers moved forward from the flanks, fanning out in dispersed units that ranged ahead of the main column, the cavalry moving up on the flanks to take their places.

From her hilltop position, Kuirroda was the first to see the orange streaks of fire streak out as her skirmishers closed the distance. She gestured to an aide, who raised a spyglass and a curious apparatus, her mouth murmuring slightly as she fed observations to yet another aide. Kuirroda smiled as the spotter returned to her side after a minute, “Observations indicate they loosed at four hundred meters, commander. Based on what we can discern of the angle of their apparatuses, this is close to their maximum range.”

Kuirroda smiled, the familiar sense of battle falling over her as she observed the field before them. “Very good, move two medium ballista contingents to the 450 meter mark. Heavy ballista and the rest, I want them at five hundred. Alert me if they make any efforts to move their own artillery closer. Signal the infantry to form up between those points, standard formation. Keep the cavalry on the wings, out of their range. Let them fire at empty ground and slingers and javelineers.”

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The catapult’s volleys were imperfect, but their purpose was done. The enemy has halted, past four hundred meters, maybe more. The reach of the volleys cannot match further. “What now . . .” Masinissa wondered aloud. He could see them lining up, forming into maneuvers that looked straight from the texts in the imperial military records. On the field, the enemy skirmishers’ approach was rather clear. That was a bad sign.

“We know this,” said Centoria Andrea. “The enemy, they are defensible. Very formidable in defense. When they attack, who can say?” She studied the lines, observing closely as the formation continued to develop. “I don’t like it. These fields, they give us no hiding. If we could-”

Giant bolts rained from the sky, smashing into the ground around them and kicking up clumps of earth and grass. Andrea ducked, barely avoiding one aimed for her head. A few struck the catapults, rattling the levers and breaking some. At this moment, the skirmishers approached, letting loose their own volleys of stones, lead pellets, and spears. The skirmishers, striking exactly at the moment when the testudos were reforming, cut swaths through the open ranks. “Bring me my horse, Andrea,” Masinissa said. “I want the legii organized into a series of columns. Minimize the surface by which any of their accursed arrows may strike. We can overpower key points in their line, drive through and circle around. Just like Meldimica Augusta, just like Meldimica Augusta . . .” He could goad them into breaking rank and retreating if he pushed the catapults up, then charge while they’re retreating. If his gamble didn’t pay off . . .
____________________________________________________________________________

Kuirroda smiled, gently elbowing one of her aides. “Told you they’d try to move up on us like that. Signal a fallback, tell the spotters to maintain the same distance. If my guess is right, Asmaki tried to sit still and let herself be toyed with. We will not give him that same luxury. Draw the ballistae to the flanks, let them come in.”

She surveyed the ranks of her own forces, “I want the cavalry to fan out on my signal, keep them from moving any forces to the wings, send three companies of infantry with each wing - I do not wish to risk losing the cavalry. But for now, wait for my signal, let them think we will allow them to draw close like before.”

With a snappy salute, her aides relayed the orders, and the army held firm as the Imasician forces drew closer. Minutes passed, and as Kuirroda scanned the field, she blew into a whistle. At once, the force sprang into action, colored flags flapping across the army’s ranks, orders being shouted as the vast assembly of soldiers moved themselves back, keeping themselves out of range of Imasician artillery until they were assured the enemy had exhausted the bulk of their ammunition. Each soldier marched in perfect high step, spears held in position as the formations wheeled around, marching at double time away from the Imasician advance.

Kuirroda smiled, unable to suppress her pride in the military excellence of Surabhumi - and as her forces drew near the designated stopping point, the formations wheeled in place once more, a great clatter and cacophony of steel armor audible even at distance. Once more, her forces were well out of range of the Imasician artillery.

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“These accursed Surabhi, they see right through us . . . “ muttered Legatus Badis. His nephew, Masinissa, had spirit, it was true. Too much spirit. It was a blessing and a curse, embedded within the blood of they, the last two sons of the gens Fesus. Yet, Masinissa is still young, and his spirit has not been tempered with the forces of reason and full education. He continues his charge, which any more experienced general could say with certainty is doomed to failure. Yet, the boy is headstrong. He burns with the fire of the sun itself. Perhaps, Badis himself could believe for a moment, as he led the men to declare his nephew Triumphator, that gens Fesus could live on in glory. That time has passed.

Indeed, their family was one of dwindling glory, once one of the most prominent in the entire kingdom, replaced in recent memory by the gens Inumedigus, Tingitus, and Arbatus. Masinissa’s father was a harsh man, that Badis knew. He instilled within his son a sense of the greatness, by whatever force he could muster with his fists. Masinissa, he had to have been strong. Stronger than either Fesus brother his senior generation, growing and maturing despite his father’s best attempts. If only the spirits had accepted Badis’ sacrifice, and given him the son instead, perhaps such a gift would not have been so suppressed. Never mind that. Let his gens not fall so soon, with such a young host to bear the weight of this failure. He edged his horse towards his nephew and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Let me lead this advance, Praetor,” he said. Masinissa turned with an indignant look, madness coming through in his eyes. They were red as the sky in the eve. They could see the battle was lost, while even his mind could not.

“Nonsense. It is my victory. Let me win it.” With that, he turned forward, and tried to ride to the front of the rank, but his arm was locked into his uncle’s iron grip.

“It shall be your victory, Praetor. A victory for gens Fesus, for your warriors. But I shall lead them. You . . . take your horse to the shores. Have the Drakonians take you back to the capital. Request more legions. We’ll . . . defeat these barbarian garrisons, and camp here in await of our triumphator’s return.” Masinissa blinked, and rubbed his eye to banish the water. Wordlessly, he wheeled his horse about and trotted back the way they came. Maybe, in his heart of hearts, he did know.

“Now, bring me Canina,” he ordered. A small retinue quickly left his side, and returned to the prisoner. “Have a sword to her neck at any moment I need her throat cut. Now, men, let us remember triumph! With me, as one! The King! The Senate! The Legacy! CHAAAARGE!”
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Kuirroda’s easy smile faltered for a moment at the sight now unfolding before her. “Aide,” she murmured, “Do my eyes deceive me, or… have they gone mad?”

The entire assembled mass of the enemy had broken from their orderly, calm repositioning, falling into a direct advance across the grassy plain. Even across the great distance she could hear the manic war cries that echoed across the earth, deranged howling of berserking warriors, the clatter of swords on the shields of their legionaries, the firepults abandoned as their crews took up sword and shield.

“Something is off…” She murmured, scanning the enemy force. “Why would they change so drastically? Why abandon their artillery? What has happened?” She turned to her aides once more, taking hold of a spyglass and putting it to her eye. Slowly, but surely, the cohesion of the enemy force was crumbling as they continued their advance. And yet… there! A rider, surrounded by only a small guard, riding heavy back towards the coast. The ornate plumed helmet, visible even through the mediocre magnification of the spyglass, distinctive armor - she was sure of it. The enemy commander had taken flight, his army… inexplicably, not following him.

She frowned, signalling to the army. “Ballistae, archers, all make ready. Loose when the enemy draws within range. Standard protocol. When they draw within fifty meters, tell them to stay, and let these invaders know the full might of our steel.” She smiled, “And let the falx bearers take their flanks.”

The bugles sounded as her orders were relayed. A great din rose from her army, archers nocking arrows to their bows, the ballistae loaded with their great stones and bolts, the infantry readying their weapons in anticipation. The soldiers bearing the great falxes moved further to the flanks, ready to charge home into the sides and rear of their enemy.

An eerie pseudo-silence fell as the army waited, until finally the bugles sounded once more, and the ballistae and archers unleashed hell.
____________________________________________________________________________

The din of battle was said to be deafening, by scholars and senators of high standing and education. Badis, as a man who has seen war, knows better. Battlefields are silent, silent as the grave of the warriors who die upon it. Everything falls into a hush. Men scream in battle. They scream because they cannot hear themselves anymore. The only speech that fills their ears is the sound of their own guilt. Perhaps he was falling into the orkh’s famed battle-trance, as some men have claimed to experience. He had brushed those anecdotes off as they were; anecdotes. Yet, he can feel the weight of his actions bubble up within him, pushing out of him rather than in, through the armor about his shoulders.

The cursed rains came down again, silver points flashing before streaks of white. Again, the men fall, arrows passing through steel, cloth, and the flesh and bone beneath, as easily as it would pass through oil. Men do not weep, except for when meeting their deaths, his father would say. Men before their deaths weep rivers. This field shall become a sea, from mountain to mountain it shall lie, as a monument to the failure of the Legii XLVIII through LVIII. He ate with them, drank with them, laughed with them, and now he shall lie with them, far below in this bastard soil.

“Help me, ere I sink,” Badis said, feeling his mouth move rather than hearing the words. “I am but a man. Help me, ere I sink.” The shields of the legions crashed into that of the Surabhi, the impact shaking the earth. Swords met, and parted, leaving a trail of red in the air. Bodies begin to pile up, until the front lines must step over the corpses of their brothers only to become them. Was it love or hate that continued to drive them forward, through the blooded muck, into the waiting tips of their spears? Through the dark earth he could just make out the faces of some of the centurions. In their faces was love and hate, but most of all fear.
____________________________________________________________________________

Otracita felt the hard ground beneath her feet as she surged forward with her unit, falxes held at the ready, the voices of thousands of throats letting loose a tremendous battle cry. They had been at forced march for days, making heavy time across the province to intercept the invaders who had dared massacre their kin. They had stood for hours in the sun, awaiting the response of these invaders who would plunder their cities and homes. They had met with shock and revulsion the mutilation of the general’s messenger, had watched with hearts of cold, hardened steel as the foe arrayed themselves. They had champed at the bit to avenge their fallen, slaughtered in a one-sided battle by a foe who sought only to wreak havoc on their land. They had listened as the enemy artillery had hurled great flames upon the plains, to the screams and cries of the wounded and dying. And now, as they charged into the flank of the Imasician force, they had come to visit vengeance upon these barbarians from the east.

She raised her blade over her head, the black striations streaming throughout its length, the burnished metal gleaming in the overhead sun - soon it would paint the ground in Imasician blood. She scarcely felt the impact as she drove the tip into the armor covering the neck of the first man, the cruel point punching through the chain with a power and efficacy that many Sangharan armies had come to know. Indeed, she felt only rage, the red mist of battle, the need to avenge her fellows who had gone to the stars in defense of their lands.

Another soldier thrust a spear at her and she ducked, the point gliding past her horns as she lunged forward, forcing the spiked guard into the woman’s cheek. The blood flowed, and she pressed further into the attack, plunging the tip of her blade into the belly, the padded armor of an artillery crew of little use in this instance - her adversary sank to the ground, mortally wounded.

The battle raged around her, a maelstrom of death and suffering, hopes and dreams clashed with each other and were snuffed from the world. Another Imasician, his shield raised high, his blade at the ready. Otracita smiled, leaping forward as she brought the falx down upon his shield, driving the blade deep into the wood. The legionary slashed hastily at her and she grinned, his blade thumping against her armor as she seized a dagger from her hip. Again, he slashed wildly and she swerved to avoid his blow, bringing the dagger around in a furious counterattack. Again, she found her weapon meeting his heavy shield, and, enraged, she rushed forward, knocking the shield away as she grappled him to the floor. She could see the terror in his eyes, he went for his own knife, driving the tip into her armor - and she felt pain. A bright white, searing heat that momentarily pushed through the haze of battle as she stared almost confused at the blade now embedded in her forearm. Her own dagger fell to the ground, and the Imasician drove his helmet into hers, knocking her back as he groped for his sword, discarded with his shield.

She beat him to it, though, screaming obscenities as the blood flowed from her wounded arm, she pried her falx from his shield and drove its point into his exposed back. Pain arced through her body like a storm of lightning and she howled aloud in rage as the weapon failed to kill him. It had penetrated his armor - but not much, the sturdy iron bands keeping away the worst of the damage. With another primal scream of fury she fell upon him, driving her elbow into the base of his spine as he clawed for his sword, just out of his reach. Seizing in her hands the falx once more, she drove the pointed pommel into the wound on his back time and time again, dead to the sound of his shrieks of pain and pleas for mercy, dead to the world entirely, dead even to the pain that burned in her mind.

Another soldier took her from her trance, one of the infantry, her eyes wide in shock and horror as she paused in the midst of the whirling nightmare of battle. “Jemadar, what in Ishareth’s name are you doing? What has become of you! Please, leave him, he is dead! I beg of you, we must finish them now!”

Otracita looked towards the voice, blinking away tears she did not know she had shed. Around her lay a thick carpet of bodies, but even still the fighting continued. Life and death played out their dance as she saw a Surabhi thrust her spear into the gut of an Imasician cavalryman, pulling him from his horse. Another fell to the ground, clutching weakly at a javelin protruding from her side. Two more dueled with an Imasician Centurion, dancing back and forth as each waited for the other to give an opening.

She blinked again, rising slowly as if from a deep sleep. Her falx was still in her hands, red with the blood of countless beings who had loved and hoped and dreamed. She looked around for the Imasician legionnaire - his face burned into her mind, fixed like a mental branding - but she could not see him. Only a ring of dead that surrounded her, a young Imasician man’s disemboweled body sprawled at her feet, the tip of her falx still embedded.

“What nightmare is this?” She murmured, swaying slightly. “What have I done? What have we done? Is this… is this what they deserved? Is this what they inflicted on our own?” The woman stared at her, bewildered.

Jemadar, we must return to the battle, please. There are yet more Imasicians to defeat, they fight on. Please, you can wonder later. But we must go, now!” The woman’s voice was pleading, desperate - they were from different units entirely, and yet Otracita could tell she was alarmed, terrified even, of the beast that stood before her wearing the insignia of a Jemadar.

Otracita felt as though she might weep, but she steadied herself. “Yes... “ she murmured, nodding slowly, “Yes, you are right. We must.”

Gingerly, she pulled her blade from the belly of the Imasician, standing mutely for a moment before she nodded once more, readying her blade. “As you were, soldier. Charge!”
____________________________________________________________________________

It was done. The Surabhi charge was a great harbor wave, washing human and Varacci alike away in a rush of steel. Bodies lay together in ironically gentle repose, human upon orkh. Once, perhaps, they had detested each other on such grounds as heritage, now aside they lay like brothers.

The first to break were the greens. At least, what was left of them. Any who weren’t fool enough to charge into the front lines, seeking their own glorious end, could see their comrades do the same. They threw down their swords and made for the hills. Swiftly following them were the legii, following in the example of their less experienced counterparts. The Varacci . . . bless their hearts, bless them to the spiritual kingdoms. They held on, tooth and nail, fighting to the very last drop of their warrior’s gift. However, the gift is not unlimited, and they too realized where they were, scattering like rabbits.

“We fought, and for the spirits of war, that is enough,” Badis said. “They have drank their fill of the blood. Go on then, raise the white banner.” The centurion by his side nodded, and complied without a word. He tore off the red banner of Legio XVIII, emblazoned with a yellow snake, and tied his own toga about it, before making the solemn march towards their victorious foes, stepping over the corpse of Centoria Andrea as he did so. Andrea’s hide was pierced clean through, the spear broken off midway down. The hair on her body did much to soak up the blood.

“Peace! Peace!” shouted the centurion, letting the toga sway back and forth in the still air. “We are done! Peace!”
____________________________________________________________________________

Kuirroda perked up in her saddle, the torn, flapping cloth of the Legion’s banner catching her eye through the lense of the spyglass. She lowered it, raising a hand hurriedly as she called to her aides. “At ease, soldiers! Cease! They have surrendered!”

She kicked her mount into motion, the heavy beast lumbering forward, the great sheets of maille armoring its hide and those of its kin making a terrific clamor as her entourage followed behind her. Bugles sounded once more across the field, and slowly her army fell back into marching order, the formations reforming on the move as she lead her force to meet with the surrendering enemy commander.

Before her marched the foot contingent of her honor guard, Surabhi of even greater stature than the norm, bearing great falxes and armored head to toe in the finest maille. As they neared the Legion’s remnants, she dismounted, moving forward on foot with her guard surrounding her.

“To the barbaric scum who has dared set foot on the soil of our nation; I am Kuirroda Dheniku Anvika Hjupeli Ghrolda. I demand that, effective immediately, you lay down your arms, surrender all plunder, release all prisoners of war, and allow your soldiers to leave our lands alive. You will all be spared and permitted to return home upon repaying the debt you have incurred with Surabhumi. Resist, and I will destroy you and repay tenfold the harm you have wrought on our land.” She stated to the man holding the flag, “Those were the words I sent on a missive before this battle, do you remember? Borne by a messenger who returned to me mutilated and shamed. I offered you - or, rather, your commander, for I do not see him here - the opportunity to leave our lands with your lives intact. Instead, you sacrificed the lives of tens of thousands to stroke the vanity of one whom I can only assume to be but a boy, not suited to direct the farmhands of the lowliest village - let alone what was once a formidable army.” She stepped forward, her arms folded and an expression of the purest contempt evident on her features. “And yet, here you stand before me, utterly defeated, the man for whomst you marched nowhere to be seen, and I am left with his… what are you, his uncle? His second in command? The one who could not sway him from his folly?”

The enemy commander was talking. Some long and pompous speech he was of no interest in listening to. She spoke in Imperial, slowly with many stutters. It was obvious Imperial was at least a third language to her, maybe even more. The grammar was all backwards, and many of the more complicated words were substituted for simpler synonyms that didn’t quite capture the same connotation. When she finished, Badis closed his eyes and nodded, breathing out through his nose. She had done well. A soldier soldiers on, even when they cannot.

“I am myself,” he said, solemnly. “I am myself, and no other can I be.” He says it first in Old Imasician, letting the traditional words soak into the air, then repeated it again in Imperial. It was a mantra, taken from whatever remains of the spiritual texts from the First Age. Repeating it back in Imperial . . . it loses something. Something of the wisdom in which it was first written. It felt awkward, the words not flowing together in the way they should, when grandfathers tell it to their grandsons. He couldn’t help but laugh at himself, a short bark that startled both his horse and the horse of his aid. Were he not a general, he perhaps would have been a poet. “We are at the table, a most sacred place. Man and spirit convene before meals of fruit and air. Let us speak matters of enlightenment and worth, dispensing of base insult.” Could she understand his lofty metaphors? Perhaps not. He certainly could not were they speaking in her tongue.

Kuirroda scoffed at her adversary’s response, “You speak of enlightenment, Imasician, of worth and sacred places - and yet here you are, having invaded our lands without so much as a formal declaration of war. A rogue army bent on conquest and pillage. I have heard the reports of the things your soldiers did after defeating the governor of this province - tell me, does she yet draw breath? Or has she likewise been murdered by your rampaging horde?” She took a step forward, her hands on her hips. “My messenger returned to me with her hands missing, her body violated and mutilated by your commander - yet I do not see him here to face the consequences of his actions. Has he fled to Imasicia to cower behind yet more of your legions?”

“Glory is a young man’s game,” Badis replied. “I am too old to go seeking it anymore.” What he said was true. He had seen too much battle to be excited by it, too much death to relish in giving it, he was set in his views, and for lack of a better word . . . old. Time, that old rascal, breaths down his armor as the wind changes. He had hoped to die before the chill had settled into his bones, but it was not to be. Especially now, he must survive, knowing the family he keeps at home. They had already lost one, but another? What hope could they keep, with nobody to lean upon in the harsh storms? “You can say better than I, youthful as you are, of my nephew’s state of mind. He is a stranger to myself, who has children of his own. Have you children? Perhaps you might understand.”

Kuirroda nodded, “I do, as did many of my people whom your own army slaughtered a fortnight ago. I speak as a mother wishing to protect her children from the ravages of a foreign army, I speak as one charged with the defense of our lands and people against the ravages of a foreign army, and I speak as one who knows too well the horrors of the battlefield - for whom I assume many of your fellows who now lie in the grass had little knowledge of. In truth, Imasician, I am only fifty years of age, but I am tired and sick of war. Its glory is naught but the fever dreams of the addict. It is only those who have never struck with a blade nor heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded who cry aloud for blood, for vengeance, for desolation. War is hell… and yet, Imasician, it is a hell I will endure for the defense of my people. The same people you and yours would brutalize.”

“We are fortunate, you and I, to have brought life into this world,” he said. It was tactical, and most importantly, courteous, to not goad her as she does to him. He blinked slowly, at this sacrilege. How could she speak of the dead, while they still hear? Their young souls linger yet about the field in which they lie, listening for mention of their own name, their own titles, an identity they may cling to, which anchors them to this world. Any improper choice of words and they will not pass on to the spirit world, to live among the rivers and trees, but rather shall haunt their own remains as an evil spirit, a vengeful ghost. Perhaps he should warn this enemy commander. He ought change the subject.

Kuirroda interjected before he could continue, “Yes, yes.” She spoke, waving her hand dismissively. “And yet you sought to take life from it. To wrong tens of thousands who had borne you no ill will nor done you harm.” She took another step forward, drawing her sword, a finely worked blade of the highest skill. “Kneel, Imasician.” She commanded, her words haughty and imperious. “Tell me, how did your commander maim my messenger? Did he force her to her knees, lay her hands across the ground and have one of his brutes cleave them? I must know.”

“He . . .” Badis began, drawing a shuddering breath. Remain honorable, even at the coming of death. The spirits will not deal with a liar’s tongue. He took one last look at his own hands, as if to say goodbye, before shutting his eyelids tight, blocking out the whole world. “He, with ropes, entangled her manacles upon his saddle. Then, the barding as an anvil, he drew his spatha and cut, twice.” They mustn’t see him cry.

Kuirroda nodded grimly, stepping forward. “I could have your entire force executed, you know.” She said simply. “By maiming my messenger, who came to deliver a message extending the most generous peace terms, he committed a great sacrilege. Even with our differences, surely you must know how far he trespassed?” She took another step forward, laying her blade on his wrists. The edge cut slightly into his skin, a thin red line.

Silence reigned for a moment, and Kuirroda swung her blade, the meaty sound of the blade burying itself into its target rang through the air.

Kuirroda stepped back, her sword embedded in the ground mere inches from his wrists. “Unlike your commander, though.” She said softly, “I will not punish his subordinates for his actions. Your soldiers will remain here, Imasician.” She continued, her eyes hard, “They will work long and hard to pay off the harm they have wrought upon our people. They will work the land and serve my people until their debt is paid off. It may be many years, but they will live to see their homes again should they wish it.” She knelt down, eye level with him, “You, however, will return to Imasicia. You will inform your ruler that I demand your commander’s presence here on our soil once more, to answer for his crimes - or we will come take him. You and your people have two paths to take. I pray that, for the good of countless lives, you will make the right choice. Now go.”
Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Murtox
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Murtox

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The Storm of the Desert



From here you could see the beginning of the great desert. The fertile valleys and hills of the empire of Arqantay ended here and the rule of sand began. The history between the Arqantay and the horse warriors of the desert has been one of relative peace, the villages were often protected by various fortifications but the occasional raid managed to bypass these defenses and manage to get away with some of the spoils o of war.

This situation was about to be changed by the decision of the emperor. The Emperor of the Arqantay was a man of ambition much like his father and his father before him, he sought to make a name in the history of his country by expanding his country but not in any random direction but rather in the direction of resources that were lacking in the home territories of the Arqantay. But this was a resource that the Arqantay weren't exactly very familiar with, a resource that had been a rarity within the territories of the Qachi of Arqantay for thousands of years.

Said resources were crystals with magic properties needed to fuel the power of the earth mages and oracles of the Arqantay. Their power needed many of these crystal reserves and for better or worse these were imported from the rest of the world. The Emperor had thought about seizing these resources directly and his advisors full of themselves believed that the horse riders wouldn't be much a problem for the highly disciplined and honestly overwhelming numerous army of the Arqantay.

The general assigned for this campaign was Roca Huachi, an old general who came from the close circle of the past emperor. He had been the one who led the Arqantay in their victorious campaign towards the south and had received quite the honors for it, and now he received one more chance to win glory and prestige for himself and his country. Today he stood on stop on of the tallest watchtowers of the empire, accompanied by a single man from his close staff.

"Aqapi, I have seen this desert only three times. The first time I saw it when I was but a guard in one of these many watchtowers, a nobody a man who only served his ayllu and his emperor. The second time, I passed through here with an army and now I am here, watching the deserts I will conquer, I shall conquer the unconquerable, these were once the limits of the world for our people but now they will be within our borders. I will make history with my conquest."

Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Brithwyr
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Brithwyr Primus inter Pares

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(A collaboration with @Bright_Ops)

Signing a peace deal when you hadn’t actually fought a war was always a strange concept. When you hadn’t taken any land, hadn’t killed or lost any soldiers, and had, at most, been a minor inconvenience in each other’s lives, what exactly were you supposed to discuss? Sure, there was the time investment, but it just seemed churlish to demand gold and land over a little extra overtime.

This view was not shared by the Hobgoblin delegation, however.
“We have lost too good people to the constant, barbaric raids on our borders by these vile creatures!” the lead Hobgoblin delegate, an Amazonian hulk of a woman by the name of Shika, barked across the hall. “There can be no peace without the proper recompense for all the fallen you have taken from us!”

The “proper recompense” Shika described was no less than 25 metric tonnes of gold. A hefty fee, no doubt, but Hobgoblins did not take kindly to those who would spill the blood of their kind, and with the support of Bwca, they felt emboldened to make demands they wouldn’t dare make otherwise.

“You are not getting over twenty five tonnes of gold to justify your centuries of raids and slaughter of Tushina’s people.” Taler answered with a deadpan expression. “The offer on the table is for the bloodshed to end and a chance for a better life for both of our peoples going forward. The reason we’re even having this discussion on Bwca’s soil is because you would have tried to kill any diplomat we sent to you directly.”

Things weren’t going smoothly, but despite the outrageous demands of the hobgoblins, Taler was at least trying to be civil. After all, the reason they were even having this discussion was because he wanted to avoid having the blood of Shika and her people on his paws. “The topic of proper recompense is a matter that will have to be debated another time. Can we get back to the original topic?”

Shika only snarled in response. “You want the bloodshed to end? Pay up.”

This was going about as well as the goblins had expected. Shika didn’t know what the word “compromise” meant. With another greenskin, there might have been some wiggle room, but with a foreigner? No chance. She said what she wanted, and she wasn’t going to shift on it.

“We can negotiate payment later, Shika,” the Bwcan delegate said. His name was Brynn, and he had been chosen specifically because he and Shika because they were cousins. It wouldn’t be a miracle fix, but every little bit of leverage would help. “This is an armistice, not a peace deal.”

Taler nodded his head in agreement with Brynn, through he suspected that the negotiations likely weren’t going to get much better with Shika anytime soon. “We are trying to be reasonable here, but your people started this conflict and I don’t want to see it end because the hobgoblins of your nation were cut down to the last or driven from their burning homes.”
Seeking to find an ally in someone who was at the table, the small Too’ave turned his attention fully to Brynn. “And what is Bwca’s opinion on the proposal I am offering?”

Shika’s eyes flared with anger, and even Brynn glared at Taler for his over-the-top description. “Watch your tongue. If your mind is so oriented towards war, then we cannot expect to have peace.”

His words were calm, but inside, Brynn wanted to shout at the little Too’ave. He was making his job much, much harder than it needed to be. At this rate, Shika was going to invoke the Auld Alliance and have Tushina wiped off the face of the planet.
“We want a peaceful resolution to this conflict as much as you, but we will not tolerate any threatening language towards us or our allies. Am I clear?”

Taler sighed a little, reaching up to softly rub his temple as he explained “I am sorry, I do not mean for my words to sound threatening but you have to understand something important during these talks. The hostile actions of our hobgoblin neighbours against civilian targets have long been a point that the military caste of our people have championed as a reasonable cause to invade and put an end to the attacks once and for all… recently however, they’ve gotten support from the merchant caste due to a desire to open a land trade route westwards… this armistice is literally an attempt to stop a war from starting that will result in a great deal of needless bloodshed.”

“So please understand that if I fail to bring this to a peaceful conclusion, the results will be dire. I don’t want that and neither do you.” A sigh escaped him as he shook his head. “At the core, all we want is to no longer be attacked from our western border and safe overland trade routes. Is that an unreasonable desire?”

No. It wasn’t an unreasonable desire. But that wasn’t the issue that Shika was thinking about, and Brynn knew that. Her thoughts were firmly on all the dead and wounded as a result of Tushina’s raids, and she wasn’t going to walk away without a guarantee that she would have payment for their loss.

Rather than let her hurl some more insults at the delegate, Brynn decided to speak on her behalf. “No one begrudges you for wanting peace. But the losses to our clansmen will need to be addressed before a peace treaty can be signed.”

A sigh escaped Taler as he answered “The losses of the hobgoblins cannot be addressed if the hobgoblins will refuse to acknowledge the losses they have inflicted enough the Too’ave and Tushina in turn. As much as it would sting the pride of my nation to do so, I am prepared to wipe the slate clean in that regard if the hobgoblins will do likewise.”

Brynn looked at Shika, who snorted in disgust. “We didn’t start the fire, you furry fool. We were only defending ourselves. You started it, you can take responsibility for your own losses.”
A snort escaped Taler at her accusation. “Excuse me? The first time Tushina had contact with you, I seem to recall that the scouts were all found in various states of dismemberment. The following diplomates to try and work out what exactly happened to provoke such a response didn’t fare much better.”

“You send armed soldiers into someone else’s territory, that’s a declaration of war! Or are you in the habit of bringing swords into a strangers home?” was Shika’s retort.

“What are you talking abou-” For a moment, Taler paused mid word, his mind catching up with what she had said and actually jumping to a possibility that he hadn’t entertained before. “...When was the first time you encountered the Too’ave? Because the earliest recorded encounter we have was shortly after Tushina was founded as a nation almost one hundred and fifty years ago.”

The look on his face suggested that he was making a guess at something, but he would have been all that surprised if he was correct. “Just asking but… would your first encounter have been around two hundred years ago?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Shika snarled. “Two centuries ago? I’m not that old!”

Taler’s claw met his face for a second as he explained “...I don’t mean you personally, I mean historically.”

“Is now really the time for a history lesson?” Shika rolled her eyes, and Brynn couldn’t help but agree. Weren’t they supposed to be thinking about the present, and not the past?

“It’s important because if what I think has happened turned out to be true, it would explain so much.” Taler answered easily enough… before taking a deep breath as he decided to get the history lesson over with. “Alright, quick background. The Too’ave were originally created by the ruling caste of the Forgotten Empire. We call it that because we don’t know what it’s original name was called, they didn’t allow us to keep written records and their own records are currently in the heartlands of the empire which is currently a magically cursed nightmarish landscape.”

“When the empire fell, it took the ruling caste with it… so the various Too’ave castes who existed at the time were completely devoid of leadership and had to work things out for themselves, a period of about fifty years we call the city state period per to the formation of Tushina proper. This is important because it meant that the legions of the military caste didn’t have a higher command to unite them and thus each individual legion had to decide what to do after the fall.”

Shika looked over to Brynn and silently mouthed "I thought he said it would be quick?". The Goblin only shrugged in response.

Taking a quick pause to catch his breath and let his audience catch up, Taler jumped back into the tale quickly “While a number of legions ended up making arrangements with other Too’ave castes, be it via diplomacy or might makes right and forming the city states, an unknown number of legions travelled beyond the borders of what is now Tushina. We still don’t have a full record of them, but some travelled south to become mercenaries… while others either committed themselves to being marauders or sort to carve out a kingdom of their own elsewhere. So when I ask when hobgoblins first encountered the Too’ave, I do so to understand if it was after we had united into Tushina or if it was one or more of the rogue legions after the fall of the Forgotten Empire.”

Shika rolled her eyes and yawned dismissively. “You say that like I’m supposed to care about your problems.”

“Shika!” Brynn admonished.

“Well, it’s true!” the Hobgoblin shot back, in much the same tone as a teenager would use to argue with an overbearing parent. “What difference does it make anyway? They came from his country!”

“That’s as ridiculous as blaming Nefmach for Uffern invading you because they’re both Goblins!”

“...If it helps, a fair number of the more… less diplomatic legions raided and pillaged Too’ave settlements before they buggered off south and west.” Taler offered, not really sure if that would help ease tensions or if Shika was just that stubborn about the situation, that she wouldn’t give a damn.

Brynn pressed his fingers into a steeple. If what the little Too’ave was saying was true, then this entire war - the embargo, the raids, the killings - it had all been for nothing. Shika had been chasing a phantom. Countless lives on both sides, sent to futile deaths, because of a mistaken identity. No wonder Shika was denying it. If she didn’t, then she’d have to admit that all the kills she had claimed in the name of the war had been in vain.

But perhaps there was still hope for peace. Shika wanted revenge. Perhaps the Too’ave could deliver it to her.

“Taler. These, uh, rogue legions you speak of. Are they still operational? Do you know where they are?”

For his part, Taler shook his head with his ears flapping a little from the motion. “Not really. I know of a couple of them that traveled down south to become mercenary companies that are still operational and there is always the occasional tale of marauders and bandits but…” He sighed a little as he reached up to scratch at one of his ears while subtly fixing its position up a little “... well, it happened centuries ago. We still don’t know exactly how many of the Old Legions existed around the time of the forgotten empire, let alone how many of them both survived the fall and decided to leave for distant lands.”

Of course they were, Brynn grimaced. That would have been too easy. But there had to be something left behind, some stubborn hangers-on that they would need to dislodge. And if there wasn’t an enemy there, perhaps they could invent one.

“You’re certain about that? That there are absolutely none left behind in Tushina? At all?” Brynn insisted, hoping beyond hope that Taler was able to pick up one what he was implying.

Taler did get what he was implying, but he frowned as he looked at Brynn. “If you’re hoping for some hold outs, bandits or rebels to be a scapegoat, I’m afraid to inform you that the last of the rogue legions that stayed within Tushina’s boundaries were crushed or driven out centuries ago. Our rise as a nation was completely established when the last of them were dealt with.”

Brynn sighed. If they had someone else to blame, then maybe they could have abated Shika's wrath. Taler had just screwed all three of them over.

Up until this point, Shika had been listening and not talking. But now that Tushina's cards were on the table, and they had carelessly thrown away the only lifeline they had.

"What a coincidence. 'It wasn't us, it was these other guys that we managed to get rid of!'. A likely story!"

Talar’s ears twitched a little as he looked at Shika with a transparent expression. “Would you rather I lied to you? Sing you a fairy tale about how there was some conclave of bastards hiding out somewhere that if we both joined forces to slaughter, all the pain and death would be wiped clean and all sins forgiven? The world is rarely that kind Shika.”

He sighed a little. “The dead are not are masters. All that is going to happen if we maintain this cycle of violence and reprisal is that we will continue to create a cycle of pain, suffering and death until everyone is gone and it no longer matters who or what started it. All we can do is try and make peace with the past and create a better future… or willfully continue down a future soaked in blood.”

Brynn groaned. That was a smart idea - tell a group of people who hold their ancestors in the kind of reverence the Bwcan goblins reserved for their Gods that the dead are not their masters. Why was he forced to arbitrate between two people who didn't understand realpolitik? All Taler had to do was lie, send the Hobgoblins a few traitors and criminals, and this whole thing could have been over. One little lie. Instead, he basically told her to deal with it, the dead would never be avenged. Was he mad?

He glanced over at Shika, who was fuming so hard he could practically see the smoke rising from her ears.
"What you don't understand, Taler," Shika said, her voice deceptively calm "is that Hobgoblins pay blood for blood. It's all very well and good to talk about a cycle of violence. But what am I supposed to tell the families of the people your kind has killed? How do I compensate for that, hmm!?"

“By the fact that they get to live and thrive.” Taler answered back solemnly. “By the fact that by brokering this peace, Tushina would be willing to forgive the deaths of all those that your people have maimed and killed because of a misunderstanding that took place hundreds of years ago. Because even as you protest your innocence, from where I am sitting your people are the one that started this war without any attempt at diplomatic action or desire to understand who you were fighting.”

“And from where I’m sitting, it was you who marched in on us unprovoked!” Shika snarled back, slamming a hand on the table and making Brynn nearly jump out of his skin. “You can have your ceasefire when you deliver us the traitors or the gold. Until then, there can be no peace between us!”

Brynn had lost all hope of a peaceful conclusion to this meeting. Hobgoblins only spoke in silver and iron. Someone, somewhere, was going to have concede.

Taler ‘s ears drooped when he heard that demand. He knew this had been a diplomatic failure on his part… even if his own reputation back home would survive due to the fact that no one had really expected him to be able to get the hobgoblins to the table, let alone get them to see reason, this failure was going to haunt him.

“Then I will no longer waste words on someone who is unwilling to hear them.” He answered in a soft, saddened voice. However, there was still some degree of hope as he turned his head towards Brynn as he asked “And what of you? I trust that Bwca has a voice and opinion of its own.”

Brynn looked at Taler, then at Shika, then back at Taler. He knew that this had all come from a misunderstanding. The right thing to do was to side with Tushina. But he was in no position to give the Too’ave any support. Siding with a foreign power against a Goblin state? He’d be called a traitor. Bwca would be a pariah among its peers, and even if it didn’t escalate to war, they’d lose just about every ounce of influence they had. It was more than his job’s worth.

“Bwca… stands with its allies,” Brynn monotoned. “We cannot, in good conscience, side with an enemy over a friend.”

Taler nodded his head in total understanding. If nothing else, this venture had proven that while the hobgoblins refused to be reasonable, at least Bwca could be talked to. That was a victory in its own right. “I understand. I cannot fault you for maintaining your alliances, even in the face of one being to blinded by pain to see the truth. For what it is worth, I am sorry that a compromise couldn’t be reached.”

“And whose fault is that?” Shika muttered, just loud enough to hear. Brynn was more gracious. “As am I. I’m sorry that your time has been wasted.”

Taler made a small show of offering Shika a stare, as if to answer her question without words before he looked back at Brynn. “Truth be told, I don’t think anyone back home expected me to get this far or survive the attempt but… well, it had to be made, you know?”

Brynn could respect that. But he couldn’t help but feel that this had been the last chance for peace between Tushina and the Hobgoblins. Why hadn’t Taler taken advantage of that? And worse still, once word of the meeting got out, the other Goblin states would surely take advantage by pressuring Owca to escalate the war.

The little goblin sighed. This was not the last he was going to hear of Tushina.
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Turn One:






Shadows Upon the Coast





The roaring waves of the Ebon Sea frothed and foamed around his ship, churning and crashing against it with primal hate, as Ardusin El-Shadaran, Lord of Tel-Makad, stood upon the prow of his sleek black-hulled vessel. With a keen eye he watched as the fog of midnight parted before him to reveal steaming shores of Surabhumi, lightless, and dark as pitch against the marauding corsairs of the Sanghar. All around him his men toiled in silent and noiseless labour, working in concord with the dense mists to muffle their advance, with vaporous gossamer ribbons winding around them like a boil of fresh hatched sea snakes. El-Shadaran watched them in haughty disinterest with his one good eye, the other having been long lost in an accident whilst overseeing his ancestral shipwrights, and replaced with a smooth scintillating opal. Such was the manner of Ardusin, for he would never allow injury get in the way of personal vanity.

“How long until we cast board upon the shore?” he asked, his handsome face as indifferent as ever in the light of the stars.

“Not long now my lord..” came the reply from the ship’s captain, who stood attentively at his side. “We must still be cautious however. Surabhuma watchwomen are everywhere, and Sangharan corsairs swarm these waters still in spite of the Armistice…”

“The Armistice. What utter nonsense!” Ardusin snorted derisively, drawing his white and purple robes about him against the cold of the night. “Both sides conjure up a pretense of legitimate settlement, and the Dakathan Lords do not press further on naval works so as not to invalidate the false peace. Meanwhile my shipwrights suffer from idle hands and financial losses, in order to satisfy the egos of weaker Sanghar. They would do well not to cast me aside, especially after this night’s work.”

The captain said nothing. There was nothing he could say, Lord El-Shadaran took a dim view upon leigemen criticising their master, and of criticism in general. It would do him no good to mention the Armistice was not about the silently fuming lord that stood before him, nor the fact that malpractice had been the cause of Tel-Makad’s silent shipwrights. El-Shadaran was a difficult Sanghar to manage even at the best of times, but since the sudden strain on his finances, he’d been even more volatile than usual.

Crags and jagged pillars of stone passed them like wraiths in the night as they made steady speed towards the shoreline. As a final gust of wind propelled them onwards, sinewy armed Sanghar mariners pulled in the triangular sail and readied the oars. They worked them with strong steady strokes as they made their way towards the chosen anchorage, hidden amidst the headwaters of one of Surabhumi’s innumerable rivers.

Slinking into the sea, one of these rivers spilled its lifeblood into the ocean not far ahead of them, deep enough for a dragonship to make good headway, or a smugglers vessel to await the coming of it co-conspirators. In truth that was not far off from what they were, for El-Shadaran had come to do nothing less than breach “the great ban”, and treat with his nations ancestral enemy, offering a deal that he knew would be irresistible to private citizens of the Surabhi successor empire.

With the crash of a cast anchor, and the stealthy flickering of signal lanterns, El-Shadaran settled himself down on a divan laden with silken cushions and tiger skins, and awaited the arrival of his counterpart. With a snap of his fingers, his sullen Tu’mong yazhat scurried across the ship, collecting parchment and scrolls of animal skin. Returning, they scattered them upon a folding desk of geometrically carven ebony and mother of pearl, revealing designs, blueprints and information of shipcraft, inked upon crisp parchments of komodo skin. Beyond this tumult of activity, giant mariners heaved a gangplank down upon the loamy soil of the riverside, retinues tramping down it in orderly lines as they fanned out around the vessel.

After many hushed minutes, the keen eyes of the ships lookouts caught the glow of bobbing lanterns, making their way slowly through the lush tropic foliage of the mainland. Crossbowmen readied their bows alertly, and tombaks were thrust forward by the soldiery, but there was little need for violence. The figures that emerged from the sepulcral twilight were of those familiar to the ambitious Asurbaalite, and he signalled to his men to lower their arms.

At last, after long preparation, he and his mutual collaborator would meet face to face.




Kadusiri trudged through the dense growth of the coast, the vast swathes of mangrove trees and other saltwater plants blocking any long visibility through the dense growth. Sweat streaked her skin, and the water was even beginning to seep through the tar lined boots she wore. She traveled light, only a sword and a small handful of guards to accompany her. She had browbeaten other members of her dhutris to throw a lavish feast, and she knew the myriad spies of the central council would have their hands full keeping a watch out for any conspiracy brewing amidst such a gathering. She had slipped from the party, hopefully unnoticed, and had begun to weave her way along the winding and oft unused paths to the shore. Neither she nor her guards wore armor, and they carried no torches, making their way by moonlight.

Silence seemed to stretch on ad infinitum, the quiet splash of plain, unormanted boots in the swampy waters of the coast the only accompaniment to their illicit excursion. At last, though, one of the guards broke the silence, readjusting the axe that hung from her belt as she did so.

“My Mahil, forgive my questioning - but are you sure this is wise? You know the penalty for such conspiracy is death. You gamble not only your future, but the future of our faith should your plans fail in any way. We could still turn now, alert the guards of the Samraajni, we could seize these plans and this Sanghar and still elevate you and yours with their new favor.” The woman shifted uncomfortably, as if her own hesitance might count some small treason within her treason.

Kadusiri turned sharply, bringing her small group to an abrupt halt as she bore down on the guard who had dared doubt her. “Because, my dear stupid Eviranu, the council are a cabal of vile apostates who stripped the land and power from the rightful wielders of such. They spread lies, deceit, and falsehood throughout the land, and they seed doubt in the hearts of those who would be righteous. I do not seek their favor, as I seek their destruction. When I take our newfound advantage with this deal, I will ensure the overthrow of the fools who have lead us astray. Does that satisfy you, or would you side with our would be masters in Rhaputira?”

Eviranu’s eyes were wide, and she hastily shook her head, taking a step back as she raised her hands defensively. “No, my Mahil, I do not! I merely wished the best for you and ourselves.”

Eyeing her with an intense, scrutinizing gaze, Kadusiri eventually snorted dismissively and turned back in her initial direction. “Come, they have surely arrived by now.”

The rest of their trip passed uneventfully, and at last they laid eyes on the Sanghar vessel. Immediately, Kadusiri’s eyes widened, and she growled under her breath, “I told the fool to come here quietly and unobtrusively, not… this.”

She gritted her teeth, moving into the open to greet her co-conspirator. “I told you to arrive quietly, and in disguise. And yet here you are in gaudy excess. You fool, do you realize what you have risked with this display?”

Ardusin raised the eyebrow of his yet living eye as he peered at Kadusiri, nonplussed. “Risked? I have risked nothing at all my good confederate. I chose a night when the moon was well in its waning, there was heavy fog to mask my landing, and the final part of the journey was achieved through silent rowers. Just because you desired to garb me in stinking beggar’s rags, and wade through the muck like a commoner, does not mean that I did not make my own entirely adequate preparations.”

Turning his back on his co-conspirator, he eyed his charts and diagrams a final time before nodding to his slaves to gather them up. ‘Always so blasted dull minded’ he grumbled to himself, chapping his hands as muscled Sanghar porters emerged with his private litter. `No matter if they’re heretics, Surabhi have no mind for atmosphere, aesthetics or mood. We’re supposed to be embarking on a grand new international enterprise, and they want to wriggle around in the filth. Typical...’

“Douse those lights Karamand,” he commanded imperiously as he pointed to the shuttered lanterns, and settled himself into the litter, despite the flustered anger that began erupting from Eviranu. “I want this ship well hidden in one of the river’s tributaries,” he demanded. “Ekuni should know which one. I didn’t pay those spies handsomely for inaccurate charts.”

Closing the door to his private compartment, he watched as his slaves took position at each pole of the carven sandalwood box, his retinue locking into place behind and in front of him, to form a two-breasted marching line.

“Now Kadusiri,” he said, leaning out a shuttered window and clenching the side as the litter was heaved upon the shoulders of his porters. “I trust you have arranged a suitably accommodating and private manse for us to finalise our agreement in? If you expect me to sit in the mud with you, and pick my bum whilst your nations wretched mosquitoes give me marsh fever, you’re sadly mistaken. There are afterall, plenty of others just as eager to get their hands on my secrets as you are. So quit huffing, hurry up, and lead on.”

Kadusiri stared aghast at the Sangharan on his palanquin, stretched leisurely on his silken cushions. She looked to his entourage, servants and scribes, grandeur entirely unsuited to the task at hand. Her heart fluttered in her chest, clearly she had underestimated the sheer flamboyance and vanity of this shipwright, or her warnings of the pervasiveness of the spies of Rhaputira had not been emphatic enough. With a helpless look back at her own considerably smaller entourage, their muted, unobtrusive garb and the lack of any noisy implements that might alert passers-by, she sighed. She would have to think fast.

“Ah… yes.” She murmured to him, turning away and making a sign to ward off bad luck that this Sangharan could assuredly bring. “We shall be conducting our business in a farmhouse, away from prying eyes. Please, if you will, follow me - and for the love of Ishareth, be quiet.”

She beckoned to his entourage, her own soldiers falling in behind her as she picked her way back through the muck and mangroves. She hid her mirth poorly as several branches and muddy vines scraped and soiled the ornate decor of the exterior of his palanquin, but let no protests dissuade her. As they neared the first road, she turned away from whence she had come, setting off in an easterly direction.




They marched for miles along the road, Kadusiri cringing all the while at the sharp sound of the Sangharan boots on the paving stones. Her own boots were near silent, the cured pitch soaked soles, worn with the intent of remaining in the mangrove swamps, soft and pliable. She cursed herself for her foolishness - the idiot should have been better appraised of the pervasive surveillance she and her fellows lived under the watchful eye of the council and governors searching for any trace of ‘treason’. She would have them all hanged, and then this pompous dullard slung away, far away.

At last, however, the silhouette of a farmhouse loomed in the distance, and their party drew close. Kadusiri lifted a hand, calling for the Sangharans to halt, as she and her compatriots crept forward. For a moment, she considered simply kicking the door in and executing all who resided therein - but she did not need the murder of an entire farmstead coupled with the same time she would have been noticed absent the proceedings at the party. There was little need to provide the spies and bureaucrats reason to investigate her dhutris - and her. So instead she knocked softly at the door, then once more, more audibly.

A small delay ensued before a wary face emerged, the glint of a falx evident in the hands of the farmer. “Yes?” She asked, slowly lowering the weapon. “What is it that you want at this hour?”

Kadusiri smiled, putting on the best soothing voice she could manage. “My humble apologies, my friend - I was traveling on urgent business from Rhaputira, and I must rent out your building for the night. I’m afraid you can’t stay the night as well - crucial documents, far above the head of almost any in this province. I am of course, more than happy to compensate you for the inconvenience.” She hefted a sack, bulging with silver coins, more money than many in this province would see in an entire year, she knew. “This is the most I have been cleared to provide, but it is a debt the realm gladly pays to ensure the safety of my mission.”

The farmer’s eyes were wide now, and Kadusiri could sense the presence of many more behind the door, children and adults alike. After a tense silence, during which muted whispering behind the door could be heard, the woman peering out at her nodded tersely. “Give us a moment, please. We will be back tomorrow morning by dawn, the fields need weeding.”

A smile broke across Kadusiri’s lips and she nodded to the woman. “Of course, my friend. Please, we will wait.” The door shut softly, and she turned around, whispering urgently to one of her cohort, “Alert the Sangharans to move off the road, out of sight, until my signal. They cannot be seen.”

At her words, the guard nodded, taking off at a brisk jog towards the Sangharans to inform them.




Examining the adobe walled interior of the massive square building, his boots scuffing the brick beneath his feet, Ardusin sniffed in distaste.

“Very... rustic…” he said at last, after a long silence. “I suppose it will have to do. Very well then…”

Once they’d managed to escape the sucking quagmire of the coastline, and the Surabhi had returned from newly established safehouse, Ardusin had continued the journey to the farmstead on foot. His palanquin had been too obvious to travel upon open roads, and had been quickly hidden amongst the forest to keep attention to a minimum. Doubtless Kadusiri would have complained about even that, but Ardusin had scant care for his companions paranoia, the Surabhumi’s matriarchs only had so many eyes between them.

With a nod of the Asurbaal’s head his Sangharan retainers tramped inside, quickly darting into niches within the partitionless interior to keep a tigerish watch for potential intruders. Kicking the last of the road’s muck from his silken slippers in great earthen clots, he took the box of parchment from his servants with both hands, and turned and strode to the firepit. The flames of the evening hearth smouldered quietly away as Ardusin took a seat heavily in one of the solidly built chairs, shifting his adornments of rich but off-colour Sanghar purple into a more comfortable position. Pulling a bronze key from around his neck, he unlocked the chest and began to spread scrolls of parchment across a table next to him, murmuring quietly as he began to lay a kaleidoscope of schematics and designs out in neat order.

“Now, we have time until dawn to look through these technical schematics together. I trust they’ll be satisfactory to you, at least for the purveyance of my first half of the bargain.” he remarked breezily, throwing a log of hardwood on the embers of the fire. “I trust you in turn have brought the documents necessary for the acquisition and transportation of the Surabhumi munitions and materials I requested?” he asked, his opal eye fixing his companion with a blank expectant stare.

When she nodded, he continued, smoothing out the curling parchment as he turned back to his work. “Once that first load has been delivered properly to Tel-Makad, I shall naturally deliver the final components for the construction of Republican class vessels,” he stated in a matter-of-fact tone. “Now, I believe that you should have also brought examples of the new equipment designed by your forgeworks? These cracked and stained papers are the product of a thousand years of skill in boatcraft. Even with half of them you’d learn more than the Surabhuma have in centuries. I need to be assured of your honest intentions, and the quality of your resources.”

He gestured with a hand of ornate gold nails, signalling for whomever was carrying the examples to step forward. “Now, if you please...”

Kadusiri frowned as she relaxed in the sturdy wooden chairs arrayed throughout the room. “This is about as grand as it gets on the coast, my friend. Your compatriots have savaged the coastline for generations, and scarcely anybody lives within a league of the shore. The march from our lands to the coast to meet you took well over three hours. It is not the fault of the people here that this is one of the poorest regions of our nation. I can assure you, were it grandeur you desired, Rhaputira would leave you wanting for nothing in the slightest. Nevertheless, to the business at hand - Amali, if you would please go over the documents with Veidu, I would appreciate it greatly.”

She steepled her fingers, looking her counterpart in the eyes as the seconds ticked by. “As to my end of the bargain, it is obvious that we could not mass the materials and armament here with us - such action would be far too obvious and the Council would doubtless look closer into my affairs. I have, however, brought with me a carefully selected representation of what you will find awaiting you on the docks of Lotihal, along with a manifest you may bring with you to fully account for the presence of each and every piece.”

She raised a single sheet of paper, densely coated in black ink in the Surabhi script and the Sangharan counterpart, numbers and detailed descriptions running on seemingly without end. “You may pass this to your… secretary, to peruse at your discretion. Now, Arnala, please bring our samples for this fine gentleman to examine.”

Another Surabhi moved forward, taller and broader even than the average, lugging a bulky, mishapen pack on her shoulders. With an audible sigh of relief, she lowered it to the ground, stretching out the muscles and joints that had been compressed for hours by the heavy load.

Kadusiri smiled, bending down to open the bag, returning to the table with the first example of Surabhi craft. A simple, unadorned falx, of perfect size for use by the Sangharan Surabhi, or even a particularly large Sanghar. The dim light gleamed dully off of the steel, wavelike dark lines running the length of the blade, tapering with the blade itself as it curved inwards into a cruel point, one that could burst through chain armor with a piercing power unlike any other blade - the fate of many a warrior. At the other end the metal terminated in a simple, rugged handle of wood and cord, a similarly unadorned but expertly wrought piece of steel serving as the elegant but brutally effective spiked guard for the bearer’s hands.

Kadusiri allowed Ardusin to examine the weapon for a moment before speaking. “A falx, one of our favorite weapons. Something I am sure your countrymen are very aware of. You will find we have prepared five hundred such items of similar make, including this one, which I present to you now.” She extended her arms, allowing one of his aides to take the weapon.

“Next, we have a full suit of chain armor. Please, allow a moment to unpack it.” She bent over once more, one of her own aides moving to assist in the extraction of the armor. A great rustling and clinking filled the room as they withdrew the armor.

Thousands upon thousands of rings of Ukkayan steel, each coated in a gleaming layer of wax, shone in the wan light of the fire. The suit was small in comparison to the Surabhi holding it, evidently designed with the intent of a Sangharan wearer. Over the chest, back, and sides of the armor’s torso lay sturdy steel plates, similarly waxed to ward off rusting. Gently, her aide placed a helmet on the table - designed in a Sangharan rather than Surabhi fashion, sockets for the colorful plumed feathers and decor worn by Sangharan officers and nobility.

“You will be hard pressed to find better protection without resorting to thaumaturgy.” She said, a proud smile evident on her lips. “This particular suit was constructed with your own measurements in mind, and you will doubtless find it fitting. You will find a thousand such suits of armor awaiting you on the docks.”

Not allowing him to reply, she continued without breaking flow, leaning to the side as they pulled from the bag a simple ingot of Ukkayan steel, the wavy black striations running throughout its length. “And, of course, the steel for which we are so well known. Including this one, two thousand such ingots await your arrival, for use by your own smiths, for your own ends.”

Before Ardusin could even consider speaking, she still continued, raising a finger, “And, last but most certainly not least - one of the finest smiths in this province crafted a blade specifically for your own personal use, my good partner. A piece worth a small fortune. You will find no equal in the land for this blade, at least, not one that can be had without endangering your personal fortunes once again.” She lifted from the bag its final item, a lustrous, brilliantly polished and finished blade of Sanghar design. Bearing the hallmarks of Surabhi practical minded simplicity, the blade nevertheless was a thing of beauty to behold. An elegant curve ran through its length, the ever-present dark striations of Ukkayan steel even bolder and more vibrant than normal, a wicked keen edge evident even to the layperson. Woods imported from Sanghara specifically for this blade formed its handle, richly colored mahogany with detailed silvered inlay in various stylized depictions of Sangharan rites and rituals. The guard and pommel were likewise etched. The blade was as much a work of art as it was a masterfully created and brutally functional killing tool. Kadusiri smiled more broadly as she presented the blade and its mahogany sheath to her compatriot, allowing herself to feel pride in her peoples’ skill at crafts.

Ardusin studied the materials with feigned indifference, but anyone could tell by the gleam in his eye that he hungered for the steel, like a starving wolf gifted a fresh carcass. Taking each piece separately in turn, he inspected them like an eagle, feeling the weight of the blades and the quality of the finish before nodding forward his personal retinue and attendants to examine them in turn.

Continuing to half listen to Kadusiri, he pulled out a lone finely cut quartz magnifying spectacle and squinted through it at the dense bundle of Surabhi text, examining the parchment for any attempt to doublecross, undercut or legally exploit him. He saw nothing in it that spoke of some attempt of subtlety on his partners behalf. Although he was distracted, his interest was nonetheless piqued by the richly worked steel mail, and he murmured approvingly as it glimmered in red flame light of the firepit.

At last he pulled the spectacle off the bridge of his nose and turned his attention back to Kadusiri, only to be startled beyond all expectation by the fine craftsmanship she now offered him, in the script and artistic style of his own people no less.

“By Ishareth’s ivory shoulders…” he murmured, awed by the work presented to him.

Taking the blade in both hands, he ran his fingers across the work of high art, testing it like all the others in its balance, the smoothness of the blade’s surface, as well as it’s vicious sharpness. It did not disappoint. The finely engraved Sangharan mahogany felt like cool silk within his clenched hand, and he wielded it expertly in the dim midnight glow of the fire. For once, his appreciation of quality trumped his instinctual pride, and he laughed slightly as he cut the air.

‘With blades and armour like these I have a chance of seizing wealth beyond measure!’ he mused, growing ever more excited about the prospects. He checked himself quickly, but struggled to keep it contained.

‘I will need to be quiet about it though, and distribute them slowly and subtly beneath the Senate’s nose…’ he thought to himself. ‘This is more than enough to bring fresh interest to my shipwrights, to keep my station, and then some…. It might even be enough to garb and arm my own retinue with it, fancy that…’ He smiled, imagining the envy of other Sanghar lords as he rode by with his men, gilt in shining mail, as impervious to their glaring eyes as their ready swords. Reining in his enthusiasm he sheathed the blade, which absently he thought reminiscent of the Sangharan Golok. As he took his seat again, the opal glinted in myriad colours as he threw another log on the faintly burning fire.

“It seems we each have held to the letter of our agreement,” He said, returning to his prior primness. “I trust all is well in the documentation?”

His personal scribes, peering through the manifest one last time, turned their heads and nodded. “All is as the lady describes. We can find no fault nor deception in this and as our spies have already informed us, the ship she mentions has anchored port where she said it would be. My Lord, the deal is sound.”

Ardusins hand stroked his chin as he leaned back, letting a gleam of triumph shine through his remaining eye. “Very well then. Once I receive the first half of the shipments you promise, then I shall send all but the final document to you by a smuggling vessel known as ‘The Sapphire of Tel-Makad’. When I have received the entire shipment, I will send the final piece by secret courier, and then smuggle in shipwrights to assist you in your new operations. Lady Kaduisiri, I believe you now have the beginnings… of a navy.”

With those simple words, around the smouldering and crackling fire of a lowly estate, the fabric of an age rippled and changed. Although neither side knew it at the time, the bloody scales that had long upheld the ancient cycle of war and peace between the successors of the great serpentine empire, were thrown into disarray. No longer could Sanghara rely upon their predominance upon the ocean to guard them from harm. Their ancient mastery had come to an end. One might think that this would be an age of the Surabhi, their triumph come at last after bloody struggle with ancient adversaries… but it was not to be.

Elsewhere, others moved… and schemed. This would not be the only change in the fabric of existence…

It was only the beginning.




National Action Results, Turn One:


Roll Results:
20: Critical Success
19-16: Great Success
15-10: Moderate Success
9-5: Neither successful or unsuccessful, little progress made
4-2: Goes Poorly
1: Critical Failure





Arqantay:

Diplomatic Actions: Diplomats leave the golden palaces of Arqantay, their move is towards the east. Trying to find backers for their new conquest enterprise among the local leaders of the desert Khanate. They offer gifts and promises of relative autonomy in exchange for the rights to exploit the mana reserves of the desert without any kind of interruptions.
Military Actions: Arqantay engages in a campaign to pacify the western area of the desert of the Kipchak Khanate, beginning a slow but intrusion into khanate territory building forts in strategic areas and fortifying magical crystals deposits.
Economic Actions: Arqantay begins to intensify its trade influence among its southern neighbors, specially among the Mysrlaka.
Research: The Arqantay natural engineer continues to invest time and effort into the construction of sanitation houses for the people of Arqantay.

Arqantay Roll Results:
Diplomatic Actions: 12 - Moderate Success
Military Actions: 19 - Great Success
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Arcana:

Diplomatic Actions: Arcana sends an envoy to the nearby Khanate in order to negotiate an exclusive crystal trade deal to secure affordable reserves for Arcana for the foreseeable future.
Military Actions: - Lord Daemon of Arcana and his retainers lead an expeditionary force of Steel Legionnaires, Arcane Knights, Arcanan Marines, and professional sellswords on an Arcana armada that includes over a thousand Arcanan warships and several score sellsails. They seek to take Drakon unawares, conquer the city, seize its wealth, and break the back of the eastern slave trade. They have information from greedy Drakonese.
- The Consortium of Guilds, the gendarmery, the knightly orders, the Circle of Wizards, and the Navy all send their professional experts to the palace in order to begin the complete overhaul of Crown's Own. The skills and knowledge of these groups will be applied in order to formulate a plan to improve the logistical, technical, and professional capabilities of the royal army and reduce reliance on private groups and the Navy. The Artisans Guild begins training royal smiths in order to forge better equipment, the tradesmen begin educating the quartermasters, the Artificers teach the field engineers, the knights begin drilling officers and forming curriculum, and so on and so forth. It is a long-term plan intended to make the Crown's Own a formidable force once more.
Economic Actions: The Ministry of Coin begins an introductory roll-out of paper notes backed by the Arcanan Gold reserves in order to test their efficacy in the market. If results seem promising, the mint will begin printing more notes.
Research: - Arcana's druids begin research into nitrating crop rotation and the formation of an agricultural institute managed by them.
- Every professional Guild as well as the Cerulean Navy, the Confraternity of Martial Orders, the Papal Communion, and the Circle of Wizards all send representatives to meet under the royal warrant to discuss the formation of a national system of examinations beyond collegiate examinations. The diverse groups will seek to institute a curriculum that will best serve the citizenry and the realm.
- The financial, mercantile, and academic guilds meet with Regency representatives to discuss the merits of greater state control on trade. They seek a compromise between the privately owned guilds and the government that will best serve the realm as a whole. If a beneficial plan is formulated it will begin implementation.
National Construction: - Arcana begins implementing their long-term plan to rebuild the highways that once connected the distant Outlander settlements with the Ecumenical lands. A task force of Arcane Knights, gendarme Rangers and Guardians, and sellswords ally with the Witcher Guild and the Artificer's Guild to clear the roads of vegetation and reduce the incidences of monster and outlaw attacks.

Arcana Roll Results:
Envoy to Khanate: 16 - Great Success
Expedition to Drakon: 1 - Critical Failure
Military Overhaul: 20 - Critical Success
National Construction: 10 - Moderate Success
Paper Currency Testing: 15 - Moderate Success
Research: 12 - Moderate Success
Intrigue: 4 - Goes Poorly
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Tushina:

Diplomatic Actions: Tushina sends a diplomatic party to Bwca in order to try and broker peace between the goblin nations... however, due to cultural differences/misunderstandings, the talks go nowhere and the war continues.
Military Actions: Even as Taler was talking in Bwca, Tushina's military caste was preparing an invasion force into Owca. Mobilization takes time after all and while they were willing to allow a diplomatic attempt to take place, they didn't have much hope of it actually being successful. Unlike prior militant action into Owca, which were raids to break up gathering warbands of hobgoblins, this one is a true invasion force. Between a desire to secure a western land trading route and to secure their western border against hobgoblin raids, they hope that a show of force will do what diplomacy has failed to achieve.
Economic Actions: The merchant caste is throwing in their support of the military caste. The promise of western land trade to them is worth investing their money into this military expedition.
Construction: The various builder castes are putting off any major projects at the moment, since they fully intend to send a workforce alongside the military expedition in order to build proper defensive works and start to establish infrastructure in Owca.
Research: Currently, the merchant caste are looking into the value of nothing in order to strengthen finance and mathematics.

Tushina Roll Results:
Mobilization: 12 - Moderate Success
Intrigue: 4 - Goes Poorly
Research: 18 - Great Success
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Bwca:

Diplomatic Actions: A failed attempt to broker peace between Tushina and a Hobgoblin minor took place. The government is preparing for possible escalation; the failure is being blamed on the poor diplomatic skills of the Tushina representative to avoid any offence to the Hobgoblin minor.
Military Actions: Generals and admirals are antsy about a possible escalation. The navy is preparing for a possible invasion, while the army has begun drilling on rocky terrain.
Economic Actions: All shipping passing through the Green Strait must submit to a cargo check. Failure to comply may result in the ship and it's cargo being seized or even sunk, optionally with the crew still onboard.
Research: Political scientists note a growing school of thought among intellectuals concerning the position of the government in the welfare of its people. This school of thought appears to combine Agrarian support for artisans and peasants with Liberal ideas about the natural rights of all intelligent creatures, but it is seperate enough to be distinct.
National Construction: A bill calling for the construction of a water gate across the Green Strait was proposed in the Ty by tribal chieftains, however, it failed to pass.

Bwca Roll Results:
Preparation for Defensive War: 17 - Great Success
Cargo Inspections: 4 - Goes Poorly
Intrigue: 20 - Critical Success
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Steel Legion:

Diplomatic Actions: The Steel Legion is a vassal of Arcana and is participating in its war of conquest
Military Actions: The Steel Legion is sieging Drakon with the Arcanan army
Economic Actions: Shifting to war production, making steel weapons and armor
National Construction: Infrastucture construction at the capitol of the Steel Legion.

Steel Legion Roll Results:
Military Action: 10
Economic Action: 9 - Neither successful or unsuccessful, little progress made
National Construction: 15 - Moderate Success
Intrigue: 11 - Moderate Success
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Imasicia:

Diplo: The king hosts an envoy from the Alliner government in exile
Military: Imasicia begins a recruitment drive to fill in the legions lost
Economic: Imasician traders continue to foster mutual growth among Arcana and Drakon
Construction: Urbe Salis builds new luxury residence to foster its growing gentry class
Research: The College of Magic continues to press the limits of what may be done with magic

Imasicia Roll Results:
Recruitment: 11 - Moderate Success
Magical Research: 9 - Neither successful or unsuccessful, little progress made
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Sanghara:

Diplomatic Actions: The final struggles of the sixth century war have finally come to an end. With the Great Armistice of Tel-Belit, Surabhumi and Sanghara have finally entered a period of tentative peace. Now Sanghara reaches out to other lands and peoples, such as the Usharid Caliphate and Arcana, in order to find new allies in this new period of change. Embassies have been sent to both to secure both trade deals and potential alliances among these mighty states, joined by explorers and merchants, to bring fresh knowledge upon the state of the world back to the land of the Golden Serpent Banner. The Sangharan-Surabhumi Cold War has begun.
Military Actions: With the great fleets now no longer patrolling Surabhi waters, the Dakathan Senate has at last turned its eyes outward from the twin matters of economics and the blockade of Surabhumi. With Sanghara now no longer tied to the Ebon Sea, many Dakatha now call for a ‘Republican Reconquest’ of rogue states that have rebelled and declared themselves independent of Republican rule. All eyes have turned to Tsang-Mah and the island city-states around Sanghara, who desperately scrabble to secure their borders for what they know to be coming. The standing army, long left to garrison duty and patrol of the frontier has begun to be retrained and reorganised under vigorous and ambitious Dakathan Senators, such as Amra El-Haddun and Shadam Baal-Hannon, who aim to restore the Republic to its once serene and imperial glory. Overall, Sanghara sees the regrouping, organisation, de-nepotization and redevelopment of its armed forces. Stagnation is now no longer an option, the Banner of the Golden Serpent must fly triumphant again upon Southern Venhdathaya and the Indaskian Sea.
Economic Actions: With many new fleets freed from military service, Sanghara has begun to clamp down on the innumerable pirates that have flourished within its sphere of influence, and ships going north and west now see heavier escorts than ever before. A general pardon has been offered in the Senate for any pirates who desire it, so long as they in turn become the hunters of their one-time brethren.

Elsewhere in the senate, the ‘Empire of the Isles’ faction continues to lobby for the colonisation of many uninhabited isles upon the Indaskian Sea, and the establishment of tributary states among those that do, bringing in fresh commerce and exotic goods into the Sangharan fold once again. This faction sees heavy support from the miners and smiths dynasties, who are troubled by the decreased output of tin mines upon the Sangharan main, and fear they run dry. If they do, Sanghara will not be able to produce Belitan Bronze, and will be rendered vulnerable in war. Eyes now turn with interest to beyond the Ebon sea, for Tsang-Mah has known if modest reserves of tin, ready for the smithing amidst its brooding inhospitable mounts. Rumours further abound of a string of great islands beyond the Indaskian sea that hold tin in plenty, and although few give credit to such fanciful tales, explorers have now begun to range far and wide in search of such reserves...
Research: Sanghara as part of its military redevelopment begins work on creating organised mobile smithworks that can be transported and unpacked on the march.
National Construction: With hundreds of ships-of-war freed from the blockade, Sanghara begins to expand their merchant fleets in order to take advantage of the easing of its military tensions. Elsewhere, the ‘Empire of the Isles’ begins to construct colonisation fleets in order to begin the process of expanding Sanghar predominance across the Indaskian Sea.

Sangharan Roll Results:
Reorganisation of the military: 14 - Moderate Success
Pirate Pardon: 20 - Critical Success
Exploration of the Indaskian: 13 - Moderate Success
Research: 6 - Neither successful or unsuccessful, little progress made
Merchant fleet and colony ship construction: 12 - Moderate Success
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Surabhumi:

Diplomatic Actions: Surabhumi sends diplomats to Arqantay and other neighbors to the north and east, requesting a non-aggression pact while they prepare for the annexation of the western territories.
Military Actions: The Ministry of War sends out the call to arms to all registered draftees. The vast armies of Surabhumi will mobilize for the expeditions to the west, seeking to re-establish their control over Kakatuyu and seize the territories of Ditadisha permitting passage through the mountains bisecting Vehndathaya. Armies are being readied for a punitive expedition to Imasicia if the Imasicians do not comply with the Surabhuma demand for Masinissa. Preparation begins for a two-pronged invasion of Odhisa from the north and the west. With the transfer of the blueprints to Sangharan warships, feverish construction of a new Surabhuma fleet begins inland, away from prying eyes.
Economic Actions: Ministry of Finance begins negotiations with the Sangharan and Arqantayan merchants for the establishment of formal trade routes. New banknotes will be printed in celebration of the Sangharan-Surabhuma ceasefire.
Construction: The construction of new and expanded port facilities will begin on the Surabhuma coast. Vast funds will be poured into the expedited development of the coastal regions in general, many having long been left almost unpopulated in the face of Sangharan raids.

Surabhumi Rolls Results:
Mobilization: 14 - Moderate Success
Construction of New Fleet: 1 - Critical Failure
Construction of new ports: 14 - Moderate Success
Intrigue 1 19 - Great Success
Intrigue 2 7 - Neither successful or unsuccessful, little progress made
Research: 18 - Great Success
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Usharids:

Diplomatic Actions: Send envoys to Perishem and Mihajla to build stronger ties and foster more trade. Secure marriage too, the Sultan got two granddaughters of age and a relatively young widowed son. Send envoys to
Military Actions: Drill the troops.
Economic Actions: Seek more trade with our neighbors and develop our own industry/economy with public work projects
Research: Try to improve our understanding of magic by a little bit more
National Construction: Fortify the border with Arqantay

Usharid Roll Results:
Diplomatic Actions: 18 - Great Success
Economic Actions: 13 - Moderate Success
Research: 20 - Critical Success
Construction: 17 - Great Success
Intrigue: 1 - Critical Failure
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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Brithwyr
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The Republic of Bwca




The Border Guard


Boys. Too many boys.

When Commander Myn-Myn had went on his first expedition, he had lived with his men for six months before ever going into active combat, until they knew him and he knew them. Those before him were strangers - and there were too many boys.

When he had brought up their questionable age to the brass, he had been fobbed off with all the usual excuses: they would become men after the first battle. They had never known defeat. What they lacked in experience, they made up for in vigour. And when he continued to object, his general finally snapped at him. "They are ready to die for you! What more could you want?" But that was the kind of argument that came from someone who didn't understand war. The difference between victory and defeat wasn't whether your people were willing to die for your country, but whether you could make the other poor sap die for his.

But the Commander knew better than to allow his misgivings become known to the troops. It would destroy their morale. It seemed like every single one of them was a fresh-faced peasant boy or doe-eyed maiden, desperate for a life of adventure and the sense of camaraderie that military life was supposed to provide them. There wasn't a speck of dirt on their pressed uniforms, nor a scratch on their rosy cheeks. Myn-Myn was supposed to turn them into killers? The most they'd ever killed were the rats in the village storehouses. They were not ready for war, and Myn-Myn had no idea how long he'd have to prepare them.

But prepare them, he must. This would be Bwca's first major clash with an outside force since coming to prominence. If the army performed poorly, the minor goblins states would lose faith in Bwca's ability to protect them, and the position of dominance they had fought so hard to attain over them would hang in the balance. Even if Bwca itself was not the target of the invasion, their survival was at stake nonetheless. Victory was mandatory; defeat spelled certain death.

But while Myn-Myn had cursed the lack of experience of his recruits, he had been blessed with the skills they had outside of raw combat. Each one had some sort of useful profession he could leverage to his advantage. The miners could build tunnels while the hunters found fresh meat and berries. Carpenters made punji sticks while farmers dug furrows and moats. In fact, thanks to the Ty's doctrine of petty warfare, Myn-Myn had been given exactly what he needed: people with the skills needed to harass and slow the enemy, rather than overwhelm them.

But despite this stroke of fortune, Myn-Myn remained doubtful. His role was supportive, and the bulk of the fighting would be done by the Hobgoblins. That wasn't a problem in and of itself, since the Hobgoblins towered over friend and foe, but it also meant relying on the strategies of the Hobgoblin commanders. Hobgoblin strategies scarcely deserved the name. They had no time for unimportant affairs like maintaining a cohesive communication line or preventing enemy reinforcements, they were far too preoccupied with the best methods of killing. Occasionally, one would try something sneaky and have a cohesive order of battle, but the prevailing tactic among the Hobgoblin leadership was to raise an army big enough to embarrass the Surabhumi, send them screaming across the battlefield towards the enemy army and hope to kill more than be killed. Needless to say, that did not mesh well with Bwca's more careful approach.

And this was ultimately was the source of Myn-Myn's concerns. With every trap he set, he had to worry about some hobgoblin lout blundering into it and hurting himself. Where Myn-Myn would try to lure the enemy into unfavourable terrain, the hobbos would charge in and get themselves massacred. Any attempt at cleverness would be wasted with the Hobgoblins beside them, and Myn-Myn knew that no matter how fast, how strong or how tough he made his soldiers, the enemy would be faster, stronger and tougher, so facing them out in pitched battle would be a massacre for the tiny greenskins, but the hobgoblins knew no other way of fighting. They'd berate them for their so-called cowardice, and when things inevitably went poorly, they'd blame the Bwcans for not pulling their weight. Victory despite the Bwcan contribution would be almost as bad as defeat.

But what choice did he have? Stand back and allow a greenskin state to be invaded? Unthinkable. Try and renegotiate avoid war? Political suicide - even if news of how the Tushina negotiator had all but claimed responsibility for the attacks hadn't reached everyone who kept an eye on politics (and quite a few who didn't), refusing to commit to the path of war would be seen as weakness by Bwca's rivals. No, at this stage, the decision was out of Bwca's hands. One of the other two would have to back down, and until they did, the Ty's official stance was to prepare as though war could be declared tomorrow. That meant these recruits needed to be combat ready yesterday.

Myn-Myn had dealt with fresh recruits, reckless allies and stubborn enemies before, but never had he faced all three all at once, and certainly it had never been with the entire fate of Bwca on the line. He was going to have to throw everything he had into this just to survive. No excuse would fly. He would have to get these recruits perfect.

If only he had been sent men instead of boys.
Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Bright_Ops
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Bright_Ops The Insane Scholar

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The Republic of Tushina


An Order given.


As the icy northern and western winds howled in their respective turns blind to the efforts of their counterpart, Blodige of the Western Gate trotted proudly with his right arm held behind his back as he gazed at the legions that had been entrusted to his overall command, standing tall at attention as he inspected them. It was far from the full military might of Tushina, but Blodige had understood the concerns of his fellow commanders about leaving gaps along the western border for the hobgoblins to launch a counter invasion... or if a naval landing was attempted along the southern coast. Not to mention the occasional incursion from the east as mind numbing horrors birthed in the ruins of the Forgotten Empire crawled their way out of their cursed realm.

What he had been given was still more then enough to get the job done however... through there had been a fly in the stew as it were. Taler's efforts to make peace with the Hobgoblins might have ended in failure, but his efforts had born an... addition to the orders that Blodige had been given and was expected to stand by during the campaign by the Senate; While the Hobgoblins were fair game, the goblins of Bwca had proven much more receptive to diplomacy and thus if encountered on the field it was now a requirement that he try to capture them rather then just slaughter them wholesale, as well as treat goblin prisoners with the rights and respect of actual people rather then as vermin.

An annoying guideline to be sure, but if it kept the Senate happy he couldn't exactly say no.

As the inspection came to an end, Blodige slowly ascended a makeshift platform that had been constructed for the purpose of giving an inspirational speech to the troops before they all started to march into those hobgoblin infested mountains to do what they were born and trained to do. Reaching the top of the stairs, the world was silent bar the howling of the winds.

Taking a deep breath, Blodige spoke loudly and proudly words that had been spoken by the military caste since before the fall of the Forgotten Empire. "If that sun won't rise on our horizon!"

"WE'LL MARCH ON TO SPITE THE SKIES!" was roared back at him, tugging a smile from Blodige's lips as the feeling of tradition born from centuries of Too'ave like him washed over him like a righteous tide. He had the attention of his troops. It was time to inspire them.

"My Kin, today is the day that we turn the page in Tushina's history and write a new entry. Since before the unity of our people and the foundation of the Republic, the Hobgoblins of Uul have been a constant annoyance and a threat of varying level. They have raided our lands, slaughtered our people and destroyed our towns... for no other reason then pride and hate. Only recently one of our diplomats actually reached out to them to offer terms for peace, but they refused us and demanded either twenty five tonnes of gold or the lives of enough Too'ave to sate their bloodlust for a war that they started to end! I might not agree with Taler or his views on many issues, but I'm proud to say that even someone as soft hearted as Taler had enough fire and pride not to bow down to such outrageously arrogant demands!"

A thundering noise started up as disciplined solders stomped their feet, or the butt of spears against the ground three times in succession. Their leader still had more to say after all. "Today, we march into Uul to crush all dissent from those who have done nothing but be a pest to us for hundreds of years! We shall greet their cheek with grievance! Mere vermin are these arrogant wretches and we shall see them either bleed or plead allegiance for they have long surrendered the right to be left to their own devices! Since the hobgoblins seem to only be able to speak in gold and blood may our actions in Uul stand as testament and warning to their rest of their ilk to the west that when Tushina offers her hand in friendship that they should take it, for in her other hand is held a sword and we will brook no threats to our well being!"

The roar that followed started with Blodige, but it was quickly picked up as row upon row of Too'ave solder rose their voice to empower it further. The time for speeches was over.

When the roar finally faded, orders began to be shouted as troops started to march in order, traveling the road to Uul. Not everyone who was going was apart of the military caste through; A number of artisans and builders were going to. While a number of scouts had failed to report back and Blodige fully expected to discover their mutilated bodies strung up somewhere to serve as a warning, many of the legions he was leading had been and fought in Uul before and fought hobgoblins before. The plan for how to start off this war was actually rather simple:

They were going to march into some of the more fertile areas of the hilly nation of Uul near Tushina's border and they were going to set up shop and dig in. Build proper fortresses and defenses rather then just some wooden stockade and just wait. The Hobgoblins were prideful, simple creatures and having an enemy so brazenly claim their lands would demand a response... even more so because of the threat of losing good growing land if they did nothing. If they didn't attack then Tushina would have secured a fortified foothold in Uul that would be perfect to continue the campaign from.

Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by bloonewb
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bloonewb Primordial and also soupy

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". . . WHAT!?" roared the great Sumtagus Bogudus, king of Imasicia. His hand was gripped about the armrest of his chair so hard Masinissa wondered with an idle corner of his brain as to whether he shall break his hand first, or under the pressure begin to warp the very wood from which the rest is made. Judging by the king's rage, he suspected the latter. The spirits were a powerful peoples, and are attracted to the tempting emotions of anger and fear. They provide the man who is given to such feelings with unfathomable strength, and steal away his mind, turning him into a machine built to create death. That is the sort of humor the spirits revel in, cruel and uncaring are they, unless tempted with sacrifice. If the king were to lose his mind . . .

"As I say, Excellency," chirped the censor. He adjusted the glassworks about his eyes, humming in delight as he did so and jotting down some more notes in his ledger. "Shall I repeat the figures again, Excellency?"

"Yes. Do," Bogudus said. Masinissa simply stood there, under the enflamed gaze of his sovereign, hanging his head. Somewhere, in the depths of his mind, his child self calls to him, commanding him to just concentrate on the king's shoes. Perhaps if he stared at the shoes hard enough, the man above them would disappear. With a little more wishful thinking, perhaps the entire court would just vanish into mist, absolving him of his public shaming.

"Legii XLVIII through LVIII have gone missing, Your Excellency," said the censor, reading off the book. "Legii L and LI are partially depleted, in combat against the barbarians of the west, the rest have last been ordered into reserve, and thus theoretically should be in full condition." He shoots a withering stare at both Tingitus Gauda and Inumedigus Guba, both of which return their own. "Thus, the manpower currently missing in action totals . . . forty seven thousand . . . hmm . . . seven hundred and . . . let's see here . . . apologies, Excellency, the logistics are never so precise . . . eighty two."

"Ten. Whole. Legions." Bogudus said, enunciating each word. He stood up suddenly, throwing the chair behind him as he did so. It flew back with the harsh creaking of wood meeting with wood. In that moment, despite Masinissa being the taller of the two, he felt very small indeed, and the form of Bogudus grew in his eyes to rival the pillars themselves. "Praetor Masinissa?"

"Excellency?" Masinissa squeaked. His voice could barely be heard. The court's eyes were locked onto him, covering him in their judgement.

"As of this moment, by my decree, you are dishonored. You have betrayed your command, as well as your kingdom. You are lucky you once served with distinction. Most traitors I behead." Bogudus' eyes shone dark in the bright room. Light itself seemed to be absorbed into his pupils, dark voids tugging, tugging at Masinissa's soul. "Now GET. OUT. OF MY SIGHT." Masinissa dropped to a knee, resigning himself from a lifetime of banishment from the court, and perhaps the city. By the sun, the moon, and the stars, he would consider himself fortunate to even remain within the kingdom. Then, a centurion burst into the room, panting like a dog.

"Apologies . . . Excellency . . . I have . . . a message," he says, between breaths. Two house guards rush to him, helping him to the meeting table. He plops down on a vacant chair with little regard for ceremony in the presence of his king.

"Go on then," Bogudus says, seeming to have completely forgotten his earlier judgement. They wait in silence as the messenger relaxes, and begins to breathe normally again.

"We have encountered Legatus Fesus Badis on our border," he said. "He bears grim news, and is recovering from his long travel. He tells us that the Surabhi have sent us a threat. Either surrender Praetor Masinissa or face the wrath of Surabhumi." If Bogudus was angry before, his face revealed to the entire court just how much angrier he could become.

"So, Surabhumi thinks they can send us threats!?" he shouts. "Surabhumi, who killed my grandfathers, and their grandfathers, and their grandfathers as well!?" The courtiers look at each other, fearful of what the king might do to them should they dare to enter their sovereign's line of sight. "You . . . find someone. Return a message to the cow-kin. They will not have as much as a single hair upon any Imasician's head. Should they come with their armies, we shall meet like with like tenfold. GO!" The messenger sprang up and rushed from the room. Bogudus then turned his eye on Masinissa. "And you . . . go into the forests. Take ten days labor, and seven days to seek the spirits' wisdom. Then, I want to hear everything you have seen of the Surabhi battle strategy. From you and your uncle."
Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Antediluvixen
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Antediluvixen Kemonomimi Dystopia Creator

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Off the Coast of Imasicia

_________________________________

Surabhumi:
Shridaveh Enheduana
Sarasvati Kusari Adwani
Aasmi Achaerikar Sayyanvar
Sujati Khvamahant Enazhal

Imasicia:
Tingitus Ieder
Mocoricus Udadus
Gafasus Munatas
_________________________________


“They are late.” Grumbled Shridaveh, her boot tapping rhythmically on the deck of her ship. “We were told we would meet at half past the thirteenth hour. And yet I see neither hide nor hair of them. I do not like being exposed in this manner.”

“Be calm, Shridaveh.” cautioned another, Sarasvati, her expression serene. “I do not fear the Imasicians at sea. They may possess a navy greater than our own, it is true, but they will not attack us so brazenly this close to Arcana. For all intents and purposes, we are a simple diplomatic mission to their city. To assault us here and now would make them a pariah in the eyes of all, and would reveal their true nature. No, no, though the dogs of Imasicia may be bound only by a tenuous leash of fear, it still binds them nevertheless. We will be safe here for now until they come.” She smiled, folding her arms, “Besides, Shridaveh. Have you so little faith in your sailors?”

Shridaveh’s face fell, and she shook her head slightly. “I am afraid not, your Honor. We have suffered great setbacks in the training and construction of a new navy, and I am afraid even my personal fleet is far cry from a true force, in quantity or quality. Were those hounds to attack us now, we would be lucky to escape with our lives.”

“Oh, come now, Shridaveh!” spake the priestess Sujati, entering the conversation unannounced, a prominent blade visible sheathed on her back even now. “Sarasvati may be a little infuriating at times, but even she is right! Even if they had the audacity to attack here, our soldiers are the finest in the land. We may not outsail them, but we can always throw them overboard if the need arises! Away with these negative thoughts, they do you no good! We shall dock in Arcana soon to negotiate with them and the Imasicians - and even if those go awry, we have our friends due to arrive soon to count on!” Sujati beamed, “And besides, I’ve seen you strutting about, danger or no danger, the sea is in your blood. You can’t lie to us, you’ve enjoyed being out on the ocean once more. Just smell that air! Nothing compares to it!”

Shridaveh allowed herself a small smile at these antics, nodding slightly. “It is true, I have missed the waves. These legs were meant for the deck of a ship, not sitting in Rhaputira listening to the council deliberating over grain shipments.”

The priestess’ eyes sparkled, and her grin turned mischevious. “I’d say they’re suited for more than that, but I suppose you would know more than I, wouldn’t you? Tell me, did you re-”

Sujati was cut off by a call from the ship’s mizzen, “Sails ahoy! Sails ahoy!” A Sanghar sailor rushed over, his red skin tanned and toughened by years in the sun and salt. “Your Honor,” he said, speaking to Sarasvati. “We have sighted the delegation of the Imasicians.”

Sarasvati’s lips tugged upwards in a small smile, and she looked towards her companion, a slight twinkle in her eye. “See? What did I tell you?”
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“Do Surabhi foreigners speak Imperial? Do they speak Old Imasician?” asked the young Tingitus Ieder, scratching the scruff around his neck. He did that often, especially now, when it had grown in tufts over the sea journey.

“We will speak to them in Imperial, worry not about it,” responded Munatas, looking out at the masts approaching from the horizon. “As long as we do our part and they theirs, we need not fear any misfortune befall any of the Gentes Optimates, which, fortune willing, shall instead pass onto the Gentes Unitates and their sickly lap-dogs the orkh-lords.”

“Everything should be in place,” said Udadus, in his rumbling voice. “Even should something go awry. Let us hope it does not come to that . . .” his eyes glance to the door leading down to the lower deck. There is enough crystal in there to blow their boats, those of the Surabhi, and the nearest beach straight into the spiritual world. All that would be left of any of them is horrific wasteland, dotted with monsters of unthinkable proportions.

“I shall make sacrifice and prayer after. If you would join me,” said Munatas. “Very well, young Ieder. Let us make your uncle our grandmaster proud with our silver tongue and diplomatic manner. It is most befitting of the greatest families, the Optimates, that we keep our demeanor pleasing, lest we become seen as the animals we seek to fight. Signal the landing. Let us bring honor to Imasicia Patria.”
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Sarasvati inclined her head slightly towards the Imasician delegation, her robes neatly arrayed in the customary fashion of a diplomatic priestess. “Greetings, friends.” She called in Imperial, a thick accent sticking to her words “I am sorry if my Imperial is poor, it has been long since I had need of it.” She gestured to her companions in turn, “May I introduce Shridaveh Enheduana, our naval leader. It is on her ships we have traveled here today. Sujati Khvamahant Enazhal, a protégé of our order. Aasmi Achaerikar Sayyanvar, a commander of our armies. And I myself am Sarasvati Kusari Adwani, appointed negotiator for these meetings. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

She took a step back, allowing the Imasician party to board via ramp, “If you will, please follow us into the cabin. We have more comfortable accomodations arranged within.”

Leading the small party to the specified area, she gently undid the latch holding its door in place, permitting their entry. Within was the personal quarters of Shridaveh, her small bunk visible off to one corner, and an even smaller shelf of tomes adjacent it. Centrally located was a strong mahogany table, around which was arrayed nine chairs. Upon the table sat a large pot of tea, steam rising gently from its spout. A small array of candied fruits, rich cheeses and dry crusty breads, and a small bowl of sugar lay fastened to the table. Though a sailor, Shridaveh had had a difficult time without these ‘essential’ foods, and had thus spent no small fortune equipping her personal vessel to provide for these ‘needs.’

“Please, take a seat.” Sarasvati said, motioning the Imasicians towards the table, “I apologize if you hoped for some accommodations from your own home. I am afraid we lack experience with many such things.”
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“Something . . . naval . . . something . . . ships . . . appointment?” Ieder said, speaking in Old Imasician. “She talks silly. I can hardly make sense of it.”

“No, you twit,” Udadus snapped. “You’re lucky you had the good sense to speak the old tongue. Those very words could mean the end of negotiations for the rest of either of our lives. A diplomatic incident!” He reached over to slap the young man, but his partner grabbed his shoulder before they could humiliate themselves before the Surabhi company.

“Please, let us deal with this another time. What’s important is that he learned,” said Munatas, flashing that signature charismatic smile of his, that peeled apart his skin like an oily lemon. He switched to Imperial and began to address the Surabhi. “We are honored that you would speak to us in the tongue of our ancestors, and those of our kin here in Arcana. The Imperial language, I fear, is dying. The newer generation prefers the vernacular of the native tongue of Imasicia. Children, yes? They must be taught.”

“We are more than happy with what you have granted us,” Udadus said, picking a small date and setting it on his tongue. “Eager, dare I say, to partake in these cultural gifts of which we have been given.” He shoots an evil glare at Ieder, shoveling sugary raisins into his mouth without any regard for the world around him.

“Indeed. The foul gentes who disease our senate claim to be sworn enemies of Surabhumi, yet we see their merchants same as ours on the same desert roads, buying the same delicacies as our own, straight off the coming wagons,” Munatas says, gesturing with his hands at the cheese in his hand. When he gets going, he truly is a force, a storm of words. He alone could carry the Optimates through countless victories in the senate, if only he had been born a patrician of the old families. “The Gens Inumedigus, how detestable their manner! It is in their blood, passed from paterfamilias to filius minoris. Say, I believe I have had this before, yet not nearly as delectably fresh as what you have served to us. They call this, I believe . . . paneer?”

Sarasvati smiled slightly, shaking her head. “I am afraid not. It is… Shridaveh, what was it again?” She inquired, turning to the Sanghar woman - mid-bite through a heavily laden slice of bread laden with another cheese. She held up a finger, chewing slowly as she savored the flavor, before clearing her throat.

Speaking in the dialect of Surabhumi, she did well to mask her scorn. “No, Sarasvati. It is nothing close to paneer. I believe the merchants informed me the common name outside of our borders is… brie, however. I do not expect them to be familiar with our cheeses, simply keep them away from my pecorino. That is all I have to say on the matter.”

Sarasvati pursed her lips, shaking her head slightly, before turning back to the Imasicians. “I have been informed the name you might be most familiar with is ‘brie’? I do seem to recall it not being an invention of our own. Nevertheless, I am sure you have had it at some point. It originated from Annotilus, as best I can remember.” She allowed herself a smile, plucking a candied lemon wedge from the table. “But alas, we did not come here to discuss things as pleasant as our cultural delicacies, though I am sure Imasicia has many good things too.”

Reaching down, she pulled from a small bag a detailed map of the region, Imasicia, Arcana, and all other small states that dotted the coast. “Though it pains me, war seems likely if our negotiations in Arcana do not bear fruit. While we have some cursory understanding of your nation’s geography, we are unfortunately ignorant of much of it. We will depend upon you and your people to aid us in bringing justice to… Masinissa, was his name, yes?.”

“Masinissa! The dog’s whelp!” Munatas shouted. “On behalf of all of Imasicia, he has wrought a stain! He is of the cursed Gens Fesus, you see. I warned the old king Bogudus Senior, believe me I did. They are a sorry lot, poor in house politics and too quick with their marriages. That they would have the gall to call themselves a great dynasty, when the elder took that whore for wife . . . “

“What my colleague means to say, is that the actions of one gens is not representative of our kingdom,” Udadus says, barely hiding his disappointment. While Munatas was a performer at heart, and loved his theatrics, he did tend to put a bit too much ham into his act. “We cannot speak on behalf of the king nor the Fesi, but only ourselves. We, who call ourselves Optimates, would never dare any similar action. Very well then, what is it you ask of us to do regarding our . . . man of the subject?”

Unfazed by the outburst, Sarasvati simply smoothed her robes, allowing the young man to exhaust his bluster, and for his older counterpart to continue. She remained silent for a time, simply observing the Imasicians before her, sipping from her mug of tea as she did so.

At length, she spoke, “I am glad to see we are of one mind on this man. The demands of Surabhumi are simple, in truth. We seek to be given custody of this man that he may stand trial for his crimes on our soil, under our own laws, that he may face the repercussions of his actions. We would also demand reparations for his actions, taken from his own finances. The people of Aasiti have suffered greatly at the hands of his army, and the suffering of many a grieving dhutris would be alleviated by this. The liquidation of the estate to which he belongs, if such is necessary, would be well received as well.”

She set down her tea, looking Udadus in the eyes. “In turn, we are prepared to assist your faction within Imasicia. We hold no grudge with your people, nor do we wish vengeance upon them. But I think it would be to the betterment of all that the Regnum’s leadership be of a more… reconcilable nature with the other nations of this world.”

“Sol Inuictus! That’s-” Ieder began, but was silenced by Udadus’ hand gripping his shoulder. They looked into each others’ eyes, and knew immediately they were in understanding. They were talking about treason. The two of them then turned to Munatas, and even behind his unflappable demeanor they could see the fear in his eyes.

“The things you ask, the things you offer, both are very grave,” Udadus said. “It may not be in our power to promise such an arrangement. That lies solely in the hands of the king, and any man who is familiar with his temperament, as we are, will know that he is no friend to Surabhumi.”

“Yes, and your support for our cause, while admirable, may be a bit . . . hasty,” continued Munatas, clasping his hands together. “I am impressed that you are familiar with the factional system present in our governance. However, these things are . . . complicated, dare I say. If everyone could grasp the nuances, then what need have we for senators?” He laughed nervously, just enough to make the point that it was a joke. Even the self he kept in his mind, his honest self, was sweating like rain. Imagine if their enemies caught wind of them making clandestine deals with foreign powers. Imagine if the public did.

Sarasvati smiled. “What seems to be the matter, sir? We are merely sitting around a table, enjoying some delicious tea and discussing our views of politics and matters of state.” She showed no hint of guile, her face a serene mask of innocence. “Any meaning you take from this conversation is, of course, your own. I am but the messenger of my people, as are you. I can do nothing but represent the wishes and best interests of the people whom I owe allegiance to - and the same goes for you.”

In her fingers she toyed with a cube of candied plum, “But, in these little discussions of ours, perhaps it might slip that the Realm of Surabhumi is fully prepared to embark on a military expedition as a certain General threatened, should our negotiations with Imasicia in Arcana fail. It might be said that her demands are reasonable and just, to judge and to sentence one who has committed crimes against her and her people under her own terms, on her own soil.” Slowly, she slid the morsel between her lips, studying the men before her evenly. “And it might be said as well that if the monarch’s whim is not the best for their people, the people’s whim might not be best for the monarch.”

The threat was clear. Ieder wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. The eyes of the Surabhi woman stared him down, forcing him back from the table by the force of her will. In his mind, he could see villages, burning. Cities, turned to dust under hails of fire and thunder. Great Mirgamas, and its Castra Senatorum that dominates the skyline on its hill, turned to nothing but pebbles of marble. The Surabhi armies were a legacy even the Imperials knew. It was said the shield of the old Venda was unbreakable. Masinissa must have found out for himself.

“It is true, what you say,” Munatas began, letting the smile creep back into his face. It was more false than an orkh merchant. “I do not know how much you are aware of the political machinations within Imasicia. We, who call ourselves Optimates, have in late generations fallen out of favor with the kings. From Guba Quartus to Bogudus Tertius, they have been Unitates all. I fear our golden age is long past us. Are you suggesting that to guarantee our continued success, the position of Rex Imasicianus may be . . . rearranged?” That was it. He has crossed the line. The other two would either follow him into treason or betray him to his death.

Sarasvati’s expression remained neutral, and she sipped at her drink serenely. “My dear Optimas - if you will pardon my use of the term in such a manner - I am suggesting nothing. I am merely stating my view of the world. In Surabhumi, we once had a war the likes of which dwarf even our great clashes with the Sangharans. Those who held much power and influence used those for ends that harmed the people. Eventually, a tipping point was reached.” She set down her cup, staring him in the eye. “The census two years before the war reported a population of some one hundred and seventy five million, three hundred and twenty six thousand, four hundred and ninety two. Twenty years later, after the war had been over a year, another census was taken.” Idly, she plucked a small piece of cheese from the platter, toying with it before popping it in her mouth. Silence reigned as she turned her gaze back to him. “That census reported a population of eighty three million, two hundred and seventeen thousand, five hundred and eleven. Even today, farmers find mass graves in their fields. Fields strewn with armored skeletons, their names and memories lost. Entire dhutrisi disappeared, the priestesses who would have marked their passing likewise falling before they could do so. Surely, you know of my peoples’ fondness for libraries and records - did you know we must rely on Sangharan accounts of many of our past rulers? Stolen documents from Odhisa for many arcane works? We not not much of our own history, for it was destroyed. In turn, those who destroyed it were rendered extinct.”

A long sigh escaped her, and for once the diplomat’s expression showed a hint of genuine emotion, “I am telling you of what has happened in the past, and what will happen in the future. Whatever the people of Imasicia choose, the Realm of Surabhumi must react to in order to benefit our own.” She gestured in the direction of land, towards Imasicia. “Imasicia will do what it wishes, and you Optimates shall do as you see best befits yourselves. If you wish our support in changing Imasicia’s leadership, for the betterment of your home as a whole and to spare it calamity, that I can promise you.”

“Can we refuse? It doesn’t sound like we can refuse,” Ieder said, the words passing through his mouth in Old Imasician as he chewed on his piece of cheese.

“The boy has the right of it,” Udadus says, staring grimly at the table. “She has Imasicia at the point of her scythe-weapon. There is no winning, not for us, not with the senate we have now.”

“Faith, my friends,” Munatas said. “Keep hope in your hearts. There remains many paths by which-”

“Let me be direct, for these negotiations must be done. Should you support us, then we in turn shall support you. As our ancestors would say, quid pro quo,” Udadus said, switching to Imperial. “You are right, of course. Radical action may succeed where machination has long been trapped. Just tell us what we are to expect from Surabhumi in the coming moons, and when the optimal time comes that we should raise arms.” He stood up, and extended his hand to Ieder to do the same. Munatas sat, mouth agape, like he had been struck in the back with an arrow. For once, he was speechless.

Sarasvati smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. “Aasmi will discuss the military minutiae with you, know that we each speak with the full authority of the Electorate Council behind us. I am glad you have taken such initiative, Optimas. We will aid you in bringing benefit to both of our peoples.” She stood, inclining her head slightly. “I will take my leave for now and allow you and Aasmi to negotiate these matters. Please, call if you need me.” Making for the doorway, she paused, turning back to the assembled Imasicians, “And do bear in mind, if word of this leaks to the wrong ears - there will be consequences.”
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