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NRP, Star Wars, Dragon Age and Warhammer (Fantasy and 40k) enthusiast. Feel free to PM me about any related RPs

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Name of Nation: Usharid Sultanate

Species: Humans form the bulk of the population and are the dominant “species”. Besides humanity, The Usharid also counts with a couple of notable Surabhi enclaves in the hinterlands. Which mostly exist to provide the Sultanate with specialist heavy infantry.



History:

Territorial Claims:

Economy:



Navy:



Foreign Relations:



USHARID SULTANATE
The capital city of Al-Dourem.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What kind of terms?" Kasim interrupted.

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

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

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

"Thank you, my son." Ishaaq smiled. "These coming months will demand much of us all. We shouldn't shirk from our duties.”
Im sorry but Im gonna have to drop this game. RL issues
Apologies for the delay.
Its not like Anton Illia resented his lot in life.

No, far from that, the gamekeeper was content. He had food, shelter and far more freedom than a serf like him could ever dream of having. The Voivode was a good master, despite what those lowlander snobs said in their cups. Anton's cabin in the woods was a cozy and pleasant home, far enough from everything else to grant him privacy to live as he pleased. The woods, he knew like the back of his hand and no wannabe poacher had a shot at despoiling his master's property while he worked there.

All in all, it was a good life. A very good life. Anto Illia was content but being content wasn't enough anymore. It had started small, a year ago. Just the occasional thought worming its way into his mind. During the quiet lonely winter nights, when Anton spent his time snuggled by the fireplace reading one of his old, battered books for the umpteenth time.

Surely there was more to life than this? More than this repetitive routine, this self imposed isolation from society. Didn't he yearn for more?

Back then he could easily ignore that little voice. Bury the insidious thought with work and prayer. But as the months passed and winter soldiered on, stronger and longer than usual, the Gamekeeper found his will slowly eroding. His thoughts and the dog were his company. And animals couldn't talk back. Or at least they shouldn't, the woods were a strange place but Anton would rather keep the strangeness to a minimum, and contained to the deep, dark places where not even he would dare to tread.

It was during one of his rare, but regular, supply drives to the nearby villages. Where he would collect his payment, sell a few furs and lumber to make a few extra cash, that he first saw the posters announcing the mobilization. On a whim he walked up to one of the few officers shouting about fighting and glorious service, outsiders and lowlanders all of them he had noticed, and took one of the fliers. The man's smile reminded him of a snarling wolf, ready to pounce on its prey. He stared back from behind his curtain of hair and thanked the officer before returning to his day.

Back home the flyer was forgotten inside one of the few second hand books Anton had brought from Old Man Mihai, for a few weeks at least. Before it slipped out into his lap just as he was about to discover whether or not Nikolaj would manage to warn the villagers in time to escape the flood.

That night he dreamed of leaving. Of joining the Guard and killing for the Emperor, visiting far off alien lands and just being MORE than an isolated gamekeeper in some forgotten forest hidden in the hills of Syvarch. The next day his dog was killed in a fight with poachers and Anton had one fewer reason to stay.

Usually, bonded serfs like him are to live their lives working in the land of their masters in whatever roles their ancestors had. There are few ways one can free himself from those obligations in Syvarch. Volunteering for the Guard muster is one of them. Its not a path many Syvarchis choose, mind you. Anton's people are an insular lot for the most part. It's not the role of the serf to think about what lays beyond, the serf is supposed to be content with working the land of his ancestors and serving his master. Usually, when the mustering came, the Voivodes and Bans that ruled Syvarch just needed to provide food and material to the regiments. Rare were the times when serfs were conscripted.

Still, if that was what Anton had to do to quiet his increasingly unsettled mind, then that's what he would do. It was easier than expected, he found out. He had no living family, no real friends to leave behind, no properties to liquidate. It was all done in a single afternoon. And by nightfall Anton had taken the train to the mustering grounds with the few others who had decided like him.

Anton Illia did not resent his lot in life, or at least tried not to. He just wanted more.

When the day came, he stood in line, feeling incredibly out of place, his long, wild black hair failing like a curtain in his face and untamed beard giving earning him looks from the people, lowlanders all of them, as he stepped out of the train. His clothes too, marked him as an outsider, old, battered and worn things they were, patched by his own hands dozens of times in the past. He did not dwell on it too long, however, did not allow himself to, with officers hurrying him and the other volunteers into the waiting trucks to be taken to basic training. Despite the long train trip, delayed and slow as it was, Anton didn't make too much of an effort to get to know the other Syvarchis. He had never been the most social of men, and over a decade of minimum human contact did nothing to improve that.

They were separated soon after, assigned to different units. Anton's face was shaved and his hair cut shorter than it ever was in over a decade. His homemade clothes replaced by training fatigues and face still itching, Anton Illia started his training.

He wasn't the strongest of men, far from it as a matter of fact. He was a scrawny kid, living by himself taking care of the Voivode's woods did not compensate for an inadequate diet, proper exercise or genetics. But he was fast, he was agile, he could move quietly and he had an eye for shooting that few in the training cadre could match. So the powers that be took him out of frontline service and told him he was to be a scout from now on. Made him train with a gun that was too different from the old reliable heirloom he had used his whole life and taught him the basics of codes and stealth. Stuff he found himself taking too rather easily, to his fond surprise.

Basic training didn't last too long, and soon he found himself standing in line with thousands of others. He did not make idle talk, he didn't knew these people. His brothers and sisters in arms, not truly. Not yet at least, but he watched. He always was the attentive sort. Ever since his childhood, the quiet kid watching everything from the sidelines. He watched in silence and waited as the line moved at a snail's pace. He didn't mind too much, Servitors unsettled him, always had. No hurry to have and deal with them.
Gotta say I was going for a Romanian vibe with my char :p
Name: Anton Ilia
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Former Profession: Gamekeeper
Rank: Private
Specialisation: Marskman

I should have something by tomorrow
Name of Nation: Usharid Sultanate

Species: Humans form the bulk of the population and are the dominant “species”. Besides humanity, The Usharid also counts with a couple of notable Surabhi enclaves in the hinterlands. Which mostly exist to provide the Sultanate with specialist heavy infantry.



History:

Territorial Claims:

Economy:



Navy:



Foreign Relations:




I have some tentative interest
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