[centre][img]https://i.imgur.com/TiC9fEF.png[/img] [h2]The Reconquest 3 - Ours Again[/h2] [/centre] [hr] [sub][i]Year 29AA, early winter, in the stronghold Caisteal Na Grèine, situated between Scawick and Ha-Dûna.[/i][/sub] “Very well… We have taken inventory of weapons, supplies, clothing and medicine. Our clearest shot at retaking Ha-Dûna is in front of our very eyes.” Hilda the Leoness slammed her palm on the table, rattling ceramic cups filled with drink. “If we wait out the winter, we may never get a shot like this again.” “Why not? According to our scouts based in Kirin’s Rest, the Sigerans are broken asunder - morale is shattered, their food supplies have been dry for months, and people are either defecting or deserting every day. It wouldn’t surprise me if we’d be arriving in a ghost town by spring,” countered Valix of Leothe. Hilda rolled her eyes. “It’s evident that you have been far too busy escorting Kaer Pier to pay close attention, [i]théin[/i] Valix - with the loss of Scawick’s support (good riddance, if you ask me), our [i]túnskiolding[/i] numbers have been reduced considerably - even if they weren’t good for much, they could at least have served their duty as levies…” Valix offered a cold hum. Hilda paid him no mind and continued, “According to your own words, we have reason to doubt the self-proclaimed “queen” of Kirin’s Rest and her support. The Undûnan are not to be trusted under any circumstance, so we might even have to account for her turning on us.” The table before them displayed a crude map drawn in charcoal upon a wolfskin. Hilda straightened herself back up and gave a pensive hum. “Perhaps, but half our warriors march alongside her. They will no doubt keep her in check if she tries anything. You must also remember that we also have the support of these… Oraeliari - the winged ones.” Hilda’s face offered a raised brow, her finger twisting a few locks of her large black mane. “Oh yes, the winged ones, the angels of Reiya - the Reiyar. Proof once again that ours is the greatest people, chosen by the gods to bring order and civilisation to these wild lands.” She put her hands triumphantly on her hips. “Their presence only proves further that the time to strike is now! Who knows how long this blessing will last?” Valix hummed. “... That is a fair point.” “Isn’t it?” snickered Hilda. “[i]Théin[/i] Boudicca, there is only one possibility here.” Boudicca, who had been listening from a chair not too far from the table, nodded slowly with her chin balancing on her fists. “Spread the word,” she said. “Anyone who can carry a spear, wield a bow, swing a club - all are coming with us. Make certain to equip everyone with whatever sunforged weapons we have, and pack sleds and carts with food and medicine for the trek and a long battle.” “It won’t be a long battle, Boody,” soothed Hilda. “Then pack the supplies for when we settle back into the city. Once only our civilians are left, I would not want them to drag all of it for the whole week’s trek.” “Oh, very well, then,” Hilda conceded and walked off. Valix and Boudicca’s eyes met. “Ha-Dûna is finally within our grasp, Val.” The warrior nodded and walked off, as well. Boudicca sucked passively on a tooth, stood up and walked over to the map. The wolfskin was blacked with the continued erasure and redrawing of features and details. The entire artwork was centered around their home - that beautiful home which they hadn’t set foot in for almost three years now. She looked up again and drew a slow breath. Soon now - soon. She then walked off to seek out the Reiyar leader Tevuri. [hr] “Oh, great Tevuri, please - would you enlighten me as to what sorts of sacrifices the Sun Goddess truly prefers? Please?” The angel was surrounded on all sides by druids hungry for any information they could receive. Tevuri gave them a perplexed look as he walked. “Whatever do you mean, Humani? A sacrifice is unbefitting to the Goddess. She does not require nor preach for them to be. Only those with falsities in their heart would ever think that a sacrifice of any nature would please her. Oraeliara only wishes that the world would be at peace, in happiness, and that fellow mortals cared for one another, opening their hearts to love and growth. The best thing you could ever do to please her, is to live your life and help those that require aid.” “Oh, you’re too modest in her behalf, great one! Every god adores sacrifices - food, crafts, vows. It’s well known!” “Very well known, in fact!” “Is it?” He mused. “I’m afraid we are unfamiliar with other deities. Do they speak to you? Do their avatars teach you of what they ask? From what I’ve gathered from this situation, one should always be careful of who they devote themselves so completely to. And never put our own words behind their voices.” The druids exchanged looks before turning away. “Well, ahem… We thank you for your wisdom. Walk in the gods’ blessings, great Tevuri.” Then they shuffled off sourly. The angel wasn’t left in peace for long, however, as Boudicca approached instead, her arms crossed across her chest in a posture that radiated authority. “Great Tevuri, we have decided to strike today. Are you and your soldiers ready?” Tevuri looked down at the warrior and studied her for a moment, giving an inquisitive eye. "My people are ready to help you retake your home. What are the enemy forces?" “From what our scouts tell us, only stragglers remain. They have supposedly been joined by your kinsmen, too, but their numbers cannot even measure against ours. Ha-Dûna is ours for the taking.” She clenched her fists triumphantly. At the mention of his kinsmen, Tevuri frowned. "The Neiyari are here? But how…?" He shook his head. "They are not to be underestimated. If they have a Saint with them, fear shall rule the hearts of your soldiers. Let us handle them, we have the most experience." “I won’t argue that. They’re all yours. If possible, though, I pray we can avoid bloodshed. The city is what we want - if we can retake it without spilling more Dûnan blood, then the gods will surely see that we are worthy again of their favour.” "I shall inform Soluri and gather my men." He said, giving her a nod. Boudicca nodded back. “Tonight, we will dine in the central resthouse. This, I swear.” He gave a small smile. "I look forward to it." [hr] The sunstone castle gates vomited out a great band of warriors, following Boudicca like a flock of lethal sheep. The highlands spread out before them like the a violent ocean frozen in stone, its thousand hills, cliffs and tops giving the Dûnan force, as well as potential other forces, ample opportunities to move unseen. From the other direction a lone rider came. Seated atop a highland stag that looked nearly as old as he looked. The man had a long, braided, grey beard and was dressed in furs. Bird skulls, wooden discs depicting the four seasons, feathers and beads hung from him. A staff laid on the stag’s back vertically. It was a gnarled, twisted, thing, seemingly taken from a live oak. It was carved with intricate runes though. Only one thing did not look weathered upon him: a white painted medallion of an owl hung from his neck. He was softly humming and could be mistaken for a traveler simply going about his way. Yet as he grew closer, there was a focus to his expression. Boudicca raised a brow at the traveller, then nodded for Hilda to lead the warriors onwards as she herself strode over to the stranger. “Good day, father. These are dangerous lands to travel alone in these times - may I know what circle do you hail from, so we can escort you to the nearest resthouse safely?” She looked him up and down again and furrowed her brow. “What happened to your robes?” “That’s very kind of you, young lady.” The old man spoke with a soft, slightly hoarse sounding voice. “But I’m not from a circle, and I’m not from here searching for a resthouse. And thus, I do not wear the robes” No true Cenél would ever need a rest house in these lands. They knew the caves, the hills, the forest, the burrows. They had to, or you died. He looked friendly, almost grandfatherly though. His face looked terribly weathered though. As if it had been exposed to too much sun and snow as well somehow. “I am looking for the leader of the army that’s marching here.” He said, motioning at the people passing them. “Could you be so kind as to point them out for me?” Boudicca pursed her lips. “Not a circle, huh? Are you--... Ooooh, no, I understand.” She eyed him up and down again, her gaze growing momentarily skeptical. “I command this force. I am Boudicca of Ha-Dûna.” She hammered her leathered chest in salute. Darragh quite doubted the young girl actually understood. Nonetheless, as she introduced herself as Boudicca, he gave her a gracious bow before dismounting. “Ah, but of course!” He exclaimed. “Word travels fast.” Then he began to speak with a hushed voice. “I am Darragh of the Cenél tribes and I have come to offer you our support. In every way.” The warrioress nodded. “Cenél, huh. I was at Grimholt myself - would that our peoples had met under better circumstances back then. Hopefully, reason will prevail once more and we can return to things as they were before the Conquests.” She looked around and chuckled politely. “Why are you whispering, friend? The druids cannot hear us from here.” “Because I do not trust your druids. Any of them.” Darragh whispered as he turned so he stood beside Boudicca but with his back towards everyone else marching by. “Nor would we want things to return as they once where…” He continued. “But those are conversations for a later day. For now I have come to offer you our support of the Fakir of the Cenél tribes. Together with the support of the White Owl. Do you accept, Boudicca of Ha-Dûna?” Boudicca frowned. “Now hold on, I’m still talking here. Forgive me if I seem suspicious, but our tribes haven’t seen eye to eye on many things, and now you come to pledge your warriors to me and our cause - seemingly out of nowhere?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why?” “Boody!” came a yell and she turned her head slightly. Hilda waved from down in a shallow valley, where the Dûnan portion of the force were treading over rock and stone to ascend a steep hill. The alviri had simply flown past it. “You coming?” “Yeah, give me a bit.” She turned back. “Why?” “Because my people and our way of life was once shunned, ridiculed and even endangered by the druids. And when peace returns, I would not have my people suffer like that again.” That was the formal reason. The reason agreed upon by all the Fakir. But there was a deeper one. One not all had agreed upon, but enough for Darragh to mention it. “And because the Sigerans slaughtered our kin as well… Ha-Dûna doesn’t know this yet but this land… it demands blood for blood.” Boudicca furrowed her brow and eyed her force over her shoulder. “Take no offense from this, friend, but we have no doubt our current forces can hammer what stragglers remain among the heretics to little more than pieces. While we appreciate your pledge--” “Boody?!” “Coming! Right, while we appreciate your pledge, there are… Other fronts where Sigeran influence is growing stronger. Perhaps that would better suit your capable fighters?” A small grin formed on Darragh’s face. “I would not want to hold you up needlessly. Tell me where, and my people will take care of it.” Boudicca nodded and eyed the sky briefly. It was overcast, so she walked over to a large stone. Brushing off some of the light snow around its foot, she uncovered patches of moss. She turned back and pointed in the same direction as the side the moss was growing on. “Not six days ago, our scouts returned from the north with word of banditry by the waterside. The hoodlums left clear Sigeran tracks - butchered corpses, wicked altars - all of it. They’ve been picking off only the smallest hamlets, so they cannot be many. However, search for them by the sea, and you will find them no doubt.” She lowered her arm. “Doing this will serve both your search for vengeance and the Dûnan cause - I will vouch for you if you wish to speak to the druids in the future about their treatment of your people.” The Fakir took a slight moment, even though he knew how valuable it was, to ponder on the task. It felt beneath him. Something too easy. Perhaps it was a test? Or perhaps Boudicca did not want them close to the druids? Alas, she gave her word. That was a start. “Consider the bandits taken care of.” He said as he mounted his highland stag once more. “We will be seeing each other.” With those final parting words, he ushered his stag on and headed north. “Go in the gods’ grace,” the warrioress finished before turning back to her force, her cloak dragging in the snow. When she reunited with Hilda at the front of the warband, she flashed her a lopsided grin. “What was that all about?” Boudicca frowned. “Nothing much. Just someone coming to swear fealty to our cause.” Hilda flexed her browns. “Another one, huh? Dûnan?” Boudicca hesitated slightly, running her tongue along her teeth. “Yeah,” she said eventually, her eyes scanning the horizon as she did. Hilda raised one brow, then nodded with pursed lips. “Not bad, sister. People join our cause left and right - the meek truly do gather around the strong to worship them at their feet!” The Leoness hefted her spear high into the air triumphantly. Boudicca nodded slowly. “Right.” The warparty travelled for five days and five nights, camping in the meadows and hills of the highlands. On the way, they met various roaming bandits, many of whom they chose to chase down with the help of the Reiyar. Those who survived were given the choice: Join the Dûnan cause and repent, or meet Sigeran the Hungerer in eternal death. Most joined to live another day. By the end of the week, the warband had reached the outer borders of Ha-Dûna, ruins of the beginnings of a palisade gate blocking off the main entrance into their once-prosperous home. With the help of the Reiyar, the debris was shoveled out of the way without issue, and the warriors entered slowly. There had been estimates of what sort of resistance they could have expected, but even those proved too optimistic. Within the hour, the warband had reached the city centre, greeted only by the ghosts of their opponents. First when the palisade gates of the city centre were opened did the warband see their first faces - their former comrades who had deliberately or not ended up on the wrong side of the conflict. There were fewer than fifty of the once nine hundred strong Sigerans, and all who remained showed not a hint of despair at their defeat. In fact, nothing but relief could be seen on every face. Boudicca pushed herself to the front and looked around at the hungering faces. “The true daughters and sons of Ha-Dûna have come home, traitors. You will be given this one chance to surrender. Deny us, and we will unite you with your false god.” She drew her sword and hefted it high. “Pledge your loyalty, Sigerans, to the druidic gods and the Dûna, and you will be our sisters and brothers again.” Immediately, those who could walk and crawl approached her to beg for forgiveness; others were helped over. The reluctant few who remained steadfast in their beliefs were quickly taken away to be executed, many of them convinced that they could not be forgiven no matter what anyone said. Once the stragglers had been returned to the Dûnan fold and sent to be back of the line to be fed, Boudicca went to the Hall of the Weary, the great resthouse of the archdruids. Storming through the curtain door, she thundered her way to the end of the hall, sword drawn and glistening in the limited light shining through holes in the thatch roof. When she reached a bed at the far end, she grabbed the fur blanket and pulled it aside, sword aloft. There laid the starved corpse of Teagan, the Sigeran Priestess. Boudicca lowered her sword and frowned. “As expected, not even your god of death could keep you alive, you demon. May the winters bite you hard in the deathlands.” With that, she cast the blanket back over her and stepped outside. She met with the others outside the resthouse, making her way to the centre of the city core. There, the Statuette of Prolificacy glistened golden in the sun, untouched despite the years of strife. Boudicca touched its belly with a smile and sighed in relief. “Even in their evil and wickedness, they could not bring themselves to strike down this gift of the sun…” Hilda chuckled and patted her on the shoulder. “What, planning number three to celebrate?” Boudicca pursed her lips in thought. “It would be a worthy offering to her, I feel… Maybe, maybe. How about yourself?” Hilda shrugged. “I will have to talk to Fender about it. It’ll have to come after we settle down properly, though - the farmlands must be resown; houses, rebuilt. The chosen people are home again - the lands will flourish once more.” Boudicca nodded wordlessly. Ever so silent, even for a being so large, the avatar of Reiya stepped forth over those gathered before the statuette and grabbed it within his mighty hands. He spun around and began to walk away with it in hand. The Dûnans didn’t understand what happened straight away, and Hilda suddenly called after him: “Hey, HEY! What’re you doing!” Remembering herself, she quickly added, “Mighty Solus - what are you doing?!” Bouddica instinctively reached for her sword as well, and many hurried to follow the giant pleadingly. The Reiyar grew nervous and took to hovering over them. Solus paused in his step and turned again to face them. "This gift… Is taken. The cause of… Your wars… Your greed… Our fault. Oraelia does not… Wish… To see you this way. She… Blames herself for… What you've become. Keep the Basin… Keep the land… You are not… Ready… For this. We are sorry." And without waiting, he began to walk off again. The Reiyar in the air, followed with hard expressions. “This is--! This isn’t right! This is unfair!” screamed Hilda and was joined by many others. She gave chase, but was stopped by Boudicca. She tried to wrest herself free, but the warrioress held her tightly. “Stop, Hilda! If we fight them over this, we might never be favoured by the sun again!” “SHUT UP! You got to touch it! You got its blessing before it was too late!” Her eyes flooded over and she cried after Solus and the Reiyar. “COME BACK! PLEASE! WE BEG YOU!” Men and women alike trailed the giant in tears, collapsing to their knees in prayer and rising back up to get closer when necessary, all weeping for mercy and forgiveness. “How can we get it back? How can we be forgiven?!” the druids at the front of the column wept at the giant’s feet. "Tend the land… Make peace… Find your… Roots. This is… Oraelia's will. Only then…" The giant rumbled. The Reiyar flew off towards from whence they came. The druids slowed down to ponder this, while many of the peasants followed weepingly for hours more. Solus was silent now and the Reiyar that flew behind him seemed sad. For who, no one could say, for they were quiet as well. Back in the city core, Boudicca and Hilda still remained, Hilda having slumped to the ground and Boudicca hugging her supportively. The warrioress ran her fingers through the Leoness’ hair wordlessly to the sound of her whimpers. “Now it’ll be like the days our grandparents warned us about in their stories,” she sobbed. Boudicca didn’t respond. “... Babies born unable to breathe or see… Cold and dead before they can even walk.” “Hilda, listen to yourself! The future will not be so! We, we’ll get the statue back somehow and--” “What do you know?!” snarled the Leoness back. Boudicca recoiled. “My grandmother had ten children, Boudicca! TEN! Do you know how many survived to grow up? TWO!” She pulled her legs to her chest and stared emptily into the air. “... Four of them died before their first summer… One of them died during their first winter… The remaining three passed away in before they reached the age of ten…” She looked at her hands. “... Will my future babies follow the same fate?” Boudicca felt her stomach turn to icy stone. Their newborns would no longer be protected by the sun, and not even their druids’ extensive knowledge of medicine and midwifery would save the thousands of deaths that would come until they could be forgiven. There had to be changes. [hr] In the deep woods behind Ha-Dûna, where the Dûna had been found and declared the meeting place of the Circle of the Long Stride, the druids of Ha-Dûna gathered for the first time in many years. A week had passed since the capital had been retaken, but there was no celebratory spirit to be found around the great stone. Being the last druid of senior rank in the circle, Kaer Pier stepped forth to the rock, placed his hand upon it with rusty familiarity and spoke, “In the name of the Eight, this humble servant of the gods wishes the Longstriders welcome to this much too long-awaited moot of the Circle. Let there be no ill thoughts among us, and let no conflict arise as we speak before our sacred defenders on this day.” He then stepped back and took a deep breath. “So… What have we found out? Kaer Cwenn?” “The Statuette has been taken to the Caisteal Na Grèine, where the Reiyar and Great Solus, too, seem to remain. While we may not get the statuette back here until we bring peace to the Highlands, we may be able to negotiate some sort of pilgrimage for our most vulnerable mothers and fathers to receive the sun’s blessing.” Kaer Pier nodded. “We will send a delegation their way as swiftly as we can. Only our most humble and devoted will go - I will hold an election in the Circle of the Gods tonight under the stars of Seeros for clairvoyance. And what of the dark-winged Reiyar the survivors spoke of?” “They supposedly left as soon as they saw us coming.” Kaer Pier nodded again. “Let us pray we may never encounter them again. Now… How do we change to please the sun once more?” A hand rose up in the air and Kaer Pier invited Kaer Myvon to step into the circle. The middle-aged man took a step forward and held up a piece of bark for all to see. Upon it was written a prayer in the Ketrefan script. Kaer Myvon took a deep breath and spoke, “My fellow druids - it is evident that our behaviour over the past years has been gravely sinful. I have an hypothesis for why that may be…” He gestured to the bark piece. “Gaze upon this… For decades, now, we have been writing in the Ketrefan script. A small matter, I know, but not an insignificant one - all this time when we have thought ourselves Dûnan, we have held on to our Ketrefan roots, and thus we became like them.” Murmurs bounced among the druids. “Our conquering ways came as a result of our Ketrefan hubris, and there is not a doubt in my mind that, if we were to purge ourselves completely of their influence, we may once again be favoured by the gods.” The murmurs carried an agreeing tone. One hand was raised and Kaer Pier invited Kaer Semble to join the circle centre. “Forgive my disagreement, Kaer Myvon, but what will this change? Only the druids use this script, and there are larger issues in this world that the manner in which we write.” Kaer Myvon wagged a finger. “I respect this view, sister, but I must disagree: It was us, the druids, who started the Conquests four years ago - we have made every decision that has brought us here. Under our leadership, Ha-Dûna has lost its favour with the gods.” “Now hold on, Kaer Myvon, isn’t that--” “No, no, he’s right,” Kaer Pier added somberly and patted Myvon on the shoulder. “Whether it be our Ketrefan heritage or not, the truth remains: The druids are responsible for this. So, Kaer Myvon - what do you suggest?” Kaer Myvon tossed aside the piece of bark and took out another. The writing upon it was foreign - it seemed not to make much sense at first, but Myvon pointed at the various glyphs and explained their pronunciation and combined meanings. “I suggest we change our script to one of our own - sever our final link with Ketrefa and make ourselves, our bureaucracy, truly Dûnan. Then…” He continued. His voice put on a coat of reluctance, but persevered regardless. “... Then we step down as the leaders of Ha-Dûna.” Outraged cries sounded from the other druids. “Wait, who else can lead if not us, though? Who can interpret the will of the gods if not us?” “The gods are important - our greatest allies! We exist to worship and praise them. However, we have seen what can happen if their will is interpreted falsely - or if their will goes against what is right!” “This is the talk of a defeated man, Kaer Pier - let us be sensible! No one in Ha-Dûna has the divine mandate to lead!” Kaer Pier frowned. “No… No, there is one.” The voices quieted. “Who?” Kaer Pier stepped over to one of the mirror-like puddles surrounding the Dûna. He knelt down and hovered his hand over the water. The image of Boudicca springed to life, and there came agreeing murmurs from the druids who at this point were surrounding the puddle. “Boudicca? But she’s no druid!” “Indeed, yet she is charismatic, strong and clearly favoured by the gods. She has been the champion of many sports and games, and is an accomplished heroine of our people - a true daughter of Ha-Dûna.” The druids nodded at one another. A few voices scoffed. “What, do you mean to suggest that she will lead us? What link to the gods does she have? She has never tasted the waters of [i]Hir[/i]!” “That may be, but nothing stops us from functioning as her subjects - her advisors and voices of the gods. Little will change - we will only turn to her to use our interpretations of the gods’ wills to lead our people.” “You mean like a queen?!” came an outraged cry and the tone suddenly shifted to malcontent. “We will not have a despotic lineage take control of our people ever again, Kaer Pier!” Kaer Cwenn raised her hand, quieting the others. “What if the title was not hereditary?” The others hummed ponderously. “Go on,” Kaer Pier offered. Kaer Cwenn nodded. “The gods’ wills are many, but from what we know, they share many views on what is an ideal person of virtue. Perhaps… Perhaps they could guide us to such exceptional individuals when Boudicca’s time has passed?” “You mean like… We would go to search for a successor based on whom the gods deem will grow into a worthy leader?” Kaer Cwenn nodded. The druids looked at one another. One by one, their heads began to nod. “That… That could work. The gods would naturally guide us to only the most virtuous individuals.” “Indeed,” Kaer Cwenn agreed. “Then so be it. Starting today, the archdruids are no more. Instead, we will continue to support Ha-Dûna as we always have - and the new [i]sanndatr[/i] Boudicca! Long may she reign in the light of the gods!” “Long may she reign!” As the crowd quieted down, Kaer Pier drummed his staff to the ground to centre attention on himself again. “Now… We must also discuss other ways to regain our favour with the gods. The great Solus demanded that we should make peace in the land. During the Conquests, it became clear that many of our less refined countrymen showed gruesome undûnan behaviour. While we should all realise what this sort of behaviour entails, we cannot trust others to do so. Therefore, it is mandatory that we keep a record of the exemplary traits of Dûnan civilised behaviour so all may learn.” There came murmurs of agreement from the others. Pier gave Myvon a nod. “Once your script is complete, we will produce this codex of law so that we and all our descendants will be familiar with the true Dûnan way.” Myvon nodded. “It would be a great honour to help create this.” After the moot, the druids ventured out into the city to aid in restoring it to its former glory. The reparations would normally have taken years, but the Circle of the Long Stride devoted all their collective power into persuading the godly elements to grant them the power to rebuild ruins into building, mend broken materials, produce resources where none or few were available, and heal those injured during the work. Within a month, as the snows grew heavier, the city had been rebuilt again, just in time to hunker down for the winter. In the process, they helped finish the temples to the gods that were never built, [url=https://cdna.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/012/526/658/large/remo-ferraguto-remo-ferraguto-serenity.jpg?1535231596]houses to the gods built in wood and stone[/url] placed all around the city in an orbital pattern around the city core, planned precisely with the use of the map in the Town Hall. While they were in the spirit of building, the Dûnans took note of the querns still used to grind grain into flour. Some druids reported having seen Scawicks employ the wind of the sea to power their querns through some sort of propeller setup. They had called this a ‘mill’. The druids took some time to draw and sketch it out, but eventually managed to create something similar, adjusted for the mountain and the sea winds of their home city. Boudicca on her part was at first overwhelmed by her election to govern Ha-Dûna. However, she knew well that now was no time for reluctance. She wasted no time bolstering the Dûnan forces for the inevitable backlash they would suffer from their untrustworthy allies. Ha-Dûna needed to be moderators of peace, yes, but there would be no peace in the Dûnlands if the policing force was too weak to fend for itself. She rounded up the [abbr=Military veterans granted commander status.][i]théins[/i][/abbr] and drilled them and their soldiers in a formation she called the [abbr=”Ox and Eagle”][i]oksi aug órni[/i][/abbr]: The most veteran soldiers would hold the two flanks of a line, where the weakest warriors made up the centre. If the centre caved, the two “horns” of the ox would charge the centre from the flanks, surrounding the enemy; the “eagle” archers would provide arrow cover before impact and then reinforce the centre line from the back, replacing the tired soldiers there if possible. Thereafter, she preached to her people a need to assimilate the Dûnlands into the ways Dûnan [i]Dlíbók[/i] and its laws - this could not take place militarily, however; no, the Dûnans would assimilate others through example. If they could return to their old ways as the jewel of the Highlands, then others would surely adopt their way of life simply out of common sense. Others would see the glory of Ha-Dûna restored, and the city would once again become the capital of Highland druidism. In honour of this political shift, the bards created a new music genre: the Dûnan opera. Great plays would be shown on stages around the city and the nearby towns of the accomplishments of Dûnan heroes, all performed with lavish costumes and sang in a special technique known as [abbr=Throat singing.][i]strûpisangi[/i][/abbr], accompanied by harps, flutes and drums. Time would show whether all these efforts would pay off. [hr] [sub][i]Meanwhile, in Scawick...[/i][/sub] “WHAT?!” thundered Burud. “That’s right, brother! Not only have the Dûnans taken back the city, but they’re also saying they’ve changed their ways and will go on as paragons of peace!” The man spat on the ground. Burud grabbed his axe and hefted it to the sky, his spectators raising their fists in rage. “Peacemakers, my ass! By the gods, their arrogance knows no bounds!” He scanned the crowd. “Mark my words, all of you - we will not bow to any stinking Dûnan in this life nor the next!” “YEAH!” “We will sooner see Scawick burn than to kneel before some filthy broad!” “YEEEAAH!” “Come! Let us show them what we think of their ‘peace’! For every head you take, you shall eat for a year - I will see to that myself! FOR SCAWICK!” “FOR SCAWICK!” With that, bands of raiders charged out of the coastal village to raid Dûnan hamlets. Ha-Dûna may have been recaptured, but this was only the beginning of the dark times. The Dûnland War had only just begun. [hider=Summary] The Dûnans move in to take Ha-Dûna as quickly as they can before winter, and do so without issue thanks to A) the Sigerans being either gone or dead and B) they have a large fuck-you warparty. On the way, Boudicca meets Daragh, a shaman of the Cenél, who offers to aid them. She gives him a small mission 'cuz she doesn't trust him, and he seems dissatisfied - not wanting to be seen as lesser, however, he takes it and they part ways. Solus decides, however, that the Dûnans have been naughty, so he takes away the baby-maker statue. This upsets the Dûnans and makes them realise that they gotta do some shit to get better. A fuckton of prestige is spent (see the expenditure below along with the descriptions) and they basically hunker down to be good guys. The War event has begun! [/hider] [hider=The Dûnland War Event] The war for Dûnlands has begun! Apart from the factions already involved (Ha-Dûna, Kirin’s Rest, Cenél, the Reiyar and Solus), anyone who would be interested to throw in another faction or create a local civ to battle it out in the ensuing landgrab, is absolutely free to do so! For anyone joining, I have some requests to keep in line with regional canon: 1. The civ can either be Dûnan, native or Merelli. The Dûnan culture is described in detail on the wiki, and I will gladly answer any further questions. The native populations refer to the peoples who inhabited the land before the Dûnans came. These still have a lot of opportunities to develop a canon, but keep in mind that the terrain is mountainous, rocky and difficult, so civilisations that fit those would be good. Merelli pops can be made along the shore. 2. While they can become regional powers during the landgrab, I request that none of them start out this way, unless they are situated outside the Dûnan cultural sphere. The region has, up until now, been poor and underdeveloped compared to the southeast, and HD has been the sole regional giant and pushed down others. As said, though, this can change during the warring states days. 3. Make use of regional technology and magic. While exceptions of course can exist, such as trade towns importing bronze and siege equipment, the region still employs mostly copper and stone for tools and weaponry. The region is also mostly druidic, with a bunch of different sects and circles that can be made and used. Other types of magic exist, but are rarer and often ostracised. 4. Have fun! If this becomes a thing, I hope it'll become a cluster fuck of fun times and backstabbing all over. It should be chaotic, and to turn on allies all the time is encouraged for the hell of it. If it makes for good stories, do it. Regarding point 1, expansionist Savannah people can come over, too, why not. 5. Ha-Dûna will not outright attack any of the factions who come into play, but will defend themselves if attacked. Please keep in mind that they are the big boss - very powerful and not easily defeated. They will focus on building alliances and spreading Dûnan cultural influence. Also please keep in mind that this is not a game about winning - the hope is that we can make good stories out of this. If a player faction is defeated, this does not mean you are “out of the game” - it would be awesome if you kept developing the culture after defeat. Making alliances and settling the conflict peacefully, too, for example, should not be seen as defeat either. The only defeat would be a boring story. [/hider] [hider=Prestigios!] 38k characters. Boudicca: 10 + 5 = 15 -5 Make minor cultural or technological shift: Invent the tactic Oksi aug Órni: The most veteran soldiers will hold the two flanks of a line, where the weakest warriors make up the centre. If the centre caves, the two “horns” of the ox will charge the centre from the flanks, surrounding the enemy; the “eagle” archers will provide arrow cover before impact and then reinforce the centre line from the back, replacing the tired soldiers there if possible. -8 Create major cultural shift: Create ideology: Dûnan Hegemonism: Ha-Dûna will cease its ambition of military conquest of the lands in the Dûnan cultural sphere and instead focus on extending their soft power through cultural development and alliance building, bringing all of the Dûnlands (Dûnan term for the Western Highlands) under the rule of Ha-Dûna through exemplary behaviour and cultural influence. This does not mean they will demilitarise, but they will cease their warmongering. End: 2. Circle of the Long Stride: 36 + 5 = 41 -8 Make a major cultural shift: The druids invent the Dûnan script, [i]Dûnisk[/i], a phonemic script with blocky characters ideal for writing in wood, bark, glass and stone. -8 Make a major cultural shift: The druids elect that the leadership of Ha-Dûna should fall to the [i]sanndatr[/i] or [i]sannsonn[/i] (literally High Daughter or High Son), people of exceptional moral and virtuous character selected by the gods themselves to lead the Dûnans. These are found as children by the druids and groomed to become leaders by studying under the living leader and the druids themselves. The current leader of Ha-Dûna as elected by the druids is Boudicca. -8 Make major cultural shift: Write the Dlíbók, a codex of laws and guidelines outlining proper Dûnan behaviour and punishments for violating such behaviours. This includes various sanctions against criminals, inheritance laws, moral imperatives and key ideals in Dûnan society. -5 Improve existing settlement: The Circle of the Long Stride helped restore Ha-Dûna. -5 Improve existing settlement: Helped Ha-Dûna finish its temples to the gods. -5 Making minor cultural or technological shift: Adopted wind-powered mills from Scawick. End: 2 Bards of Ha-Dûna: 5 + 5 = 10 -5 Making minor cultural or technological shift: Created a new musical genre - Dûnan opera: Musical theatre with costumes and throat singing. End: 5. [/hider]