Drunken Conquistador

Takanis - A Historically Inspired Fantasy NRP

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 Kera-Bijani 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 councilors (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 Kera-Bijan might do." Rubbayat sighed, leaning over to grap 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."

"Which 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."

Unheroic: A Second Chance [ENDED]

This looks like a pretty interesting concept. Is it still open?

Era of Strife: The Eternal War of Saqquar (Or a medieval-style RP about a civil-war)

Interested. Will get a sheet in a couple hours

Edit: is there a sheet where we can find more of the established lote? Cultures, geography and the like?

Warhammer 40k: Platoon (Back to Basics) - An Only War/ Imperial Guard RP [CLOSED!]

I guess its time to bayonet some robots then.



COME AT ME, XENO!

Takanis - A Historically Inspired Fantasy NRP

USHARID SULTANATE

WIP

Name of Nation: The Usharid Sultanate

Species: Humans

Culture and Society:

Fierce lands breed a fierce people, or so the saying goes. It was true for a thousand different peoples through history and it was true for the Usharids. The Desert Fathers and other learned folk speak of the first Usharids being created out of the desert sand by Abtum, the Spirit of the Desert and the one and only god of the Usharid tribes.

Abtum gave the people a strict set of rules to his children. Rules to ensure that the tribes would give Him and His physical body (the desert) the deserved respect. And to ensure that the tribes lived in righteousness and piety. As any proper man should.

And so the tribes lived for eons. Respecting the holy places, honoring elders and the Desert Fathers, giving God His deserved offerings and prayers whilst striking down heretics and apostates with extreme prejudice. Living according to the means the land afforded them and ensuring that no foreign taint would take root upon the billowing dunes.

That system worked smoothly for who knows how many thousand years. All around the desert empires rose and fell, races grew powerful and withered all the while the Usharid tribes lived as their ancestors, taking whatever changes the outside world threw at them in stride. Adopting whatever they thought was useful and shunning the supposedly superfluous. Fighting whoever sought to impose their will upon their lands and occasionally venturing beyond the sand dunes for plunder and loot, either as raiders or mercenaries.

The conquest of Hijark broke this placid equilibrium. Suddenly, the Usharids were not only an unified people, but they had also expanded beyond their original homeland, finding themselves ruling over a large amount of settled people, the Hijarkis. The Usharids changed, or were changed by their new circumstances.

The modern Usharid Sultanate is still a land in flux. As the new generations grow knowing nothing of the old days of Hijark or the tribal confederations save what they learn from their elders.

The Usharids still make up most of the ruling elite. But instead of silken tents, they now inhabit perfumed palaces and countryside estates. Many of them even having Hijarki blood themselves, on account of Jibal’s policy of intermarriage. These children grew into an increasingly mixed culture. That although still calls itself Usharid and pays homage to Abtum and his scriptures, also has undeniably been impacted by their new wealthier and settled lifestyle.

The Hijarkis experienced their own share of changes imposed by their new overlords. Though the framework many of the old Kingdom’s institutions and organizations survived the Usharid conquest, many others didn’t or were irreparably damaged. Old mage guilds were suppressed and hunted down for resisting the Usharid invasion. Many temples, shrines and libraries were looted and razed during the invasion itself and in the suppression of the many rebellions that followed while the old warrior aristocracy that ruled Hijark was gutted. Meanwhile, cities and the coastal plains were filled with bands of Usharid tribesmen, eager to leave behind the harsh dunes for an easier life on the coast. But even then, this influx of tribesmen wasn’t enough to replace the native Hijarkis, who to this day still make up the majority of the Sultanate’s population.

The remnants of the Hijarki warrior aristocracy still cling to whatever power they managed to preserve. Mostly by ingratiating themselves with their new overlords and working within the new system. A far cry from the heights of their power in the previous centuries. Not only have they been subjugated by a new, stronger force but now they also need to compete with a new, growing class of bureaucrats and government officials raised from Hijarki and mixed race burghers and merchants. Who have become vital to the running of the Sultanate.

And last, but not least, there are those Usharids who still inhabit their ancestral homeland. Being either too poor and lacking the political and blood connections to earn themselves estates in Hijarki lands or simply choosing to remain in the desert for one reason or the other. Some of these chieftains look to the developments in the Sultanate with some concern, for they too can see how their ancestral desert has fallen behind, relegated to a backwater within the very nation that carries its name. Ruled by their supposed kin, who grows increasingly foreign with each passing generation. Distancing itself from the land and ways that originally gave them the strength to seize the lofty palaces and green fields they now lord over. Still, these men are few, and yet lacking the power to do much besides grumbling and whispering to those of their coastal kin who still stubbornly cling to their ancestral ways.

History:

The Usharid Sultanate is a young nation, specially by the standards of the region. Surrounded by nations and empires who can claim long centuries or even millennia of history, the Sultanate’s less than two centuries certainly pale in comparison.

The Sultanate’s tale with a blood feud, as many tales in the desert are won’t to do. When Ali ibn Tariq of the Lazash tribe gutted Zaffura bint Hassam of the Rubyat tribe in the middle of Aqquba Oasis’ bazaar because the trader supposedly sold him spoiled meat. The Rubyats, understandably, were incensed by the murder, and claimed that Ali had killed Zaffura to avoid paying his large debt to her.

The two tribes soon took the issue to the dunes, as usual. This little spat would’ve been just one among many in the Usharid’s long story of inter tribal warfare if not for the fact that the Lazash tribe, smaller and poorer than their foes by a considerable margin, called upon the help of their kinsmen of the Turraq tribe. At the time led by young Salman Ibn Ayyub.

Salman, eager to make a name for himself among the tribes of the desert, eschewed the traditional tactics of endless skirmishing among the sands and ritual combat between champions to instead strike directly at the Rubyat’s camps and the oasis where they sought shelter, usually held as neutral ground in Usharid culture. Winning the war with great displays of tactical acumen and personal bravery, but also committing a terrible taboo in the eyes of the other Usharid tribes. Salman had been too aggressive, too bloodthirsty in his campaign, a small blood feud was not enough justification to eschew the traditional ways of fighting. To burn homes and disrupt the sacredness of the oasis settlements and neutral grounds.

Still, Salman’s victory earned him some prestige and respect from other tribes. Enough to garner him some allies for more campaigns against other tribes. Age old enemies of the Turraqs or merely convenient targets. In the span of a few years, Salman had managed to establish a sizable tribal confederation with him and his tribes at its head. Such organizations weren’t unheard of in Usharid history. After all, it only took an ambitious warlord of foreign threat to unite at least some of the tribes. The difference between Salman and those previous warlords, however, was that Salman flaunted the ancient customs and traditions of the tribes. Not only when it came to warfare but religion too. Abandoning the proper worship of Abtum for the faith of Ishareth and going as far as declaring that he would spread his “True Faith” to all the corners of the Usharid realm.

That was the final straw for many who until then had stayed out of Salman’s way out of fear or apathy. Conquering warlords came and went in the desert, but apostasy could not be tolerated. This new coalition rallied under Umar Ibn Ali, chief of the Raidus tribe.

Umar was neither the wealthiest nor the strongest of the chieftains who rose up to challenge Salman. But he was a pious man leading a notoriously pious tribe. His strict observance of Abtum’s commandments made him the natural choice for their leader. And thus, he was named Caliph, commander of the faithful, by the Desert Fathers.

The religious nature of the conflict sapped Salman’s strength. Many of his allies and subjects refused to fight by his side or even defected to Umar’s army. The Desert Fathers, the only organized order of mages in the Usharid lands, also pledged their full support towards Umar’s cause. Still, Salman was a commander of unmatched skill at the time, and his own warriors were mighty veterans, experienced and ruthless fighters.

The Salmanid Apostasy lasted around 6 years. As able commander the Apostate was, he proved himself unable to defeat the powerful coalition in detail before it could fully mobilize its forces against him. Salman himself died at the end of the fourth year of the war, alongside with most of his army. With the rest of the conflict being spent chasing down the last dregs of his partisans and kin, purging them with grievous prejudice and destroying every last trace of the foreign religion upon the Usharid lands.

Umar himself would not live long to enjoy the prestige and adoration of having had purged the Apostates root and stem, but his firstborn, Jibal would do so spectacularly. Wielding the disparate alliance first into a loose confederation and gradually bringing all the tribes under his wing. The culmination of Jibal’s work came with the conquest of Hijark.

Realizing that in due time, every tribal confederation was prone to splintering, Jibal knew that if his work were to outlive him, the Usharid tribes would need to evolve beyond their current means. They would need institutions and structure. And most importantly, outside threats to keep the tribesmen united. And so, with that in mind, Jibal turned his eyes to the Kingdom of Hijark. A prosperous settled realm that controlled the fertile lands hugging the coastline southern of the Usharid desert.

Provoking the settled realm into war by incessant raiding and harassment of caravans, Jibal gained the outside threat necessary to rally the desert warriors. And so the great Usharid horde stormed south, giving battle to the mercenaries and levies of Hijark and breaking them in seven great battles over the course of three years. And thus, at the dawn of the fourth year of the conflict, Jibal Ibn Umar al-Raidus was declared Sultan, by the jubilant Desert Fathers over the burn ruins of Hijark chief city. And thus the Usharid Sultanate was born.

Jibal spent the next two decades of his life tirelessly working to turn the loose tribal confederation he ruled into a proper, “modern” realm. Work that more often than not involved coopting already existing Hijarki structures and institutions.

Territorial Claims:



Economy:

Army:

Navy:

Traits:

Foreign Relations:

Rolls:

Land Area: 11
Land Fertility: 3 (+4) = 7
Development: 12 (swapped with Magical Reserves): 16
Land Power: 19 (+1) = 20
Naval Power: 13
Economy: 16
Magical Reserves: 16 (swapped with development) : 12
Magical Sophistication: 8
Other:

Warhammer 40k: Platoon (Back to Basics) - An Only War/ Imperial Guard RP [CLOSED!]

Yeah sure, life has quieted down somewhat on my end

Warhammer 40k: Platoon (Back to Basics) - An Only War/ Imperial Guard RP [CLOSED!]

Post coming tomorrow or the day after. RL really fucked me over these last few days. Apologies for the delay

Warhammer 40k: Platoon (Back to Basics) - An Only War/ Imperial Guard RP [CLOSED!]

---

Baltar Iskaron

---

For the first time ever since he had enlisted, Baltar Iskaron had overslept. Much needed sleep, that had nonetheless, earned him a harsh reprimand from the higher ups a few days ago. After that, Emperor and Sun be praised, he had overcome his sleeping problems. The relentless drilling still had worn him out, but the lack of sleepless nights did wonders for his rest and general good humor.

Which still wasn't enough to compensate for the fact he was about to be thrown into his first battle. This wasn't gonna be Baltar's first fight. He had had his fair share of scuffles back home as a Caravan Guard, and before that merely helping defend their camp from the tribes that lived deeper in the desert. But he was now sadly certain that no amount of shooting the rare screaming Ork or skirmishes over watering spots would hold a single, measly candle to the kind of...of...whatever was going to happen once they landed.

"Don't you go pissing your pants, boy. Don't need you bringing anymore shame upon the clan name."

Baltar steeled himself, mentally reciting prayers and litanies to the Emperor and Sun, as he gave his gear one final check. It still felt somewhat alien to him, all this equipment, the flak armor, the lasgun itself. Back home he and most other Caravan Guards had to make do with an assortment of different weapons. Baltar himself had used an old and worn stub gun. Getting used to the lasgun instead had been something that he was sure would come soon enough. Even the combat knife was far shorter than the saber he had so painstakingly trained and used all these years.

"A warrior must know his weapons, boy. Respect and revere them or you might as well shoot yourself now and save us all the trouble."

Now there was nothing more to do besides following the rest of the squad to the entrance of the monstrosity of a landing ship that would carry them to...wherever they were going to fight.

"Listen up, we are going to make our way into this lander in an orderly fashion - our autocannon team to the rear, followed by medics and vox-troopers - the remaining squads of the platoon following in after us."

Baltar caught himself nodding along to the Sergeant words. Noticing with some misplaced pride that he seemed to be another desert dweller like him. He ignored the other assembled soldiers, intent on listening to everything the officer would choose to impart upon them. Maybe now he would finally find out where and against who the regiment would be fighting. Finally confirm which one of the hundred wild rumors where correct.

"Alright! Check your gear, stow your feelings, and follow me."

At that Baltar gave his gear one last keen eyed inspection, noticing that yes, everything was in order. Just as it had been the last three times he had checked less than half a hour ago. Then, Baltar realized the Sergeant had already entered the lander. That was supposed to be all? Oh Emperor and Sun, they were going to be thrown into the battlefield utterly blind, weren't they?

"So what, boy? You're now a soldier of the Emperor. And you will fight his enemies wherever they appear. Remember your oaths and stop mewling like a little girl."

Baltar shook himself. Trying to will the fear and nervousness away as he made his way through the dark belly of the metal beast, looking for a seat.

Warhammer 40k: Platoon (Back to Basics) - An Only War/ Imperial Guard RP [CLOSED!]

I will get a post with a proper color code later tonight

Warhammer 40k: Platoon (Back to Basics) - An Only War/ Imperial Guard RP [CLOSED!]

Baltar Iskaron

Sleep continued to elude him, much to his chagrin. Tomorrow was going to be another day filled with endless drills and Baltar Iskaron would rather face it after a night's rest, at least one. Emperor above, he hadn't managed a decent night's sleep in weeks. Every day was filled with mind numbing, exhaustive drills while his nights were spent half awake, tossing and turning in his bunk, surrounded by more people than he had ever seen during his life in the sands, inside a ship that was largest than the most populous market city he had ever visited before going to the Hive. Which by itself was an entirely different beast. Not that he had had much time to gawk at that incomprehensible titan of steel.

Guarding caravans through well trodden desert routes, as it turned out, did not prepare him for the life of a Guardsmen. But that was only one of the many prejudices and misconceptions that Baltar had been forced to abandon ever since that fateful day in which his father told him to go out into the world and make a name for himself.

Perhaps, in time, this torrent of disjointed thoughts and ideas would settle and Baltar's mind would allow him to settle down for a night of proper sleep. He needed it, needed it more than ever. Soon the regiment would be disembarking on the front, or so he had been told. And then, Emperor above, the desert was a deadly mistress to the unaware, the tired, the distracted. Baltar could only imagine what an actual warzone would be. And his mind was very fertile. He certainly wasn't counting on the privilege of having a sure bed and uninterrupted sleeping time when they were thrown into real combat.

At least then, Baltar would see the sun again. Not the Sun he had grown up with and learned both to revere and respect as a manifestation of the Emperor's unmatched power, but a sun nonetheless. Certainly just as mighty and divine as the one back home...

Which he would never see again. Holy Emperor, he was never going back to Vosmarth, was he? Never see his family again either. If only he had taken up Haddad's offer. It was the safe route, work under the Trade Master. Learn from the best, his kin in all but blood. But no, Baltar had decided to go to the Hive first. Oh, he surely would've visited if he had taken up the offer. Eventually, if sparingly.

But Baltar wanted to do more! To serve the Emperor. To see places beyond the Desert, new worlds beyond Vosmarth. Problem is, Baltar hadn't really considered the full consequences of his actions.

"Like all stupid youths." His father's voice rang clear inside his head. "But you gave your word, you made an oath to the Emperor himself. And by Him on Terra, you will see it through or die trying!"