DELETED32084

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

@Byrd Man

Aye, aye. Man in bandages.

@NecroKnight

Welcome to Africa. Nobody cares about Africa.

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

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June 6th, 1960, Salisbury, Rhodesia
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"She did what!?" The Question came out as a roar as Byron Starr, Rhodesian Minister of Foreign Affairs, shot to his feet, regretting it almost immediately as his legs slammed into the edge of his desk, sending it crashing over onto its side. Papers, pens, mementos from his military career, and a half filled cup of coffee, went flying in every direction with it.

"She shot them both." The men seated across from him, who had not moved even as the desk slammed into the floor a few inches from his toe, said with a thin smile. The eyes above the smile were cold as ice, a green beret neatly perched on his head, green fatigue uniform immaculate.

"Sweet suffering christ!" Byron swore, staring down at the ruins of his desk. He heard the door open briefly and then close again as he secretary glanced inside to make sure everything was okay. "FUCK!" He shouted the word and upended his chair with one foot for good measure, the back of its crashing off the wall and bringing down the framed photo above it with a smash. The door opened and then closed again.

"When?" Byron asked as he looked back at his visitor. Donald Prescott, Head of the Rhodesian Security Bureau, looked down at the book on his lap. Byron knew it was an act, the Thomas knew exactly what was written on the paper.

"01:20 hours this morning. Security heard the first shot around that time. It took them two minutes to figure out where the shot came from which they only were able to ascertain at first because of the second shot."

"You sure it was your Agent?" Byron asked as he leaned forward, hands on either side of a large globe he had next to his window. He wanted to smash the globe as well but the thing had been ridiculously expensive and taking out his anger on inanimate objects was not going to fix the problem at hand.

"Quite certain. She confirmed it to our local field officer who is on site." Donald glanced down at his paper again. He was not happy either, but he would be damned if he was going to admit to a political flunky like Byron. The two men got on well enough outside of working hours but at work, well, the politicians had no idea what was being done to keep Rhodesia from drowning ina sea of black faces.

"Fuck." Byron said the word again as he sighed and looked back to Donald. "There will no doubt be an investigation by the Ethiopians. We can't cover this up."

"No, we can't." Donald replied as he crossed one leg over the other. "The men we have on the ground are running damage control, the local story is that Heaps and his wife were killed by a Communist sympathizer. Ethiopia is lousy with those right now."

"And the Agent?" Byron asked. All he knew at that moment was that an RSB operative had decided to essentially murder the Heaps. The RSB was given a huge range of latitude and freedom to operate by the Government but killing off Rhodesian officials was a massive breach of protocol. Part of Byron had to admit he would have liked to kill Heaps himself, the sanctimonious bastard.

"She is still in Ethiopia. Officially all the household staff have been detained by our security people until the investigation is completed." There was a pause. Donald knew he was treading on thin ice but Sara Reicker was hands down his best coloured female operative and he would need her again soon. "By the letter of her mission she did what she was instructed to do?"

"Oh?" Byron's voice was dangerously quiet as he turned to look at the RSB Head.

"Yes. We signed off on an order directing her to mitigate the damage Heaps could do to Rhodesian interests. And, to be perfectly frank, the man had no fucking use to anyone after he managed to shit the bed so fantastically in getting the African Union support on our side." Donald spat the words. Heaps had been an embarrassment to the Rhodesian Government for some time and only his connections to the old country assured him a prime job. Basically it had been Heaps in Ethiopia or the Rhodesian request for new Spitfires would get "lost" in the shuffle.

"It actually works in our favour," He continued. "With the Communists to blame we are already working on a spin to place the blame on a Zambian National." He saw the interest flare in Byron's eyes and continued. "Our first RSB man on scene on was a quick thinker and, along with a couple of the Security men, "found" a man hiding in the bushes who was from the household staff. He was shot trying to escape and is known to have Communist ties."

"What sort of ties?" Byron asked, shaking his head slightly. He had been a soldier once and did not want to know to much about the murky world of espionage.

"The sort I made up an hour ago and sent off to an RSB Man who has by now planted it in the dead mans home." Donald smiled thinly again. Not a pleasant expression.

"Damn you're good..." Byron muttered as he began to pace, hands clasped behind his back, oblivious to the papers being torn up beneath his boots.

"We will need a new Ambassador of course." Donald continued. "And I would suggest a personal visit from yourself would make this seem all that much more sincere. Heaps was of course a valued Member of your staff."

Byron barked a laugh, the first such sound he had made in an hour and he stopped his pacing. "Yes, valued. If I didn't know better I would throw a "he's dead at last" party. I suspect someone somewhere might suspect something if I did that."

"Probably." Donald said drily as he stood from the disaster that surrounded his chair. "Will you be going to Ethiopia then?"

"I have too, a valued colleague was just assassinated by a Zambian Communist!" Byron managed to look somewhat stricken though he could not prevent a shark toothed smile from crossing his broad face. "Your buddy Bennet is going to be thrilled by this."

Donald nodded. Thomas Bennet, the Head of the Rhodesian Security Forces, had been spoiling for a fight since the Brush Wars and recent murders of white farmers in Zambia by mobs of blacks had gotten his back up. Now a Rhodesian Ambassador had been assassinated by a Zambian Communist, true or not, and Bennet would find a way to use the situation to his advantage.

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

3) Since it's 1960-ish - have most of the colonial powers managed to hold onto their colonies? Or have they mostly fought against their colonial occupiers and later turned into dictatorships?

@NecroKnight

I kind of speak to this. At the moment Rhodesia broke away from Britain at the end of the Great War. I have RPed South Africa as still British but a shit show. Zambia is free like Rhodesia. Read my app, might five you some ideas.

The Imperial Dragoons — A Flintlock Fantasy RP [Open]

@VoiDWe still doing this?

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

@Shyri

Hmm. Okay. I was thinking perhaps Kamerun and during the Great War - they had perhaps captured the British colony next door of Nigeria?

And perhaps Kamerun had a leader that hated what Paul did - having been a Loyalist.

@NecroKnight

Filthy Germans...

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

Rhodesian Embassy, Addis Ababa, Ethiopia

Reginald Heap sank into his leather office chair with a sigh, the chair squeaking as if in sympathy with his depression. He was wearing a red bathrobe, even in Ethiopia it got chilly in the wee hours of the morning, and white slippers on his feet to combat the cold tiles. His office was his sanctuary, even Beatrice did not enter it uninvited. Tall bookshelves filled with all sorts of books he had never read and Ethiopian trinkets he gave zero fucks about, but they made the locals think he was interested. In truth, he enjoyed Ethiopia for the drinking, the booze, and the women who would do literally anything he wanted. Rhodesia was less open minded about inter-racial fucking and certainly more tight on the drug control despite thee climate being ideal for Marijuana production.

He turned slowly in the chair, eyes raking the books, narrowing as he caught sight of a touristy Ethiopian Lion holding the national flag on one shelf. He had been certain that Ethiopian support would be enough to force the African Union vote but it seemed not so much. It had literally been his only mandate, other than keeping Ethiopia friendly, that he had been given by the Rhodesian Government. He had done that as best he could, spending Government money liberally on lavish parties, drugs, booze, whatever it took to keep the Emperor on side. It hadn't been enough. He would have to explain that when he was recalled, he knew that was only a matter of time. Rhodesia tolerated many things from its white citizens but failure, well, failure was not tolerated by anyone. He supposed that he could at least go back to the family estate where Beatrice could hold her lavish dinner parties and he could enjoy some more ebony pussy.

That made him think of Sara Reicker, the newly arrived secretary he had not really gotten to know. He had peep holes in her room but either by accident, or maybe she knew, she had kept them blocked off. There was no doubt that she was a good looking lady, almost thirty years his junior and in the prime of life. She was a prize worth having but he didn't dare try to force the topic. She was a Rhodesian Government employee, one of the "Good" Negroes. Reginald had always broken them up that way. Good or Bad, always Negroes. He hated them. He hated them because he wanted her, he wanted all their women, and it was so easy to take them, but it was weakness. His father had hated them for different reasons and the first time he found Reginald with a pair of black lips around his cock he had beaten the boy badly. But Reginald couldn't help himself.

The sound of movement outside the study door interrupted his train of thought and he waited for a moment. Eyes straining to see past the single lamp that was lit on his desk. The hallway beyond was plunged into darkness. He had thought he was the only one awake in the house.

"Hello." He called out, pulling his robe tighter around his body. He hadn't heard the dogs barking, or any shouts from his security detail, so whoever was out there had to be a member of the household. "Beatrice?"

There was a small scuffle and a muffled gasp before all was silent in the hallway. Cautiously he stood, still trying to see into the hallway. An inner instinct warned him to turn off the light and hide but another part of him rebelled against that. This was his house, he would not cower in fear. With slow movements he picked up the phone on his desk and punched in the two numbers that would ring through to the guardroom outside before lifting the phone to his ear. Nothing. The line was dead.

Something bordering on genuine fear began to blossom in his stomach as he put the phone back down. His eyes cast about the room and came to rest on a copy of the St. James Bible on a book case next to a photo that showed him and Beatrice on their wedding day. Quickly he crossed the room, grabbed the book off the shelf and tore it open. He had long ago hidden a small pistol inside the pages, cutting out a perfect shape so that it rested comfortably, just in case, one did not grow up Rhodesian without being cautious. His fingers stopped as they opened the cover, the pistol was gone. He dropped the Bible, the sound of it slamming into the tile loud to his ears as the fear began to take over.

"What's the matter Reggie? Lost something?' The voice from the door was unexpected and he froze in his panic, turning to stare at the woman who walked through the door. Sara Reicker, naked except for a pair of black gloves, stood before him. His eyes bugged out as he realized that she was holding the pistol that was supposed to inside the Bible. "Lost something?"

Sara purred the words and Reginald had the uncomfortable feeling that she was watching him like a cat watched a mouse.

"I brought you something." She continued, reaching behind the door frame and dragging another person into the light. Beatrice. Her wrists were tightly bound behind her back and she ankles were hobbled. She to was naked, a rag stuffed into her mouth. Sara kicked her hard behind the knees and Beatrice gave a muffled shriek as she collapsed, bouncing hard off the floor.

Reginald was having a hard time processing what was happening as he stared from his bound wife to the gun toting secretary. His mouth opened, then closed, he couldn't find words. He took a step towards Beatrice and the pistol flashed silver in the light as it lined up on his forehead.

"You're a pig." Sara suddenly said. She said it so mildly that he was taken aback again. His mind was whirling, trying to make sense of what was happening. She saw his confusion and smiled. "Oh, and the Rhodesian Government no longer requires your services."

Before he could speak, she fired, the bullet slamming into his forehead and snapping him backwards so that he bounced off the desk and onto the floor with a crash, dead before he hit the tiles. Sara stepped over the bound and gagged Beatrice and squatted down, checking for a pulse on the dead man. Satisfied she turned back to Beatrice. Outside the dogs had begun to bark and a voice shouted in the darkness. She had a minute or so left to her. She took a knife from the desk, cut the bounds on Beatrice's legs and helped her to her feet, smiling as she patted the woman on the cheek. The fear and terror in the white face made her realize how this moment had made living in Rhodesia completely worth it.

She said nothing else as she smiled, placed the gun under Beatrices chin, and pulled the trigger again. The older womans head snapped backward and blood splattered the ceiling. The body crashed to the floor and Sara dropped the gun from where she held it, the weapon hitting the ground, bouncing once and sliding under a nearby chair. She swiftly knelt and cut the bounds from the dead womans wrists. She had used sheets in both cases, they would leave virtually no evidence the Police to work with. The knife went back onto the desk even as more shouts came from outside and she could hear the sound of men running across the gravel. Lights were coming on at the far end of the house in the servants quarters.

With last look around she stepped into the hallway, ran swiftly up the long stairs, and made her way down the long hall to her own chambers. She paused long enough to place the gloves and torn sheets back into the cleaning supply cupboard where they had come from and then slipped inside her apartment just as the front door crashed open and security men burst into the house.

She stepped in front of the mirror, using damp toilet paper to clean the small spots of blood off her skin before flushing them down the toilet. Satisfied, she slipped into her white sleeping shift, adopted a sleepy and annoyed expression, and stepped out of her room even as more shouts filled the air.


London, England

"Thank you, thank you, and thank you again!" The representative of the Barnardo’s and the Fairbridge Society was effusive in his manner as he shook the tall Rhodesian by the hand. The two men were standing outside the "London Fairbridge Orphanage", one of the largest in London.

Some thirty children stood in the street, their suitcases by their feet, staring sullenly at the Afrikaner who beamed down at them. Several newspapermen stood nearby, smoking the Cornells he had handed out, their pencils scratching a brief story for the local papers about how a Rhodesian man, representing white farmers, had come to London to relieve the Barnardo’s and the Fairbridge Society of a number of their orphans. Only one had a camera and the Rhodesian was careful to stay out of any photos. What the reporters could not know was that in the back, carefully hidden from view, all record of the children, their names, their families, their ties to England, were being consumed by fire. The Rhodesian had bought some positive press with cigarettes, but he had bought the orphans with cold hard cash.

It was no secret in the Government halls of Salisbury that Rhodesia was a white country on the 'dark continent". Numerous programs had been begun to try and increase the population and none had been more successful than the very straight forward practice of buying orphans from European and North American countries.

"Alright children. Onto the bus!" The Fairbridge representative called out as a a pair of hired busses ground to a halt in front of the orphanage. The children, ranging in age from three to fourteen, uncertainty written across their faces, shuffled to the bus, the older ones helping the younger as they put their bags under the bus and them climb the rubber covered steps into an uncertain future.

The Rhodesian watched them go, his smile still plastered on his face. With records spotty at best, and the majority of them destroyed in exchange for some gold, the sheer size of the orphan buying operation would never truly be known. He expected to leave Britain with near three hundred children on a ship that would sail in two days time from Bristol, stopping in France, Spain, and Italy, on the way to pick up more children. In all, he hoped to return to Rhodesia with nearly six hundred young passengers.

Once in Rhodesia they would be adopted out to white families who would be given a stipend by the government for their care and upbringing. The older boys and girls would be given over to the military where they would be raised to fight for their new country. Not everyone would be happy. He knew some, usually those who did not speak English, would commit suicide or try to run away. It was a price they had to pay but a desperate situation called for desperate measures. Rhodesians were an endangered species in their own country and war was coming.

Simple failure happened as well. Not everyone was cut out for military service. The boys who did not make it through training would be turned over to the public service, and the girls would be given over to the breeding program. A number of government funded programs existed to encourage white women to have children, including cash bonuses but some years earlier the Rhodesian government had found it was not quite enough. They had instituted a "breeding program" in which certain women, always former orphans or kidnapped foreign nationals, were transported to "Rest Homes" were they were kept as virtual prisoners and given the choice between having children for the continued survival of the Rhodesian state, or they could vanish into the savannah. All took their first choice. he wasn't sure what happened when they were no longer useful and, like most Rhodesians, he didn't want to know. In fact, the whole "breeding program" was treated as a rumour by the Rhodesian people and largely ignored.

"Thank you again Mr. Smith!' The Fairbridge man said again as he tipped his hat to the Rhodesian who smiled and touched the brim of his own cap in return.

Officially the children were being sent overseas under the Child Migrant Program. The Rhodesian had carefully presented himself as a Canadian farmer. It was not hard, the British public assumed that everyone from the colonies was the same and only someone who had spent time overseas might notice the difference in accent. Canada and Australia were largely considered the best place to send the orphans, though some had gone to South Africa. This had been convenient for the Rhodesians who simply got some money into the right hands and children got off the ship in Cape Town and on to a bus that carried them to Salisbury. He had quietly been making arrangements for more of the children to go that route, it saved him a lot of time and money.

Mr Smith supposed that a small part of him should feel guilty about the whole affair but Rhodesia's survival was more important to him than any morale quibbles about right and wrong. All these children would one day be good sons and daughters of Rhodesia. Everyone had their part to play.

Legend of the Silver Legion Redux (Open)

"Slavers." Khawla al-Mir hissed the word as she surveyed the wreckage of the Khandarai hunting camp. A full moon was out and the light it cast illuminated the desert brightly enough for even a human to clearly see the scattered belongings, torn tents and at least a dozen bodies that lay around dark patches of sand where their blood had seeped into the ground.

The sharp metallic scent of blood cut through the rich salt air of the ocean whose glimmering expanse was visible in the far distance. As a general rule the Khandarai rarely camped close to the ocean for just this reason, pirates and slavers were common along the coast, always looking to snap up unwary Khandarai who would fetch a fine price on any slavers auction block. It seemed that these slavers were braver than most as they had come a fair distance inland to hit the Khandarai camp, and in great numbers.

Khawla was able to discern that the attackesr had come over the distant dunes and caught the Khandarai by surprise, no small feat. Hoof prints and even wagon wheel ruts indicated that this was a well financed and well planned expedition. No simple pirates. The attackers had come quite recently and had left, northwards, toward the ocean.

"Come Sisters, we must move quickly." Khawla whispered as she moved across the bloodied sand. A dozen shapes appeared to materialize from the sand around her and the entire group began a quick loping run across the wind swept desert. They moved with the steady confidence of veteran fighters, hands pumping in time with legs as they moved far swifter than any horse drawn cart.

It was the will of the Prophetess, or dumb luck, depending on who you asked, that had brought Khawla and her chosen band to this region of the desert on such a night. Slaver raids had become more common in the recent months and she had taken the time to make sweeps along the northern shores.

The Khandarai ran silently across the sands in single file to hide their numbers, running next to the cart tracks, taking turns to lead, giving each other a rest as the leader. A dozen pair of eyes scanned the desert for any more raiders, and more importantly, any of the savage creatures that lived beneath the sand. Desert beasts, like many monsters, were not a fan of fire, but if the slavers did not have any torches, they might find themselves facing something far more terrifying than Khandarai warriors.

They ran for an hour, the ocean drawing ever closer as they went. If the slavers were able to make it to their ship before the Khandarai arrived, their prisoners would be lost forever. The Khandarai excelled at many things but very few amongst them dared to brave the open ocean for a profession. The slavers were well aware of this and as a result kept well clear of Basul, not hesitating to raid anyone foolish enough to show a night time fire to a watcher on the ocean.

Suddenly, far ahead, much closer to the sea, a series of thunderous roars tore the near silent night asunder. The screams of men, and of women, began to rise with the chaos and Khawla ran faster. Her feet appeared as a blur as she raced over the desert floor, arms pumping steadily, her chin tucked slightly down, the desert air cool on her cheeks as she ran. The roaring grew louder, some of it sounded as if a creature were in pain, the shouting of orders in mens voices becoming more distinct.

Then the small band topped a dune and chaos greeted them. The slaver column, a half dozen wagons in its midst, had been ambushed by a pack of Hakams'. The great beasts, five of them, had descended upon the flank of the caravan and torn into the slavers who had initially recoiled in horror but were now fighting back. Already one of the bests was down, the desert around it strewn with the bodies of dead slavers. Even as Khawla watched, one of the larger Hakam lashed out with its barbed tail and a mans battle cry turned into a gurgling shriek as the barb hooked him beneath the chin and sent him flying through the air.

Khawla looked to the wagons, at least twenty of her kin lay trussed up inside. If she did not reach them, either the slavers would take them, or the Hakam would devour them when they had finished the slavers off. A moments pause and she waved her comrades forward.

"Archers, begin killing the slavers, only those not directly engaging the Hakam. You others, follow me." She was already moving away to her left before she finished speaking. The archers went to work at once and arrows flickered out of the darkness to slaughter the slavers trying to reload their crossbows behind the wagons. Panicked shouts went up from the slavers they began to die with the long black shafts through their throats.

The main body of slavers had drawn up into a solid block of shields with long pikes which they were using in short efficient strokes against the Hakam, fending off the beasts as they slowly edged further north, towards their ship. One of the Hakam, wounded and no longer willing to approach the shield wall, turned its attention on the wagons and with a gleeful, feline bound, pounced on a wagon. The screams of the women inside as the Hakam tore into their bound forms was to much for Khawla and she threw caution to the wind.

"With me!" She cried out, drawing both blades as she charged down the dune and into the melee. The first two slavers who turned to look at her never stood a chance. Her blades flashed and both fell headless to the ground. Others, so far unable to reach their comrades shield wall, cursed and tried to bring their weapons to bear, but they were no match for the finest warrior in Khandarai. Khawla moved through them like a wind through wheat, her blades flashing in the moonlight as she cut men down where they stood, until, at last, she hurled herself upon the Hakam that was busy tearing one of the captured women in two.

The Hakam roared in pain as she slashed a blade across a hamstring, trying to turn to swat at her even as she severed its tail just below the barb. The creature lunged, lashing out with wicked claws, to catch nothing as she deftly side stepped and drove a blade up under its chin and into its brain. The beast gave a heavy sigh and collapsed into the sand, its blood staining the ground beneath it. The remaining slavers gave a despairing cry as the rest of her band struck them and turned to run. The remaining Hakam gave a victorious roar and bounded after them.

Khawla's band quickly hurried forward to free the remaining prisoners. Less than half were alive. The Hakam had killed a number, others had died at the hands of the slavers. Those that could be saved were pulled from the wagons, their bounds cut, and they were hurried away to the south by Khawla's band. The dead would remain where they lay. The scavengers would find their bodies in the daylight if the Hakam did not take them and they would return to the desert from which they came.

Legend of the Silver Legion Redux (Open)

CS updated to reflect some more fluid storyline in the culture section.

Legend of the Silver Legion Redux (Open)

Empire of Khandarai

Empire of Khandarai

The Port City of Basul

Government

Empress Atasari

The Empire of Khandarai is a Monarchy presided over by an Empress whose decisions are final and binding upon her people. She is advised by an appointed council drawn from the various Houses that make up the upper class of the Empire. Should the Empress die, a Magical rite is cast that calls upon an ancient spirit, the Khandarai believe it is the spirit of the Prophetess herself, who then travels the Empire and selects a minimum of five young women who are then put through a gruelling set of tasks and tests of their skill. The survivor is crowned Empress of Khandarai.

Geography

The Kafadan River Valley

Map (Orange)

The Empire of Khandarai is a nation that has found its way in the harsh central desert of Askor. Bordered on East and West by massive Mountain ranges that serve to deflect most moisture away, it is a hard and foreboding place. Even the desert itself is broken in many places by violent movements in the earth. There is however one large river, the Kafadan River, that actually pours forth from the desert, welling up from deep beneath the surface of the earth, winding its way north to the coast where the Empires only seaport, Basul, resides.

All along that river is a green belt of lush fertile land that supports much of the Empire. There are other oasis, hidden away in the deeper portions of the desert and they are known almost exclusively to the Salakan themselves. These are reached by ancient camel roads and, in some cases, by travelling through the great ravines and canyons that cut across the sun baked surface.

Most Khandarai towns and villages are located in the same canyons and ravines, built into places where some shelter can be found from the ever present sun. The Capital itself, Shasa, is located at the head of the great river where it pours from the earth, the river providing both defence and life for the city. Though not the largest city in the Empire, that title goes to Basul, it is certainly the most impressive for its

The City of Shasa, the Imperial Capital

Life is tough in Khandarai, made even more difficult by the dangerous creatures that lurk in places even the sun never reaches. Wyverns are not unknown in Salakan and while the majority are hostile, some Khandarai have managed to tame the beasts and use them in battle, though never outside of Khandarai as leaving the desert often leads to them becoming sick and, eventually, to death.

Culture

The Empire of Khandarai is unique in the world for its class system in which females rule the Empire, provide the skilled fighting force, and males are used for breeding, menial labour tasks, or occupy lower castes of society.

The Khandarai worship the Prophetess who they believe showed them that women can be strong and independent, capable of caring for themselves and their offspring. Large temples exist to worship the Prophetess as, over the years, her image has changed from one of inspiration to one of divine entity.

The Empire is relatively young in the grand scheme of things, no older than the legends of the Prophetess who gave the first Empress the courage to rise up against the vicious enslavement of the desert tribes patriarchal society. Women were bought and sold like cattle, they had no rights and their lives forfeit for any reason deemed necessary by a male family member or relative.

Fuelled by her freedom and the burning desire to never agin let men control her destiny, the first Empress led her comrades to overthrow and slaughter the patriarchy that ruled the sands. In a cruel twist of irony that the Khandarai see as but a small vengeance for the tribulations they suffered, men are now taken in raids, or purchased through a lively slave economy, and used for the purposes of breeding, or fulfilling menial jobs within the Empire. Male offspring are ritualistically killed, enslaved by neighbouring Houses, or simply sold at auction in Basul. Many Khandarai males can be found in the slave galleys of the world, or wandering from home. To return would mean death.

Female offspring raised in the fighting spirit of their mothers and given every advantage possible to succeed in their harsh climate and while some leave to see the world, the majority remain within the boundaries of the Empire.

A Khandarai Warrior engages a pair of Yarimas

The Khandarai conduct trade through Basul but also engage in lively raiding against their neighbours, and even amongst themselves if there is no one else to fight. Broken up in Houses, Khandarai boasts seven Great Houses, and a dozen lesser houses, all of whom control various portions of the region. The power and wealth of each House has risen and fallen over the years, none truly holding any real power, all beholden to the Empress in the end.

The Khandarai are a Humanoid race, though they have an increased ability to see in the dark and are hardier than their neighbours. Their skin is darker than their neighbours as well, ranging from a soft brown to black as night.

Military

Khandarai Warriors

The Empire of Khandarai is best described as an army with an Empire. So dangerous is the desert that all Khandarai are taught to fight and survive from a very young age. One of the great tests of their full rise to womanhood is a week spent in the desert with nothing but a small blade, a bow, and a single canteen of water.

The Khandarai excel in small unit operations. They are far to isolated and spread apart to be able to form large armies and in Khandarai, big armies starve and small armies are defeated. Like many other nations they have their share of archers, sword masters, cavalry, and the like. Their cavalry tends to be far from traditional horses and camels, and beasts found in the desert are tamed wherever possible.

Magic is a powerful tool of the Khandarai, spells that allow assist them in vanishing in to, and surviving, the great desert. The Khandarai themselves are far from the most dangerous thing to be found in the desert and any Khandarai worth their salt has learned how to hide from the predators that inhabit their home.

Enchantments are common amongst the fighting forces as well in the form of fire, lightening, or even poisoned weapons. Priestesses of the Prophetess are the only true magic users of the Empire, either as Healers, Spell Casters, or Spellswords. The Spellswords are a unique melee class of warrior that use magic to augment their fighting ability.

Heroes

Khawla al-Mir

Khawla al-Mir, a legend in her time. She is the greatest Khandarai Spellsword of the latest hundred years. Fighting with little to no armour, she wields two scimitars with deadly skill and precision. Her warlike nature often brings her to the fore of raids against enemy settlements and ferociously hunts the strange and wonderful beasts of the desert. She is a master of small unit operation and often works with a picked band of fighters that she considers worthy of her company.

Naaila al-Arshad

Naaila al-Arshad is the most skilled Beast Master in the Empire. She excels in the taming of various monsters found in the desert and using them to great effect against each other, or against her enemies. She is the only known living Khandarai to have ridden on a Wyvern though it is not something she tries on a regular basis as her hold on a creature is not permanent.

History

WIP. Waiting to see details on Western neighbours.

Relations

Khandarai enjoys a wild roller coaster of relations with pretty much everyone. They are not against raiding their neighbours one day, and trading with them the next. The desert holds many precious and incredibly rare stones, spices, and the skins from any number of desert beasts can fetch a small fortune.

Khandarai does not have great fortresses built at her borders, in fact, it is easy enough for anyone to enter the desert, leaving it is another adventure altogether. A single major road, known as the Spice Road, transits from East to West, leapfrogging from oasis to oasis. Trade caravans regularly pass along this route and it is the only place a foreigner can be assured they are safe from Khandarai raiders, if they come in peace.

Characters

WIP

Creature Glossary

Hakam

The Hakam is a nightmarish combination of a common scorpion and a feline, if they were both large and terrifying. Living in packs of five to eight individuals, the Hakam sleep by day and hunt by night, aided by excellent night sight and deadly speed. They do not discriminate on what they eat and anything that moves in their home ranges is fair game.

Yarima

The Yarima are large creatures, ten times the size of the camel, and just as badly tempered. They move about in small family groups of three to four individuals, their large clawed feet are webbed, allowing them to travel quickly over the loose sand despite their size and weight. Their heads are heavily armoured and taper into sharp horns at points, all the better to battle their main predator, the Wyvern.

Post Catalogue

1. Act 1: The Hakam

Legend of the Silver Legion Redux (Open)

Alright, trying this again!

Empire of Khandarai

Empire of Khandarai

The Port City of Basul

Government

Empress Atasari

The Empire of Khandarai is a Monarchy presided over by an Empress whose decisions are final and binding upon her people. She is advised by an appointed council drawn from the various Houses that make up the upper class of the Empire. Should the Empress die, a Magical rite is cast that calls upon an ancient spirit, the Khandarai believe it is the spirit of the Prophetess herself, who then travels the Empire and selects a minimum of five young women who are then put through a gruelling set of tasks and tests of their skill. The survivor is crowned Empress of Khandarai.

Geography

The Kafadan River Valley

Map (Orange)

The Empire of Khandarai is a nation that has found its way in the harsh central desert of Askor. Bordered on East and West by massive Mountain ranges that serve to deflect most moisture away, it is a hard and foreboding place. Even the desert itself is broken in many places by violent movements in the earth. There is however one large river, the Kafadan River, that actually pours forth from the desert, welling up from deep beneath the surface of the earth, winding its way north to the coast where the Empires only seaport, Basul, resides.

All along that river is a green belt of lush fertile land that supports much of the Empire. There are other oasis, hidden away in the deeper portions of the desert and they are known almost exclusively to the Salakan themselves. These are reached by ancient camel roads and, in some cases, by travelling through the great ravines and canyons that cut across the sun baked surface.

Most Khandarai towns and villages are located in the same canyons and ravines, built into places where some shelter can be found from the ever present sun. The Capital itself, Shasa, is located at the head of the great river where it pours from the earth, the river providing both defence and life for the city. Though not the largest city in the Empire, that title goes to Basul, it is certainly the most impressive for its

The City of Shasa, the Imperial Capital

Life is tough in Khandarai, made even more difficult by the dangerous creatures that lurk in places even the sun never reaches. Wyverns are not unknown in Salakan and while the majority are hostile, some Khandarai have managed to tame the beasts and use them in battle, though never outside of Khandarai as leaving the desert often leads to them becoming sick and, eventually, to death.

Culture

The Empire of Khandarai is unique in the world for its class system in which females rule the Empire, provide the skilled fighting force, and males are used for breeding or menial labour tasks. The Khandarai believe they are made in the image of the Prophetess who freed them when she walked the earth, or so the story goes.

The Empire is relatively young in the grand scheme of things, no older than the legends of the Prophetess who freed the first Empress from the servitude of men and guided her to the desert where she, along with other freed slaves, settled their first village and intermingled with the local population.

Fuelled by her freedom and the burning desire to never agin let men control her destiny, the first Empress led her comrades and the women of the Desert to overthrow and slaughter the patriarchy that ruled the sands. In a cruel twist of irony that the Khandarai see as but a small vengeance for the tribulations they suffered, men are now taken in raids, or purchased through a lively slave economy, and used for the purposes of breeding. Male offspring are killed and female offspring raised in the fighting spirit of their mothers.

A Khandarai Warrior engages a pair of Yarimas

The Khandarai conduct trade through Basul but also engage in lively raiding against their neighbours, and even amongst themselves if there is no one else to fight. Broken up in Houses, Khandarai boasts seven Great Houses, and a dozen lesser houses, all of whom control various portions of the region. The power and wealth of each House has risen and fallen over the years, none truly holding any real power, all beholden to the Empress in the end.

The Khandarai are a Humanoid race, though they have an increased ability to see in the dark and are hardier than their neighbours. Their skin is darker than their neighbours as well, ranging from a soft brown to black as night.

Military

Khandarai Warriors

The Empire of Khandarai is best described as an army with an Empire. So dangerous is the desert that all Khandarai are taught to fight and survive from a very young age. One of the great tests of their full rise to womanhood is a week spent in the desert with nothing but a small blade, a bow, and a single canteen of water.

The Khandarai excel in small unit operations. They are far to isolated and spread apart to be able to form large armies and in Khandarai, big armies starve and small armies are defeated. Like many other nations they have their share of archers, sword masters, cavalry, and the like. Their cavalry tends to be far from traditional horses and camels, and beasts found in the desert are tamed wherever possible.

Magic is a powerful tool of the Khandarai, spells that allow assist them in vanishing in to, and surviving, the great desert. The Khandarai themselves are far from the most dangerous thing to be found in the desert and any Khandarai worth their salt has learned how to hide from the predators that inhabit their home.

Enchantments are common amongst the fighting forces as well in the form of fire, lightening, or even poisoned weapons. Priestesses of the Prophetess are the only true magic users of the Empire, either as Healers, Spell Casters, or Spellswords. The Spellswords are a unique melee class of warrior that use magic to augment their fighting ability.

Heroes

Khawla al-Mir

Khawla al-Mir, a legend in her time. She is the greatest Khandarai Spellsword of the latest hundred years. Fighting with little to no armour, she wields two scimitars with deadly skill and precision. Her warlike nature often brings her to the fore of raids against enemy settlements and ferociously hunts the strange and wonderful beasts of the desert. She is a master of small unit operation and often works with a picked band of fighters that she considers worthy of her company.

Naaila al-Arshad

Naaila al-Arshad is the most skilled Beast Master in the Empire. She excels in the taming of various monsters found in the desert and using them to great effect against each other, or against her enemies. She is the only known living Khandarai to have ridden on a Wyvern though it is not something she tries on a regular basis as her hold on a creature is not permanent.

History

WIP. Waiting to see details on Western neighbours.

Relations

Khandarai enjoys a wild roller coaster of relations with pretty much everyone. They are not against raiding their neighbours one day, and trading with them the next. The desert holds many precious and incredibly rare stones, spices, and the skins from any number of desert beasts can fetch a small fortune.

Khandarai does not have great fortresses built at her borders, in fact, it is easy enough for anyone to enter the desert, leaving it is another adventure altogether. A single major road, known as the Spice Road, transits from East to West, leapfrogging from oasis to oasis. Trade caravans regularly pass along this route and it is the only place a foreigner can be assured they are safe from Khandarai raiders, if they come in peace.

Characters

WIP