DELETED32084

Fog of Torvelt

@Jeremor, that’s so sad.... But I’ll lurk about and see how it works out.

Fog of Torvelt

Have you room for one more!?

The Wickedness of Man

Reporting in.

The Wickedness of Man

Yes.

Vassals to an empty throne

Kingdom of Arkron

Arkronia

For Senator Sessi Dren, the Crown Princes speech confirmed many of her worst fears; not to mention the rumours shared with her by the Arkronian Captain when they had arrived. She had no doubt that those within the Republican faction of the senate would latch onto the speech as a sign of weakness and, since it had been made publicly, there was very little she could do to try and counter the truth now.

Rhaetia, at least in the last forty years, had begun an interesting slide away from holding itself aloof from the its imperial neighbours and focused on bettering the lives of its citizens. More recently, largely thanks to the civil war in neighbouring Canthor, the voices demanding that the right of liberty and freedom for all be extended across the greater Empire.

The ideas were dangerous to Kings and Queens, she knew that. The nobles of neighbouring kingdoms had little interest in sharing power or giving their citizens anything that resembled a part in government. It had only worked in Rhaetia with the withdrawal of Imperial troops and surplus of returning soldiers who forced the republic into life. The sheer number of events that had occurred at the right time and place to allow the existence of a republic at all was staggering.

She looked around the room at the glittering gems, fancy clothes, and arrogant sneer on so many imperial lips and she knew, in that moment, that was would be inevitable. The Republican party was gaining strength among all Rhaetians while the loyalists grew older and fewer every year. Peace, it seemed, was going to be about as sincere as the smiles exchanged between the vassals around her.

Second Rhaetian Republic

Rhungora

Tul Bisner, Senator of Rhaetia and War Hero, grunted as he heaved himself off the young maid, pausing only to wipe his cock on the edge of her dress. Two male servants, their faces impassive, watched as they been directed from the nearby doorway. The girl lay completely still as he finished standing, her legs still splayed wide, her private places wet with his exertions.

“You both witnessed it?” Tul looked at the two servants who nodded and bowed low. “Good. Get her out of here and if she doesn’t give birth to a child within nine months, kill her.”

The terrified girl was dragged whimpering out of the room, her dress still open for the world to see her shame. The whimpers turned to quiet sobs as she was dragged down the stairs. Tul had no doubt that one or more of the men in the barracks would have his way with the girl and she would produce a child. If it was his child she would be rewarded. If not, she and the child would both die.

A maid flitted into the room and bowed, handing him a clean robe. He quickly dressed, tying the cord about his waist as a third maid appeared to clear away the still glistening bed sheets and replace them with fresh ones at once.

He ignored the maids and stepped out of his quarters to pace slowly down the long hallway of white washed stone, turning at last into a small room set aside as his personal shrine.

A small satin pillow rested on the stone floor in front of the shrine, it bore only a small golden statue of Shakamuni, the goddess of fertility. He lit a small stick of incense and bowed his head to the floor, praying that a child would be born with his face.

Even as he did so, he knew, in his heart of hearts, that no child would ever be his. He had tried to impregnate a different maid, or girl, a week for the last five years and none had born him a child. He could feel the tears prick the corner of his eyes as he considered the reality that he would be the last of his line. He was certain the disease he had picked up from the prostitute when he was young was the cause.

He was still on his knees praying when the first of the assassins came over the south wall of the villa. She struck first at the Water Tower, a colossal structure that stood watch over the only bridge providing any access to the fortress. Black shapes flitted up the walls with the aid of grappling hooks and the nominal guard was swiftly overwhelmed in a hail of throwing knives and arrows.

The alarm was not sounded until a sharp eyed sentry on the second story spotted a pair of grappling hooks sail over the outer wall. He managed a shout of warning before he was cut down by the attackers.

“Assassin!” The scream went through the villa like an arrow through cloth. Soldiers of the senators personal guard leapt from their beds to take up their swords, rushing out into the night to engage the enemy. Many of them had no time to don their armour and they would pay with their lives.

“Senator,” A grim faced guard burst into the Tuls' quarters. “We're under attack.”

Tul didn’t hesitate as he ripped his sword from its sheath and hurried to join his men. A sick feeling filled his stomach as he did so. Assassins were rare in Rhaetia but not unheard of. They were famously expensive - someone wanted him dead, and badly.

The night was alive with shouts, screams, and the clash of steel. A quick glance down at the walls from his upper chamber showed his disorganized and sleepy gaurds being driven quickly down the length of the wall by a well prepared and merciless adversary.

A rush of armed servants from a side passage momentarily stalled the assassin attack and furious hand to hand fighting engulfed the lower level of the villa. The gardens - a work of art - were destroyed beneath hurrying feet and blood clouded the small reflecting pool in the centre of the courtyard. Guards hurled themselves at their attackers regardless of their own life and limb and were cut down in droves.

Tul hefted his own blade and waved a number of newly arrived soldiers over to join him. He felt his lips peel back from his teeth in a feral snarl. If this was how his enemies wanted to conduct the affairs of state, he would rip theirs heart out with his own bare hands.

“For the King!” He snarled his battle cry, the guards around him taking up the call so their voices melded together in a ferocious roar as they charged the oncoming assassins.

Tul began to chant as he went, a ancient battle song of his Orcish ancestors. His feet felt lighter and it seemed as though everyone around him slowed slightly. He easily blocked the lunge of an assassin, turning his own blade over top of the others to drive the wicked point into the mans eyes. The attackers were clothed completely in black and a vicious swing of his sword the chest of one showed that they wore light chainmail beneath their clothing.

An assassin went down without a sound as Tul moved on, stepping low beneath another attack, driving his own blade upwards so that it split his attacker from groin to shoulder. In an instant the pressure on his forces weakened and then broke altogether as the assassins suddenly retreated the way they had come. Tul gave a yell of victory and, with his guard in pursuit, rushed after them, bloodied sword aloft.

He never saw the paint blackened caltrops in the darkness as he charged out onto the open patio, still blinded by the torchlight from the passageway. The first spike pierced the bottom of his foot and he dropped with a scream of pain, a second driving through his thigh, a third into his stomach. The rush of men behind him were unable to stop and several others were felled by the wicked objects.

A flicker in the darkness and more soldiers collapsed arrows flickered from the darkness, harvesting more lives. Tul tried to shout but a falling servant forced his face down onto a caltrop, a spike stabbing into his jaw.

Soldiers and servants retreated in confusion, driven back through the doorway by more arrows. Tul tried to climb to his feet as a trio of assassins moved swiftly back down the long patio toward him. Their leader, a stocky man with a short slashing sword, made eye contact with Tul and recognition flashed in the dark eyes.

Tul had no time to speak as the assassin stooped and hacked off his head, quickly shoving it into a bag at his waist before giving a sharp whistle. In an instant the assassins melted into the dark and the bloodied villa was left to the survivors.
Tul Bisner

Warhammer Fantasy: From Small Beginnings...

I'm isolating myself when Im not at work so I theoretically have time to write.

@Penny

I’m in the same boat.

Vassals to an empty throne

Second Rhaetian Republic

---

The City of Krullal, the principal sea port of Rhaetia, basked in the late afternoon sun. A hundred ships swarmed across the placid blue waters of the harbour; the wares of every nation in Mycoria could be found along the wharves and in the great market square currently ablaze with colour. The streets throbbed and pulsed with life as faces of every race hurried to and fro; copper, silver, and gold, changed hands as a thousand deals were made and folk became rich.

Massive stone walls encircled the city, embracing even the harbour itself; two massive lighthouses rising from the headlands to flank the harbour mouth. They soared over a 1000 feet into the sky and black smoke poured from one now as tarred ropes, refuse from the ships below, was burned to provide a landmark even in the middle of the day. On either side, muscled arms reaching high above naked torsos, great legs braced as if pushing, were intricately carved colossus that appeared to brace the lighthouses themselves.

"I always thought they'd have bigger cocks." Captain Sonnu Zen mused aloud, staring up at the huge figures as his ship slid slowly toward the harbour mouth, banks of oars rising and falling in unison.

"I find that about many men," Senator Sessi Dren replied with a smirk. "At least the sculptors of these giants were accurate."

"Heh, fair enough." Zen chuckled. "Fair enough."

He turned to look down the length of his ship. It was the latest in Rhaetian design, slim, sleek, and fast. It would be no match for a warship - that was not its purpose - but it could outrun a more heavily armed foe. Like many other things in Rhaetia, it had been built to be practical and efficient. There was nothing luxurious about the stepped back masts, sharply angled sails, or purple, silver banded, hull; but all of it suggested speed.

"Oars in!" Zen shouted. "Loose all sail!"

Oars clattered against the hull as they were stored and sailors chanted in unison as the towering mainsail rose up the mainmast. The wind caught it at once, causing the vessel to heel over sharply so that Dren had to grab onto the rail before she tumbled into the sea. The Captain shot her an apologetic look.

"Should have warned you, sorry."

"No need to apologize. I do not sail often." She felt her stomach heave as the ships bow met the incoming sea, rising above a wave before plunging down the far side, sending up a great curtain of spray as the vessel gathered speed. "Excuse me." She lurched miserably for the side and vomited, the wind whipping it astern in an instant.

* * * * *

"Oh thank the gods..." Dren raised her eyes skyward as she felt the firm stone beneath her feet at last. She would have got down on her knees and kissed the quay in gratitude, but even in her condition she knew that was a poor first impression to make on the Arkronians. Instead, her stomach growling with hunger, she smiled at the three grey skinned Arkronians who awaited her.

"Alan Arkronis. Welcome, Senator." The lead Arkronian said with a small bow. The two of them were eye level, a gift from her Orcish ancestors, and she returned the bow.

"Alan Arkronis. Thank you, Captain." She offered a smile. "It's been a long time since I was here."

The captain smiled in response and pulled a scroll from his sleeve, holding it up in front of him. "I am afraid the formalities must be observed." He said, eyeing the dozen purple clad soldiers who waited behind her, still on the ships deck. "Is this all of you?"

"Yes, nothing fancy I am afraid."

"We expected such a simple, yet elegant, party from your people." Another smile as he did a brief headcount, recorded the thirteen of them, and then, with another apologetic grimace, he began to read the laws of the city.

“Welcome to Akronia, capital of the realm. Residence of the King of the Arkronian nation and supreme overlord of the realm. Before entering the city I must first inform you of the most common laws. The carrying of weapons within the city walls that are longer than 16 inches is prohibited. Violating this law will result in disarmament and arrest by Arkronian police. All weapons that are prohibited must be left at the gate. These will be administered and stored upon leaving the city walls, these belongings can be repatriated by request in compliance with Akronian weapon laws as stated in the book of weapon laws, chapter 8, section 17, appendix A.”

The captain paused a bit before he continued. “The drawing and usage of weapons is considered a violation of the law until proven otherwise in front of an Arkronian court. Weapons should remain sheeted in public at all times. Being caught with unsheeted weapons by Arkronian police will result in disarmament and imprisonment. In accordance with the laws as written down in the book of weapon laws, chapter 12, section 4. The carrying of weapons within the walls of the royal palace is only allowed in the guest quarters assigned to the diplomatic mission.”

The guard continued to state a long list of laws. With ever increasing patience, and amusement, Dren listened at to laws that governed every aspect of day to day Arkronian law. If it existed, the Arkronians would have a law for it. Rhaetia itself was not so different, though there were even more laws for the freedom of all, and rule of the majority. At least they didn't insist on reading it to everyone who visited; though ignorance of the law was no excuse.

It took nearly 20 minutes of reciting laws, and stacking of weapons, before the Arkronians began to lead their Rhaetian guests into the city. Massive walls fronted the port and they had to pass through one of the massive gates, the smell of bubbling oil drifting down from above and faces stared down from murder holes. Rhaetians were common enough in Arkronia that their passage drew few glances from the general public.

Dren would have to have been made of stone not to notice how empty the streets were. They were largely deserted and only a few scattered folk came out to gawk at the purple clad guardsmen. The streets were still neat and orderly, almost as much as those in Rhungora. The few Arkronians stood well apart from each other without trying to make it to obvious.

"Things seem quiet, captain." Dren muttered quietly to the Arkronian who walked beside her. She had turned down the offer of a carriage for a chance to see everything for herself.

The male looked at her out of the corner of his eye as thought gauging how to answer the question. Then he shrugged slightly before glancing around the street.

"Rhaetia has long been a loyal friend to the Crown. You will the find truth soon enough. Our people are dying. Not all, mostly the young and old at the moment, but that is enough." He sounded deeply sad, and Dren could not blame him. Deep down she was concerned that the plague could easily spread to her people. They were of the same family blood after all.

The captain escorted his guests through marble streets and towards the centre of the city. The strict order and fortifications were a stark reminder of the sheer power wielded by Arkronia. They walked in silence now; each lost in thought of their own people, and what the plague might mean for them all. Dren found herself imagining the streets of Rhungora as empty as those around her, the great market barren of merchants, the forum devoid of life, the river free of boats.

Their winding path, almost unnoticed now by a populace cowering from an enemy they could not see, brought them to Arkronian Royal Palace. It was a massive walled complex that encompassed hundreds of smaller buildings and the main palace itself, a titanic white structure that dwarfed anything in Rhaetia. The white walls reflected the sun so that it was almost painful to look upon the structure and the wide moat, alive with ducks and turtles, that lay before the walls.

"It is an impressive sight." Dren said, breaking the silence at last.

"Yes, though I have heard Rhaetia has impressive sights of its own."

"Nothing quite like this. Perhaps you should come and visit Rhaetia some time, judge for yourself." The Arkronian delegation in Rhungora had its own small contingent of soldiers that was well liked by the locals.

"Maybe." The word was hollow. None of them could predict what would happen in Mycoria. Only fools could not see another war on the horizon. It was not a matter of if, but when.

Their path led them across the outer bridge and into the first ring of defences. The diplomatic villas were located here, it was not Drens first time spending a night in one. The Rhaetians usual villa was among the smallest, built among a cherry blossom trees and neatly kept. A small party of servants and a handful of guardsmen, permanently stationed in the capital, awaited the senator.

"This is you, Senator." The captain said with a nod. He made as if to turn away and then paused, glancing at her.

"I hope our people can look forward to many years of peace and prosperity between our nations. We may need allies more than we need vassals soon enough." He bowed. "Until then, senator."

"Goodbye, and thank you." The senator watched him go, his words echoing in her head. She hoped he was wrong, but in her heart of hearts, she knew.

Vassals to an empty throne

Second Rhaetian Republic

---

The First Consul tugged the front of his robe down and shrugged the heavy material forward so that it rested more comfortably on his shoulders. It was a raw early-spring Rhaetian morning, with the temperature barely hovering below ten degrees; the light had a cold, bleakly clear quality, as if you could cut yourself on the blue of the sky.

He walked slowly over to the heavy curtain and opened it with a quick flick of his wrist, the heavy lead balls that held the fabric in place clacked loudly, whistling tunelessly as he did so. Outside he paused to take in the view - a panoramic vista of Rhungora - and breathed deeply of the wind that blew down from the mountains; his breath a blast of white mist in the still morning air.

Below him, spread out like a painters dream, was the city of Rhungora. The First Consuls apartment had been built into the side of the Great Forum and Senate - both buildings split from each other by a long narrow pool of water - and served as the home of the Republics elected leader. Even as he felt his bare feet against the night cooled marble he took a moment to enjoy the very best part of his day, the sunrise.

It struck the mountain tops first, the peaks flaring like so many giant torches as the sun lit the snow caps. Minute by minute the sunlight moved swiftly down the tree darkened slopes - highlighting the deep green of the forest - like a world being reborn. It never got old.

He felt the heat suddenly wash across his face as the sun touched the Senate Chamber, the highest of all the buildings in Rhungora. The dome, built of stone but sheathed in copper and trimmed with silver, flared like the mountain peaks. Below him the city itself was hidden from a view, an almost inky black pool among the hills that surrounded it.

The high mansions appeared first; white washed walls, tall thin trees and nearly red tiled rooves crowned the hills and slowly marching down the hills until, at long last, the sun hit the city proper. A thousand streets, crowded in upon by three storied white homes, numberless towers and copper domes, crisscrossed a maze of canals and the two rivers whose blue waters had lit up; their deep blue colour shooting away in three directions, marking their passage from the mountains toward the sea.

He let out the breath that he had been holding and held out a hand. A servant, waiting quietly out of sight behind another curtain, hurried forward and gave him a crystal glass filled with wine.

"The Senators are here, First Consul." The servant said as he withdrew into the apartment.

"Send them in."

There was a gentle tapping on the marble floor and a door opened onto the terrace from the main Senate Chamber. A guardsman - his cloak a rich purple and fastened with gold - glanced in, caught the First Consuls nod, and then stood aside as three Senators stepped onto the terrace.

"First Consul Dosit." They said in unison, dipping their heads in greeting; Rhaetians did not shake hands.

"Senator Tul Bisner, a pleasure as always." Dosit greeted a tall male who bore a unique blue tinge to his skin; broad shoulders and a vicious scar down the left side of his face - dissecting one milky white eye - hinting at his profession before entering politics. The male was a fierce Royalist and had waged war in the name of the King.

"Senator Luunri Greanad, nice to see you again." The senator returned his smile. She was about shoulder height on him, shorter than most Ruline, but all the more dangerous for it. Those who underestimated the slim, silver tusked female, did so at their own peril. Here was the greatest threat to Rhaetian loyalty to the crown - a Ruline determined to chart her own destiny - and she made no secret of her desire to see influence of the crown curtailed.

And Senator Sessi Dren, welcome back." Strong white teeth flashed in the narrow face, canines tipped with silver. She was among those who belonged to the third faction in Rhaetia, the same faction Dosit had come from. Effectively considered neutral, they did not fall one way or the other among Royalist or Republican, but their numbers had been dwindling lines began to get drawn in the sand.

Together, the three of them represented the three most powerful factions in the senate. There were independents of course, a couple of small fringe factions that held no weight, and of course, the First Consul. Officially, he belonged to no party and served as the binding agent for all. That was becoming increasingly difficult as voices of dissent grew louder and the Arkronain Crown teetered precariously on the edge of ruin.

"Thank you for the invite, Dosit, I love coming up here." Dren purred as she stepped up to edge of the balcony, long slender fingers caressing the intricately carved handrails. "Always a treat."

"Yes, always nice to get an invite, but let's cut to the chase." Bisner, ever to the point, had clasped his hands behind his back and was standing with the easy stance of a fighter. "Forgive my abruptness, but I believe we need to get a delegation on the move. We're already a week behind."

That much was true. The Senate had debated around in circles about who they should send and, in the end, the only thing they had agreed upon was that someone definitely needed to go. In the end the four who stood on the balcony had declared an emergency council, sent the rest of the Senators home and then held a hurried council before deciding to vote on it in the morning.

"Right, of course," Dosit flashed the imposing ex-soldier a quick smile and was rewarded with a small twitch at the corner of the others mouth. "We do need to send someone."

"Well I suggest we don't send someone who wants to rip the whole damn system down." Bisner plowed right in, his eyes fixed on Greanad as he spoke. There was no love lost between the two and she scowled back at him.

"Of course, we might as well send a royal ass licker instead and make them think they can walk all over us, as per usual." She snarled back. Dosit raised a hand quickly to calm the two. He had known it would likely turn into a verbal slug fest between the two and was prepared.

"I suggest we send Senator Dren." He nodded at the neutral who shrugged in agreement. "Neither of you will support sending the other and I will not be attending. Someone will have to keep this ship of state on course while we still can." He glared at the two faction leaders who had the good sense to look somewhat embarrassed.

"I would be delighted to go." Dren gave them all a smile that lit up her face. "See what we can accomplish without committees and voting!"

"You're advocating for Empire now?" Dosit teased her and was rewarded with a dismissive look.

"Of course not, but you have to admit it sure makes things simpler. I do get tired of everyone yelling at each other until we've battered the other side in submission." She massaged her temples. "Really tired of it."

The other three either smiled, rolled their eyes, or grunted in acknowledgement. The fact that Rhaetia had somehow even ended up a Republic was still a bit baffling to them all. It had been born in blood when the Arkronian created noble order had been decimated, but somehow the link to the Crown had never been quite thrown off.

"So, we're agreed, Dren will go?" Dosit asked. He held up a hand, followed by Dren. The other two raised their hands quickly, trying to out do the other in a show of support. "It's official then."

A scribe, seated at a small stone table in the apartment of the First Consul took note of the vote, but not the conversation itself. The apartment was one of the few places of government that no conversation was ever recorded. This served to protect security and privacy alike, though Dosit had no doubt the silent servants would quickly be rushing to tell their families of the vote.

"I'll leave at once then." Dren was muttering to herself as she looked over the city which was now fully engulfed in sunlight. "Ride overland to Krullal and take ship for Arkronia."

"That would be best, yes. I'll have a dozen guardsmen go with you. We need not send anything lavish. The Republic is hardly known for grand displays. Take a couple of scribes as well. We need to know everything that happens." Dosit said as he sipped from his wine. "The winds of change are blowing and we must known which way they will go."

Vassals to an empty throne

Second Rhaetian Republic

---

First Consul Kohu Dosit stretched his back momentarily, careful to not upset his kajukki as he took a moment to relax. The small craft was sharply pointed at either end and propelled by a double bladed paddle; a leather skirting kept the water from flooding the vessels hollow interior. He lay the paddle across his lap and quickly drank several handfuls of the cold river water, leaning back for a moment and staring up at the rapidly narrowing white cliffs on either side of him. Trees crowded close about the clifftops and thick green ferns, fed by the river, presented an unbroken shoreline for as far as he could see.

The water beneath him, for the moment, was crystal clear and he could see schools of large yellow fish lazily rushing past him downriver toward the unseen sea so many hundreds of kilometres away. The river bottoms was of white stone, all of it having once fallen from the cliffs above; the stones had been rounded and smoothed by the rushing water so that he could have walked along the bottom with ease.

The steadily growing roar of the river began to change in timbre as he floated along and he picked up his paddle, craning his head to see around the coming river bend. A pair of huge rocks, roughly the size of a horse, had fallen into the centre of the river and he would have to pass them to continue his journey.

Beyond the stones, the rivers placid surface was turning into frothing white mass as the canyon narrowed into a series of angry looking rapids. He grinned and hefted his paddle, sweeping it backwards to direct his kajukki between the two stones. He felt himself drop, his stomach leaping into his throat, then he hit the water with a loud crack. Ahead of him the rapids raged, the water pushing high and white over rocks beneath the surface. A deft twitch of the paddle and he began his descent into the canyon. It was a good day to be alive.

* * * * *

Three hours later, blanket around his shoulders and hands stretched out to a roaring fire, Kohu listened as his secretary read the letter from Arkron. He was sore, battered, bruised, and the exhilaration from his day on the river had been replaced by trepidation at the news of the kings death.

"The inauguration ceremonies and festivities will take place five weeks from now in the royal palace in Arkronia. As honoured guests and subjects to the crown, your attendance is expected." The secretary finished, holding out the letter to Kohu until the First Consul shook his head. It went back into its envelope before getting tucked into a saddle bag.

"Well that makes life interesting." Kohu muttered as he scootched closer to the blaze. The river had a way of chilling one to the bone and he suspected it was his Orchish heritage that made him robust enough to survive the trip. Maybe he should have a suit made that would keep him warm and dry. A thought for another day. " Nothing else?"

The secretary shook his head. Matthel had served as First Secretary for the last three First Consuls to lead Rhaetia, but Kohu was certainly the most fascinating of them all. The noticeably fit Ruline lived for excitement and adventure - riding rivers in his small boat was just one of several adrenaline packed activities he seemed to take joy in. No matter of state was ever rushed into and Kohu's exploits had made him infamous throughout the land and inspired a whole new generation of daredevils; the days of simply being good on horseback were swiftly drawing to a close.

Kohu was also the youngest male in several generations to take the role of First Consul. Unlike several of his predecessors, he had not inherited wealth from his parents and was entirely self-made. It was a sign of a new age in the Republic as old money, long associated with blood ties to Arkronia, was slowly fading away. The spoiled youth of the rich were fewer and fewer as Kohu introduced taxes and policies to strangle old family monopolies and invigorate the majority of Rhaetians.

"Get the boat loaded up, we'll ride to Rhungora and summon the senate. Someone will have to go, but who..." Who indeed. The recent weakness in the Arkronian crown had brought a host of new issues to light within Rhaetia. The younger generations, emboldened by their adrenaline seeking leadership, had begun clamouring for more tax revenue to be kept at home and some even seemed determined to cause a crisis by calling for complete autonomy from the Crown. Two factions had been slowly developing in the senate and lines were being drawn in the sand between Republican and Royalist factions. So far there had been no blows but with Rhaetia clinging to the belief that every citizen had a voice, it was only a matter of time.

Two servants had hurried forward and began strapping the kajukki onto a patient donkey who swatted at them with a shit stained tail. Food and the First Consuls wet garments joined the load - horses were led forward and the small party mounted. Four soldiers, their armour a matted green in colour, formed up in pairs in front and behind. Once Kohu was satisfied that nothing had been forgotten he gave the river one more longing glance before nodding to his escort and riding for Rhungora.

Vassals to an empty throne

@Trinais, I’m curious, is your nation not in complete disregard to what @Milkman states in the OOC?

4. The Arkronians have banned the development of shipbuilding technology throughout the continent and monopolized it for their own kingdom. This means that the other nations aren't allowed to develop ships that can cross the ocean to reach other continents and are confined in how large of a mercentile and military fleets the other nations are allowed to have. In short the combined fleets of all other nations might be at best equal in size but subpar in quality.