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Industry Manifest

1890, The Foundries of Charolles, Duchy of Charolais

 


 

1st of Jamedi, Fourth Era, 1890. 

 


 

1890, a new year, a new decade. The cogs of industry spin faster than ever before, unbothered by any of the developments occurring throughout the world. As a matter of fact, it’s almost as if nations are driving forth to claim their spot under the sun even more than before. Favor fortunes the bold, supposedly.

 

An uneasy peace reigns throughout the Continent still, the effects of the Resource Wars having taken its toll - no nations, as of yet, are capable enough of waging total war. They must first contend with routes of expansion, of all things pertaining to their nations - industry, land, manpower, fleets.

 

The western shores seem like a viable escape from the plights of the Continent, but with new shores, brings new peoples. The further navigators explore these new micro continents, the more the understanding of the world gets warped - one thing is for certain, however, the new world has yet been exploited and ravaged to the same extent as the Continent. Prime real estate for any aspiring colonial Empire.

 

Most importantly, the complete disappearance of the Order of Hieoromars has begun to take its toll, as the fabrics of reality begin to warp and bend. Things that should be, are not, and things that not, are. May Hieoromar protect the worthy, for it seems the world itself is turning against its denizens.

 


 

International Events and News

 

Newspaper across the Continent print out the following in the boldest text possible;

 

---

 

“IT’S GRAND RACING TIME!”

 

That’s right people, it's been long overdue, four years since the last Championship, so here we are again. Q1 of 1890 will be the deciding part of the year where the nomination committee comes to a conclusion on which nation will be granted the honor of hosting our 18th Championship Race. The committee is expected to take the better part of the year facilitating a new circuit, while the race proper occurs in the later half of the year - so here’s to hoping that it won’t be held in a cold northern region like last time!

 

Grand Races, the world’s most favorite pastime. Not even wars stop nations from sending a team of dedicate Granship pilots and engineers to represent them at the circuits. Nations interested in reaping the rewards of hosting a Championship may now begin their biddings. Be quick, because the race will be held in Q4 later this year. 

 

Will be making a public discord channel for nominations.

 

---

 

“NOYANS TO HOLD KURALTAI!”

 

Following the death of the first Great Khan, the Noyans have reportedly gathered at their capitals to elect a new Khan worthy of leading the horde to dominate all under the heavens. Whatever happens, best of luck to those stuck living in the wastelands still.

 

---

 

“SKIRMISHES ON THE VARYN RIVER!”

 

In another bout of unsurprising news, the Republic of Velka and the Kingdom of Varnyn have reengaged themselves in ground skirmishes once more - near Lake Antar. However, the cyclical affair was almost broken by a shocking development by the Varnynan Royal Guards, who, in their newly deployed personal Body Armor Combat System, managed to breach the river fortifications, before being forced back by the reckless Velkan decision to issue danger-close artillery strikes on the affected trenches. The Empire of Reismark has refused to commit to any military actions so far.

 

---

 

“THE PONTIFEX MAXIMUS EXPRESSES DESIRE TO ISSUE PASTORAL VISIT TO BANTU BASEZULWINI!”

 

During a public sermon, High Pontiff Hieoromar LXXX of the Church of Hieoromar has made a public announcement at the Mausoleum of Hieoromar, expressing a desire to hold a pastoral visit to the Bantu People. Why this wasn’t done through the formal channels of diplomacy, only the Holy See knows. Critics theorize that the Kingdom’s close proximity to the Holy See, and by extension, the Mausoleum, has led to such interests in the Bantu realm as of late - to ensure they stay within acceptable religious lines. Further claims detail that this may only be the first of many pastoral visits to nations throughout the world, to further affirms Hieoromars’s place among the common people.

 

---

 

“EXPANSION, EXPANSION, EXPANSION!”

 

National forces throughout the world seem hellbent on claiming more of the pie for themselves! We’ve got reports of a Sarronian Expansion in the westerly deserts, along with the Aurigan Principalities in the northern reaches. Both nation’s official statement is that they’re reclaiming their traditional territories that have gone into misuse as a result of the Resource Wars.

 

 


 

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Larger Scale Political Map

 


 

The Acadian Consulate

Stuck between a rock and hard place - such is the informal idiom giving to the Consulate's precarious geopolitical position between the two feuding Empires of Sechsia and Sarradon. However, the rapid militarization of the nation under the First Consul, Eden Roucayrol may just be the factor that could tilt the balance to favor Acadia’s side. And despite such authoritarian chafing, a Draker center of commerce has settled itself within Lucerne in the past 20 years of the late President’s tenure, bringing the occasional sky beast bounty to be processed and sold to Acadian merchants - avoiding most military investigations by greasing the palms of the inspectors, both figuratively and literally with the fat of drakes.

[5,000c per turn in profits from the Draker commercial stronghold]

 

POI: Biological Research Facility, Installation 0004

Burrowed deep within thick boreal forestry, Installation 0004 has long been fearfully shunned by the local Acadian inhabitants, a source of superstitions taught to children to keep them away from the forest, and the dangers of the wildlife that lurks within - until now. Following the dawn of the morning sun, the nearby homesteads were shockingly found to have been devastated, their inhabitants ripped apart and strewn all over as if a pack of wild beasts had torn through. However, just like the careless wild beasts they are presumed to be, their tracks were just as easily traced back to their origin thanks to the work of the local law enforcement - Installation 0004. Work must be done to fully uncover what has happened within these halls.

 

Event: The Bombing of the Lucerne Aeroport 

With the increasing intensity of discrimination against those of far right affiliations following the assassination of President Dessaint, much of the pressure initially placed upon those of leftist revolutionary ideals was temporarily loosened. Underground movements, in opposition of the once Royalist, now dead President, flourished for a brief moment, before the Premier-Consul’s own brutal reign commenced. However, that gap in time was enough for a radical association of freedom fighters to organize and supply themselves. 

 

At 14:27, 1st of Jamedi, 1890, by Hieoromic standard, an explosion shudders throughout the Capital of Acadia, Lucerne. Even as far as the old Royal Palace, could one see the plumes of smoke rising from the direction of the City’s Aeroport. 

 

As it is known, an attack on the civilian sector of the aeroport commenced the ordeal, as what were thought to be civilians passengers, turned out to be armed insurgents as they donned their equipment. Pledging their allegiance to the dying ideals of revolutionary liberty, and expressing a desire to assassinate the Premier-Consul, the terrorists began their operation, attempting the hijacking of several civilian ships transiting passengers. However, their ineptitude is quickly apparent, as an exchange in gunfire from the nearby garrison of federal infantry within the aeroport eliminates a good many of them - not before a fatal mistake occurs. While attempting to throw a grenade at the engaging police, an insurgent is unfortunately struck dead with the explosive primed, which then promptly detonates, setting off a catastrophic explosion. The grenade had slipped loose beside a refueling freighter, causing a cascade of ignitions that would ultimately lead to the vessel’s vitriol-reactor undergoing an immediate supercritical meltdown that promptly obliterated its surroundings as it fulminated.

 

In the ensuing chaos, the remaining insurgents flee into an air liner bound for the New World, though find its reactor disabled, preventing any lift, thanks to the quick thinking of the chief stoker of the vessel. Now, a recuperated response encircles the vessel entirely, though hold-off on commencing any assault on a ship laden with civilian hostages as fires rage around the aeroport. They await word from the Capital.

 


 

The Bound Constellation

From above and beneath, unknown and unseen, forces threaten the fabric of reality - the Elders have only begun to grasp at its magnitude. The Hieoromars have long manipulated the histories of the world, twisting the truths to satisfy their needs, but perhaps such deeds were done with the best in mind for its inhabitants - perhaps the Adjudicator had knowledge so forbidden that it forced him to seal the entirety of the planet away from the stars. With the Progenitor dead, and his descendants gone, the mystery of the world, the universe, is left to the Heart Within to discover now. 

 

POI: THE GATEWAY

On the slopes of Mount Achlys lies a great gate, large enough to fit a dreadnought and neither First Men, or Hieoromic in origin. By going through the layers of ash which once entombed the gate, archeological findings even propose a notion that its age may be older than that of the First Era. Regardless of its make, no efforts have managed to unseal the gate - it seems that no conventional equipment is capable of making any dent. For now, it remains unchanging, continuing its play against the tides of time.

 

Event: Uncovering the Mystery

No doubt, such a cult of esoteric truth seekers salivate over the potential of unlocking the secrets of the Gateway - an unsolved mystery beneath their very feet. Whether or not they should truly discover the truth behind the Gate, is a topic for another day. The only lead is a hole within the center of the gate, the size of a man’s arm in diameter, which is presumed to be the access point for a key, or a power generator of sorts.

 

The Constellation has so far been able to track down a potential match, but have found an immediate complication in their operation. The Great Khan of Tann, who has since passed away, had in his possession a relic of the same proportions as the hole on Mount Achlys. However, the relic is now in the collective possession of his descendants, who are embroiled in the Kuraltai, the election of the next Great Khan who will lead the fleets to conquer the land under the heavens.

 


 

The Eastern Katsumore Clan

"A flower falls, 

even though we love it;

 

The forest shudders with the breeze, as if nature was in anticipation, fearful of the spilling of more brotherly blood. Perhaps enough was already split - ever since Takahasi and Inouye slew each other in honorable duel five years ago, the forests have been at peace. No matter the context for peace, it still was peace. Now divided by the Asahi River, the two Clans contend with themselves, perhaps fate shall bring them together once more through fire and peace, or perhaps the allure of worldly affairs will draw them further apart.

 

POI: The Eastern Tree of Life

Far above the canopies of most trees, one stands above all. The Eastern Tree of Life is parallel growth on equal to its Western counterpart - no other in the world come close to these twin behemoths. The City of Shinseina, the Capital of the East, is easily covered in shade throughout the entirety of all seasons, the tree’s immense canopy spreading far. Though, quite apparent to any rational thinker, the tree is not of a natural make, for at its roots lies the remnants of an ancient facility, perhaps even First Era in origin. Only recently has an entrance been discovered in Shinseina, as the shifting of its roots unfortunately demolishes a small neighborhood in the City.

 

POI: The Northern Citadel

Long before Hieoromar arrived on this planet, when apocalyptic wars were waged between the First Men, defensive installations had to be built to withstand stellar devastation. The Northern Citadel is one of those installations. For supposedly ten thousand years, this Citadel has stood the absolute test of time, remaining strong in its build - only covered by the occasional flurry of moss and weeds, only to be cleared away by the next batch of inhabitants. Now fully under Katsumore control, the Citadel is a bulwark of defense against any desert-borne intruders, while also providing a chokepoint for most airships, as the surrounding mountain range rises high enough in altitude to prevent easy flight over.

[1 free Ancient Citadel]

 

Event: Attack of the Sky Beasts

Just like its brother to the west, the eastern Daichi are also plagued by the sudden arrival of sky beasts, numbering in the hundreds, maybe thousands, each of them varying in sizes and tenacity. Fortunately for the Clan of the East, the Archduchy of Tyrel has also been swarmed by such creatures, and have promised their aerial support to fight back the sky beasts. A detachment of independent Drakers has also arrived, eager to get into the thick of it.

 


 

The Western Katsumore Clan

...and a weed grows, 

even though we do not love it.”

Sagara-Moto Katsumore

 

Descendant of the Dragon Emperor, Takeya Katsumore claims his ancestry, and retains the title of Emperor, of all Daichi, even if it places him at odds with the eastern half of his peoples. Do delusions of grandeur reign in the Dragon Palace, or will these ambitions be successfully fulfilled?

 

POI: The Western Tree of Life

Just as the Sacred Tree of the East basks the City of Shinseina in its shade, the Sacred Tree of the West is no different in its hospitality of the City of Miotari - representing the commonality between the divided Daichi. However, nothing has appeared out of the ordinary for this vast fauna, as it remains blissfully unchanged.

 

Event: Attack of the Sky Beasts

Without warning, the northern hinterlands of the Daichi are under attack by uncharacteristically hostile hordes of sky beasts, which have swarmed over the initial defenses and commercial airlines, before being stopped by the national navy of the Katsumore Clans. Sensing the potential for a good hunt, many drakers from nearby have begun congregating to the Sacred Forests, hoping to make some good money. Many questions now need answers, but the fact still stands that the threat hasn’t been fully neutralized - the situation is in Emperor Takeya’s hands now.

 


 

The Duché de Charolais

A land of industry - the realm of Charalais is one of the most developed in the known world, its smoke plumes rise high above, replacing the white clouds with their own dark soot. Left to their own device in a relatively stable part of the world, and enjoying exclusive trade with the Naresian League, the Duchy has been set free to decide whatever destiny lies ahead - for better or worse.

 

POI: The Grand Bridge

Heading westward is the Grand Bridge, once an ancient wonder of the world for its impressive ability to straddle a strait of ocean - though surprisingly in comparison to the rest of its counterparts, not even this First Era construction was able to withstand the ocean’s tides. The center of the bridge had long collapsed into the waves below, separating both ends from each other by several kilometers. Several companies have begun to petition the Duke’s government for contracts allowing them to restore the bridge to capacity.

 

POI: Mines of Charolais

Eureka! What a wondrous day for the Duchy of Charolais. With the ever increasing demand of industrialization, the need for the extraction of resources to fuel Charolles’ foundries grows ever more. In such a bid, the Duchy has established several mines to exploit natural resources across their realm. One of these, later popularly dubbed the ‘Mines of Charolais’, had struck a vein rich in Vitriol. 

[+2 production of Vitriol Trade Resource]

 

Event: Pirates in the East

Several settlements across the eastern border have begun reporting the increasing sight of Sky Pirates once again. A combination of local border forces and bounty hunters have held them off for now, but such a sudden spike in hostile activity no doubt details the development of a popular rise of a pirate warlord capable of amassing a fleet of like minded brigands. The military has been requested for reinforcement and the nearby Naresian City of Al-Alad has sent special emissaries to Charolles to establish a joint effort against the pirates.

 


 

The Holy Sechsian Empire

Once the North’s foremost power, the war with Sarradon, and the subsequent revolutionary uprising and warlord era tore this country apart, rendering decades of advancements utterly useless. However, the era of extremist ideologies ushered in by the Blessed Regent has overturned much of the troubles plaguing the Empire and in just a short time since the civil war, looks poised to bring back retribution to its rival, the Sublime Sarradon.

 

POI: The Wreck of the Centauri

Deep within the eastern Sechsian hinterlands lies the wreck of an ancient vessel of the stars, dubbed the ‘Centauri’, after the immense lettering painted across its hull. Despite such an enticing site of exploration and mysteries, none have truly ever managed to get close to the wreck, as a horde of hostile automatons have made quick work of any curious enough to try - even by air. A remnant nexus is most likely nestled deep within the ruins of this enormous starship, controlling the eb and flow of the automatons. 

 

POI: Installation 0026 - Orbital Defense

Installation 0026 is just one of the many, still relatively intact, First Era facilities throughout the world. It appears to be in working order, with what appear to be large howitzers pointed at the skies still, but remains entirely inactive, none of the button smashing causing anything to turn on. 

 

POI: Northern Reaches Spaceport

Only two spaceports remain in the northernmost forests of the Continent, each of them long overgrown and in severe disrepair. Particularly, the spaceport situated within the Empire has had nature envelope it so much that the forests have made it their home. Built during the Age of Conflagration, these launch pads no doubt contributed to the destruction of the earth at the time. Some theorists even claim they could once again be operational, but the technological know-how is most definitely outside the current understanding of Seshsian technology.

 

Event: Warlord of the East

Though the Empire has been once united, by definition of its territories, it has yet dealt with the ostracization of a great many of its population. Namely, those who once pledged their allegiance to the General turned Warlord, Mikael Aralov. Now this pirate plagues the eastern Imperial borderlands, resolved to be as much as a pest possible, in a twisted act of revenge towards the central authority of the Empire. Eastern expansion has been halted for now, until the turncoat is dealt with.

 


 

Protectorates of Contamrol

In a land ravaged by temperamental weathers, the Contamrol eek out their living amidst the craters of the First Era. Traders stop here only for a short moment before having to make quick departures as ashstorms from Mount Achlys force most airships to be grounded. Perhaps it is in these barren lands that the Protectorates will establish themselves as a Continental Power, free of the meddling affairs of the outsiders.

 

POI: The Domed City of the Waste

Perhaps in opposition to the teachings of the Warders, deep within the Crater of Parlamann lies the pummeled ruins of a once great wonder - one of the First Cities established by the Starlords, a relic of the First Era that was designated for destruction by whichever forces at the time. While most of its underground halls are theorized to have been discovered, there are many segments left to uncover, requiring even more work to excavate.

 

Event: Storm in the Wastelands

Regardless of their personal beliefs and desires, the Craters of Contamrol are still the source of great contention for the powers that be - prized for its geopolitical positioning as the launching pad into further wasteland excursions. One of these powers, the Great Khan of Tann, had once been on the verge of commencing his subjugation of the Craters, but his death had cut short such ambitions. Now the Kuraltai convenes, and no matter who is elected, the successor will no doubt wish to resume the campaign against the Warders, for the conquest of the craters will no doubt be a legitimizing boon for the new Great Khan.

 


 

The Crusader State of Jena

Out of all the nations in the known world, the State of Jena is most likely to be the most attuned to the third dimension of psionic understanding. The constant exposure to all things Vitriol within the land of zealots has culminated in the Spiritus Sanctus Navis, the connection between man and his consciousness. This instrument of knowledge is left to the ambitions of Horatius’ descendants, and in an odd twist of faith, may even discover the secrets which the Order of Hieoromars kept from common knowledge.

 

POI: Sky Beast Graveyard

Deep within the Jenese Mountain lies an ancient burial ground of sky beasts - where for whatever reason, these aerial creatures congregate in their final days of life, and lay to rest for the last time. Draker airships congregate in this area by the dozen, paying out costly hunting contracts to the local government just to get a chance of hunting down a sky-beast on transit to their resting place. Though sometimes, a beast of immense proportions arrives, requesting even the attention of the national navy.

[5000c generated per turn until otherwise]

 

POI: The Citadel of the East

The Peninsula of Jena is likely the most well defended geographical region in the known world, due to its unique formation of mountains allowing only one viable entry point by foot. It seems that the First Men themselves realized the worthiness of the peninsula, for within the mountain pass that connects it to the rest of the world, they have established a Citadel high upon the mountain slopes overlooking the passageway below. Like all that they build, the Citadel has held strong against the test of time, its moon-white stoneworks yet to have fallen into any ruin.

[1 Free Ancient Citadel]

 

POI: Installation 0030 - Orbital Defense

The eternal wardens - Installation 0030 is just another one of the facilities built by the First Men, with the intention of planetary defense, no doubt. It’s ancient howitzers remain pointed high towards the skies, in frozen anticipation of the days the stars erupt in warfare. Whatever was of use within its bunkers, have long been pilfered - though it is rumored that their activation sequences are untouched, and may be activated when the time comes.

 

POI: Installation 0076 - Weather Station

A quaint little facility in the middle of the peninsular wastes, this Weather Station supposedly once controlled the eb and flow of the wasteland’s winds, whenever it was operational anyway. Now it serves as a comfortable waypoint for Sky Couriers delivering mail and packages across the realm and beyond.

 

Event: The Behemothaur - Tyrant of the Skies

Just as rumoured, an ancient and venerable beast of the skies has made its appearance near the graves of its kind. So large in size that it was first recorded for its magnitude in the north of the continent, by researchers of the Aurigan Principalities - it seems that the Janase Peninsula is in its migratory path. However, Drakers in their lust for gold, had engaged the behemoth of a sky beast, their airships being promptly swatted against the side of the nearby mountains before entering into a frenzied rage in the Crusader State.

 


 

Bantu baseZulwini

The Masters of Trade, the Bantu Peoples, the Kingdom of the Heavens - their prowess equals even that of the Naresian Traders of the West. Situated at the end of the trans-continental trading routes, the Kingdom will no doubt reap the rewards of the global market.

 

POI: The Domed City of the South

A rare sight to behold, a centralized metropolis of the First Era - though partially ruined, most of its sister cities have been utterly obliterated, save for this one. The Bantu have long inhabited its streets and high buildings, living out comfortable lives under its dome, but the city remains in disrepair still - basic infrastructure remains obsolete, much of its halls remain uncovered, and the rest of the Bantu regard the city in fearful superstitions, believing it to be a City of the Dead. Some work must be done by the central government before this wonder is rebuilt to its former glory, if at all possible.

[Build 1 City at the cost of 1 Admin Point]

 

POI: The Underway

Upon the southern shores of the bay in which the Kingdom presides lies the entrance to the underworld. Or perhaps not. It seems that it is simply a tunnel that crosses under the mouth of the bay, and exits out onto the other northern side. While First Era in make, nothing seems out of the ordinary, other than the fact that no construction project comes even close to it in scale and magnitude - save perhaps the nearby Mausoleum of Hieoromar the Abjudicator. 

 

POI: The Great Dams

To the north of the Bantu Kingdom lies a great strait which cleaves the land in twain as it connects ocean to sea. Each end of such an unnatural formation is regulated by two Great Dams, which have been controlling the flow of water into the strait since time immemorial. While it continues churning, quick investigations make it clear the Dams’ interiors were built in such a sophisticated fashion, that turbines within generated some kind of energy to be harnessed - almost like the windmills of today’s technologies throughout the Continent. However sophisticated it was, the Dams no longer operate at such a capacity - perhaps some Bantu ingenuity will offer some insight in the future.

 


 

The Republic of Lannion

The newest of the realms added in the register of nations in the known world, the Lannish Tribes have done to the Puebloans, what the Sechsians had done to them. With their Peninsula under their heel completely, President Eduoard Rufus may finally look outward, to what the world has to offer his people. 

 

POI: The Cliffs of Lann

Much of the Lannion Peninsula finds itself surrounded by high cliffs on all sides, no doubt a significant hindrance to any seaborne vessels seeking to dock, but in a world of airships, these natural formations are easily circumvented. And as if giant termites had burrowed their ways through the earth, the vast cliff sides are marked with enormous openings and smaller caverns. They are a popular destination site for many tourists in this day and age, with the Sky Couriers even utilizing its images as a post stamp for most international mail.

 

POI: THE SPIRE

Possibly the tallest structure in the world, the Spire rises so high into the sky that not even the most capable of airships is able to reach its height. Its stairs and floors, which number in the thousands, have yet to be fully explored, as intrepid explorers continue to excavate their way to the top. Some levels of the Spire are even large enough to have housed temporary settlements; waypoints for expeditions continuing on their way to the top. Certain individuals have claimed to reach untold heights, but the freezing temperatures have prevented any further attempts - one thing is for certain, not one single man has announced themselves to have reached the end at the top.

 


 

The Koninkrijk Aadrensveld-Rhynsland

A bastion of sensibilities in a world of nonsense, the Koninkrijk, compared to its mainland counterparts, is relatively stable - and some could even say prosperous. Naturally, such stability is but an advertisement for further engagement with the island’s inhabitants, with many Naresian trans-continental traders treating Aadrensveld as a vital stop-over port, among others. A better alternative to the worm-eating Protectorate in the east, for some. However, success naturally breeds resentment, and the pirates of the wastes have taken a keen note of this burgeoning realm, oft causing many disruptions to national trade and the likes - but where disorganized piratry lies, the Bounty Guilds arrive also. Pirate hunters, with their airships, have found themselves a port of operation within Coenstaad, taking contracts and selling seized goods throughout the city.

[5000c generated from Bounty Guilds]

 

POI: THE CAVERNS OF COENSTAAD

Deep beneath the Koninkrijk, beneath the worries of the common populace, lies an unnaturally vast system of caves, crevices, and other cavern-like formations. So deep in fact, that it has not even been fully explored, despite the inhabitants of Aadrensveld having lived upon it for thousands of years. Here, within the core of the earth, superstitions come to be true - as anomalies are plenty in these depths.
 


 

Sky Clans

Situated upon the Shard of Sarram, the Sky Clans preside over all within the Sann Deserts. It is throughout these dunes that the Clans will reclaim their birthright, the soar amidst the skies like the ancestors once had done so. However, the sands themselves hold many great mysteries, for better or worse. Perhaps the Clans will uncover the great truths of desert.

 

POI: THE SHARD OF SARRAM

Possible one of the largest of the known flying islands in the world, the Shard is now home to the City of Matar, Capital of the Sky Clans. So large in fact, that its pools of water overflow onto the earth below, and creating the Grand Oases of Saranvar, as well the rivers of Charolais. Many of the world's sky nomads, adherents of the Ways of the Heaven, Skies and the Earth, commit their Makr, Holy Pilgrimage, to this Island - a pilgrimage which has also been adopted by practitioners of the Sarranam Faith. It's name also derives itself from the Prophet Sarram, of which the the Sublime Empire of Sarradon derives their origin - the ruins on the sky island that predate the arrival of the Sky Clans no doubt compares truthfully to the architecture of the Sarradonans. Now, the traces of the past have long since been thoroughly pilfered, only the Sky Clans remain.
 


 

The Miraabi Confederation

The Great Miraab, the high plateau that stands tall above the shattered plains of the Continent - the last oases of plentiful life within these ruined lands. From the depths of the earth, reservoirs of clean water spill out onto the surface, cascading down the plateau in a majestical sight to make vast lakes. With the advent of the airship industries, the strategic placement of the Great Caravanserai, situated almost amidst the clouds themselves, has given way to great wealth - attracting many to establish their base of operations here as they strike out into the rest of the Continent. Bounty Hunters, Sky Nomads, Couriers, and even rogue Drakers roam these stalls and airfields. Though such wealth has been the cause of many conflicts, as the Great Khanate often has attempted its conquest of the Miraab, with varying degrees of failures - time will tell if the Confederation will send them back, or be subjugated.

 

 

POI: THE RUINED SPACEPORT OF MIRAAB

The Great Caravanserai, with its many bazaars, has built its foundations upon the ruined relics of the First Era. The Miraabian Strip was once the base of operations for star travels, housing many great vessels that have now been degraded into piles of junk across the Great Miraab. What was once supposed to be the control tower of the spaceport, has now been reduced to a simple watchtower, looming high above the Caravanserai below.


POI: THE WARDENS OF MIRAAB

Though the Spaceport of Miraab lay in ruins, it was the effects of time that ultimately wore it down, not hostile actions, for the Great Miraab was shielded by an array of defensive weapons, also First Era in design. No doubt a cataclysmic battle occurred here, as the surrounding area has been disfigured and scarred to unimaginable levels. The wrecks of great starships have found their graves here, picked apart by scavengers and strewn about the vast expanse by sandstorms. The main facilities of the artillery defense systems remain, its halls mostly untouched, not for the lack of trying - the Miraabi simply do not have the current knowhow on the engineering of these relics, so they remain dormant.

 

EVENT: THE KURULTAI

Just like any other nation unfortunate enough to have made their living in the Great Expanse, the Miraabi Confederation has always found itself caught within the sights of Tann expansion - even before the Khanate took to the skies in their airships. The animosity between the two peoples has long cultivated in various conflicts, in which the Khanate seek the conquest of the Great Plateau, but are simply warded off by the Confederation’s strategic positioning. A new bout of these conflicts seems ready to begin, as the death of the Great Khan has led to the collapse of the peripheries of the Khanate as its Noyans converge in their capital to discuss and elect the new Great Khan who will lead his peoples to dominate the universe. The Great Miraab will no doubt be the first of targets.

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((Looks like Inkarnate, nice map))

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Daichi Clans

Akira Branch "Those of the Light"

 

 

6f7c2ad6cdb16979d599f3b626f2a66c.jpg

More Duels, More Deaths

 

Iwamoto grunts in surprise as he barely deflects the bite of a Katana to his throat. An audible clang fills the air, as he raises his own blade just in time. Around them a small crowd mutters in shock or appreciation. Though this was the most powerful assembly of Daimyo in the Empire, they too are dwarfed by the surroundings. For they sit and lounge amidst the Great Tree, reduced to little more than ants. A suitable place, for an Emperor to train. And that was something Iwamoto ensured was done every day. 

 

"You have something on your mind today" Tengre bluntly states with a chuckle as he back peddles from his failed strike. Ignoring the spectators who are at a respectful distance, he continues. "Is it because the Drakers have come to do the necessary?" In response Iwamoto grunted angrily, going on the offensive. Tengre always had a way of cutting to the heart of things. Ever since he had stumbled up to the Citadels gates, from the wastelands.

 

"You know it is." Iwamoto calls out as he strikes once, twice. "They have almost been hunted to extinction. What if our forest was treated the same? Should we allow outsiders to come and wantonly kill what is possibly the last of a breed?" Tengre replies  with a sharp laugh, parrying the blade, and shouldering into the Emperor. He staggers back, shaking his head in surprise, as Tengre calls out; 

"They ravage the land and people, it's with good reason we do my Majesty." Giving the young man some time to recover, Tengre regains the momentum and attacks, lashing out lightning quick. As Iwamoto backpedals and parries, he replies heatedly. "Just because man has taken to the skies, we do not earn the right to slaughter animals who have always been there. I will find a way as this lands Keeper. The Ways work mysteriously, we shall not be one to slaughter a part of it"

 

The Emperor stops, realizing he was shouting by the end. Tengre, ever the stalwart, lay on one knee, sword sunk in rich soil. The spectators whisper among one another, opinions wildly varying. "If that is your will" Tengre mutters, still kneeling until Iwamoto gestures sharply for him to rise. 

"It's the will of The Ways, remember that Tengre." The Emperor says hefting his katana on a shoulder, striding back to the Palace......

 

--

 

MOD ACTIONS

 

The Emperor dispatches a party of Imperial Samurai to investigate the mysterious entryway into the Great Tree. Several scientist, botanist, and one particularly good Bonsai sculptor accompany them to provide possible insight. 

 

A party of reputable Daimyo acting as envoys travel to the Arch-Duchy of Tyrel. They thank the Nation for it's proffered support, and warmly agree. More importantly the Emperor Iwamoto Katsumore expresses he has had a long vested interest in their way of Government. The new model blend of classes in Government, and dispersed power was something his own 'Empire' heavily endorsed. In Summary he implores the Arch-Duke to allow him to personally study and tour the land. Furthermore a formal Pact of Non Aggression is offered, and the Empire expresses it's willingness to evolve it into an alliance of mutual defense if the Emperor's visit goes well for both parties. 

 

Until the Arch-Duke agrees, the Emperor spends his time training with local blade masters and Samurai. It is made known around the land any aspiring Blademasters wishing to teach can apply at the palace.

 

In response to the Sky Beast, the Emperor issues a proclamation via priest of The Ways. Being an almost extinct race, they are given sanctuary within the Sacred Forest. Any foreign Drakers must stop to be processed at the 'Northern' Citadel to obtain permits to hunt any aggressive beast. Priest and Hermits rumored to be steeped in Pskyer powers and The Ways are implored by the Katsumore to reach out to the beast with the powers of the Sacred Forest and Tree. To show the Sky Beasts there's a chance to live in harmony with mankind within the forest. Regrettably any aggressive Sky Beast will be met with the full response of the Katsumore Home Fleet, Drakers, and Tyrel aid. Though it is hoped it will not come to that for all of them.

 

While the Home Fleet potentially has it's hand's full, the newly branded Colonial 1st set out! Their operation will be two fold, requiring two separate groups. The 1st leg of the journey includes the Empire claiming new land, on southern islands that were until now unobtainable. The land shall be scouted, in anticipation of a city. [Numbers TBA]

 

The 2nd group shall travel even further, on the first ever state sanctioned mission of exploration in the New World. Their duty for now is to simply map the best routes, and observe the coast of never before seen lands. Far smaller and agile than the settlement group, these men are ready for the hardships of extended flight in unknown skies.[Numbers TBA]

 

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A team of civilian hikers, and climbers have been contracted for a state mission. They shall travel up the Asahi river, all the way to it's source. A mostly mysterious area, none have ever really bothered to follow the river all the way up. This ambitious mission will map the last of the unknown parts in the entire Sacred Forest. The Western Diachians are invited to send a hiking team for the sake of equality. [Exploring Northern River POI]

 

Research Actions

 

[Conducted within Mitskukiki POI Lab] Slot 1; Not to be outdone my mere Varnyan armorers, the sterling RnD team from Mitsukiki vow to unleash their own line of personal combat armor. Dubbed "KOMODO" suits they shall protect soldiers from even the bite of a bullet in combat situations. The suit shall of course be stylized to fit a Samurai's needs, and rigorous enough for both the trials of boarding and trench combat.

 

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Slot 2; REDACTED

 

Financial Actions 

Income; 42,850 C, 1 S, 2 M, 2 G, 1 V, 1 L

 

Selling 3 Steel to Global market

 

1 Light Cruiser -15k C, 3 NP

1 Military Industry -7.5k C, 1 M

1 Civilian District -10k C, 1 M

1 Material Industry -10k C

Treasury 350 C

 

 

Edited by GrimBeard
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Holy Sechsian Empire

“The rays of dawn fall upon a new age.”

- - -
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Khrebtov tightly clutched the Vitriol medallion around his neck, his thumb tracing across the Bophanov coat-of-arms hewn from the raw deposit of the metal. The Blessed Regent’s jaw tightened as he forced his eyelids shut, purple and blue creeping from the edge of his sight. He inhaled sharply, holding the frigid air within him for a brief moment, before letting out an exacerbated breath. Beads of sweat formed on his temple. The path remains clear. The path remains clear. His chin raised slightly into the air and his lips tightened as he looked to his minister of propaganda. The man unfurled a document and began to speak over the intercom.
 

“Attention, dear citizens! By decree of His Excellency, Alexander Khrebtov, By the Grace of Hieoromar, Blessed Regent of All-Sechisa, Custodian of the Northern Shore, and Keeper of the Immortal’s Destiny, the Hieoromaric Standard Calendar is ruled to be unpatriotic, sacreligious, and indicative to treasonous behaviors. As such, it’s use and possession is hereby and forevermore banned, to be replaced by the newly conceived Bophanov Calendar, venerating the birth of our prophesied Prince and Savior, Alexei, the true Tsar of All-Sechsia! All citizens will be allowed a period of no more than 48 hours to dispose of any and all copies of the foul Hieoromaric Calendar. Continued use of the calendar beyond said period will be punished accordingly. Please report to the nearest government station for additional information, and a single copy of the Bophanov Calendar, provided at the expense of the Blessed Regent himself. Hieoromar bless the Regent! Hieoromar bless the Prince! Hieoromar bless Sechsia!”
 

Khrebtov continued to glare at the man, the inflection of his voice as he said ‘Regent’ didn’t sit right with him. There was malice, deceit, conspiracy - all hidden beneath a veil of normalcy! Did the man think him a fool, that he, of all people, would not see? He would have to be done away with. The Regent could not have such men - such conspirators in his employ. If there was one there would surely be others! Aralov's spies! The Regent could not - would not jeopardize the Immortal’s designs. Designs that did not include someone as insignificant as a mere official such as this. He clutched the medallion once more, the muscles in his neck tensing as he did. The path remains clear. The path remains clear. The path remains clear...

 

Hieoromar willing, the concept of the years and the ages themselves would soon fade away and be forgotten within the whole Empire. Another one of the false Church’s false “truths” forever cleared from the pages of history. A great accomplishment indeed. A step forward on the path. The year was 11.ABP.2895PE, 11 years after the birth of the prince Alexei, 2895 years post-exile of the true Bophanov line.


The Regent watched the official leave the room before averting his eyes out the window and onto the skyline of Levogorod.
 

There was much to be done.

----

Actions (Subject to change if my math is wrong):

-A massive drive to bolster the Empire’s material industry begins in preparation for the coming efforts, all across the realm, the harvesting of Sechsia’s material wealth grows tenfold! [24 Material Industry] [180,000 C]
-950 Shekels are saved for future use.

 

-Operation Candle begins. Spies and informants are quietly filtered into the traitor Aralov’s domain in an attempt to locate both the Warlord, and his bases of operation beyond the Empire’s borders. [10,000 C] [MOD]

-Project Fume begins. [Research] [MOD] [See PMs]

Edited by Krefarus
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KONINKRIJK AADRENSVELD-RHYNSLAND

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1890

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The sun slowly rose, creeping inch by inch over the distant horizon, casting long shadows on the deck of warships as it rose slowly through the morning clouds and mist. Silent, oilskin-clad airmen raced across that slippery surface, barely faltering as they rushed to clear for action, as a shrill, piercing whistle cut the chill air. As the crew finished their preparations, one of their number - a groundsman, not yet even considered as Able - slips, hitting the deck hard and slipping violently across the steel floor. He lets out a shrill scream as he nears the edge, before being hauled violently to a stop by his safety harness. Harsh, abusive hands quickly pull the fool to safety. From the experienced hands, he receives no sympathy - the grounder had destroyed their division's time. Finally they reach the hatch that leads them into the steel belly of the vast beast, just as the guns begin their slow mechanical whine, rotating clockwise to a target off the port side.

 

"Three minutes and eleven seconds, Captain." Reports a prim young Lieutenant with a pocket watch. The Captain, Mikeal de Vries, shakes his head, clearly irritated. "This is Waakzaamheid, Mr Janssen, three minutes and eleven seconds to stow the upper decks for action is far too slow - this is Waakzaamheid, and we are De Kroninkrijke Marine." He turns to look out the glass on the bridge. "Let us see if our gunnery is any better - have the guns fire as they bear."

 

As the vast metal behemoth, now fully risen above the clouds, finally sights her target - an ancient, anchored hulk, once the battleship ZMS Vermetel, now used only as a gunnery target, her systems totally outdated. An enormous plume of fire streaks from the muzzle of the gun, and earth shattering noise follows the colossal explosion. The Gunnery Officer, in the prow turret, seizes a telephone as the shot misses, and listens intently to the instructions relayed to his over the phone. "Correction! 2 degrees starboard, 1 degree elevation!" Another shot roars from the enormous guns and, four kilometres of empty sky away, the shell strikes the midships of Vermetel and an enormous explosion rocks the aging vessel. 

 

Captain De Vries nods, pleased. Their gunnery was quick, and effective. "Mr Janssen, as officer of the watch please instruct the Wardroom that they are invited to dine with me tonight - it is only right for a new Captain to entertain his officers." As Janssen nods, De Vries leaves the bridge, stepping downstairs into his stateroom, where he carefully breaks open the letter with his orders, and reads the command written within....

 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

ACTIONS

 

-As the year begins, Waakhaamzeid and four destroyers are instructed to make a short routine patrol to the south-west, to investigate reports of a new continent, close enough to the Homelands to be easily influenced. Waakzaamheid, precious as it is, is instructed not to go far, and is ordered to run at the sign of any significant trouble. (Map in Discord)

 

-The Archduchy of Tyrel is invited to open an embassy in the capital of Coenstaad. (Mod)

 

-A small patrol is sent into the Coenstaad Caverns, where they are instructed to begin exploring and mapping the tunnels. (Mod)

 

 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

FINANCE

-4 Material Industry (40'000 Kreuens)

-20 NP sold to the market (80'000 Kreuens from sale)

 

52700 Kreuens saved

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Duché de Charolais

 

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(Credits to u/NoOneReallySpecial from Reddit)

 

 

 

1890

---

 

The light in Charolles during the day has always been faint. Swathes of soot and ash cover the skies, clouds blotting out the sun, birthed by the sheer endless chimneys and ovens the city seems to sport. A beating and evergrowing heart of industry, at the nerve centre of the nation that built it. The Duché de Charolais has experienced a vast turnaround through the past three generations. With the decision of Sean IV. d'Charolais, a nation once healthy in nature and looks, turned it's calm and green meadows into a dry and arid hillscape, covered in the fog of steel and coal. At least, in and around Charolles and the other cities. Between them, in the longer stretches of land where still populations of agriculture spend their lives, the remnants of the past can be seen, feudal family hierarchies and farmsteads, Churches to Hieromar, handbuilt. Still, the paved roads are the first signs that even outside of the beating hearts of the nation, progress has arrived.

 

High above it all, on a tour through the country, a fair skinned man, almost bald head, with merely a crest of brown fluff adorning the sides of the head and the ears stands on one of the gundecks of a steaming and smoke spewing Destroyer. His dressup is notably plain, a drab olive colored uniform, with rusty metallic buttons, no insignia visible on him. For some he could appear as if he was a rankless soldier. His average stature and the slightly stretched fabric around the belly do not seem to make him much of a soldier. The cool grey eyes wander along the green landscape below, the gaze wandering to the horizon, West. Then East. Then down again. A whole hour the man stands there, unmoving aside from head and eyes, turning and looking about once in a while. The ship now closes in to a dark shadow in the distance. A city. Of chimneys and furnaces. Charolles. A man was coming home. Duc Levin II. d'Charolais was to return to his seat of power.

 

---

 

Actions

 

The Armed forces are rallied to the Naresian cause. The Duc himself takes charge of the operation to oust the Warlord and bring the sky thieves to justice. (event)

 

The bridge is target for future repairs. The Ducal government begins official interviews to see what companies are offering their workmanship for such a task. Naturally the state will provide funds and resources, but the bridge will be state property after a successful repair. However with the boon of preferential treatment to the awarded company in terms of enclosing new lands and resources on the other side of said bridge. (maybe mod)

 

 

Trade and Finances

 

The Naval Industrial Capacity of the state is distributed on the global market, fulfilling jobs for the private sectors. (10 NP to the global market)

 

Rapid expansion on Genevés Material Industry. (-33,000 Francs for 6 Material Industries)

 

Substantial growth of Guédelons Manufactories. (-24,000 Francs for 4 Manufactories)

 

The remainder is retained. (-23,350 Francs)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Western Diachian Empire

 

“Failure is only the opportunity to begin again..”

 

 Construction workers work tirelessly in many imperial cities to clear zones for new buildings and industries. Some of the worksites have been given the authorization to skip safety protocols for expedited results on their given project. Progress waits for no one. In the docks of the capital, reluctantly some foreign trade ships come into port bringing much needed resources to the nation. The foreigners are treated with much skepticism, and aren’t really let out of the dock area. Any caught outside of the dock area with improper paperwork are sent straight back. A relaxed punishment compared to what some others get. Despite this somewhat hostile attitude that is shown to the outsiders, they are treated with a certain level of respect and their resources are wheeled off to serve a greater purpose.  Much like in the east, the Drakers in the sacred forests are rounded up and brought to official ports where they must purchase a hunting license and will follow specific protocol on how to handle the beast hunting. Any caught breaking these rules and regulations will be met with brutal punishment. The Dragon Palace is relatively quiet this year, with Takeya being consumed by his works to keep the nation afloat. 

 

Actions

 

5 Material is brought off the global market.

 

3 Material industry buildings are built. (22,500 C, 3 M)

A logistics district is constructed. (10,000 C, 1 M)

 

Military industry is built. (5,000 C, 1 M)

 

A civilian expedition is sent to the POI between Western and Eastern Diachi, at the start of the river Asahi. 
 

Another two parties set out, but they are military expeditions rather than civilian. One heads to the mountain POI in the west, and the other to the lake that starts the unnamed river in the west.

 

The drakers crossing into western Diachian lands are told to report to any official port to purchase a hunting license where they will be told the rules and regulation of hunting the near extinct sky beasts. The Emperor seems intent on letting these beasts live in the sacred forests, but the purging of troubled and aggressive ones is a must. To complement the Draker efforts, Imperial vessels are also out and about looking to hunt any aggressive and troublesome creatures. Any caught breaking defying this order will be punished and brought before the Emperor. (Discord)

 

The Engineering department has begun developing a new project. (Research, Discord.)

Edited by NunuTheGreat
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The Crusader State of Jena

 

I must find my anger,

I must saturate my flesh in its fire,

And when all has been burned away,

I will be free.

-Book of Horatio, 2:45


-----------------------------------

 

The Play - A Tragedy of Four Chapters

 

-----------------------------------

 

The Protagonist - Imicus Dune, the bastard son of a high-ranking Jena noble. Ejected from his home only three years ago at the birth of the Duke’s legitimate son, his only consolation was a lowly spot as a lieutenant on the Babylon

 

-----------------------------------

 

The Plot - Solum Tempus Narrabo.

 

-----------------------------------

 

Scene One - Bastardus Et Dominus

 

-----------------------------------

 

 

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Imicus Dune, young Lieutenant to the Babylon leaned on the railing and looked out over the wastelands. It was quiet still, this early in the morning. A thin mist had rallied against the ground and skittered along the rock-riddled sand and here, high-above, the air was cold and sharp, like a draught of liquor.

 

The mountains that had so jaggedly limited Jena ambitions for centuries glowered down at him dowerly, promising much pain to the man fool enough to send an army across them by any other way but the distant gap, where, if he squinted just right, he could see the first beams of sunlight glint against the white walls of Arce Jerusalem, the Jerusalem Fortress.

 

“Brandy for the bastard?” A muscle twitched in Imicus' jaw and he repressed a glare. A man in the white and gold uniform of naval lieutenants leaned against the railing beside him, all smiles, his hair tousled, his face young and bright, barely burnt by the wastelands carelessly cruel winds. He held a small flask, the aromatic smell of southern brandy wafting from its open top.

 

“Really, this early, Zutzën?” But Imicus took it nonetheless, and savored the rare treat. 

 

“It’s never too early to get drunk on this pile of scheiss,” said the Zutzën. He hawked and spat over the edge. The gobbet of moisture dwindled away into the early dawn light. Imicus judged that it might just make a lucky wasterats day.

 

wadi rum, jordan, desert, mountains, sand, sand stone, landscape, nature,  world heritage site, dry, travel | Pikist

 

“I don’t know. I like it well enough,” he replied after a pregnant pause. Somewhere, a call went forth, and a small bell clanged. Once, twice. A change of course. He held onto the railing as the ship began to shift, metal groaning and engine chugging out black contrails of smoke as it turned into the rising sun, and Imicus lifted his hand up to ward off the rays. 

 

Somewhere ahead of them now, lost amidst a sea of sand, the city of Jena was rising. Bakers were pooling their meagre resources to feed the growing bread lines, butchers slashing throats and beggars begging for gold and scraps. Above it all, the Church Bells would be summoning the people to mass.

 

His father would be there somewhere, praying, or pretending to. The words practiced enough to slip past pale lips as his mind considered business, blood and gold. Would he think of the bastard son he had thrown away so easily? Not likely. Maybe his own half-brother would be crying now, demanding-

 

“Hey.” A hand on his shoulder, and he stiffened, shaking it off and shrugging. “You had that look again, like you wanted to put a stake through a heathen’s heart.”

 

“Just one heathen,” muttered Imicus. He took a longer gulp from the Reismark brandy and wiped his mouth roughly with the back of his white glove. A bell was clanging dolefully now, and below, he heard its echo from a small village, its houses clustered around an oasis amidst the blasted wastes.

 

All over Jena, the bells would ring, over hot sand and stone, beneath the growing rays of Sun. All were called to worship. All were called to pray. But Imicus had only one prayer, and he doubted the Infinite Hieoromar would be very partial to it.


 

Actions

 

-By decree of King Solomon Horatio, so-called ‘pre-Emptive’ Draker activity has been permanently suspended in Jena. Drakers must apply for a Permit from the local government, and may only do their work on a regulated number of already deceased draken, once they have been moved from their resting place at the Drakers own expense. The Crucifier class LC August Maller will be enforcing these regulations.

 

For The Book of Horatius, 1:4 decrees that “For the worship of the Infinite Hieoromar must therefore be extended to his every creation.” 

 

-A single Light Cruiser, the Retia Illiais sent to explore rumors of shores to the east, whispers of a new world.

 

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-Construction of Material Industry [10]



 

Research

 

-Vitriol Judge Armor: Research goes into vitriol infused armor capable of being highly resistant and also offering Judges the opportunity to control their mass, allowing for extremely long jumps, or controlled deceleration during a descent.

 

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-Ancient Tech Slot: Priests of the Spiritus Santcus Machina begin to research the predictive possibilities of the Weather Installation, in the hopes of being able to emulate it, and gain the ability to know weather patterns in advance... And perhaps, one day, control them.


 

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The Sky Clans
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The floating city of Matar sat motionless in the skies, massive waterfalls slid down the sides of the cliffs far into the massive lake below. Hidden within the clouds at the edge of the great shard a fleet sits docked as crews and supplies are loaded up onto it. The men that climb aboard the carrier are a far different sort than the uniformed men, while many Clan Warriors or the Navy and Army bear tribal tattoos on their faces and bodies these men are Sky Raiders. Tasked to board, Capture and Kill any who stand in their way of the cargo they seek or the ship it is aboard. They wear no uniform but assortments of personal armor and weapons either made, acquired, or handed down by their families.

At the head of these men watching as they all board is a young but rough looking man. His head shaved save for the short mohawk in the middle, his armor is well crafted bearing a golden dragon. Behind him stands an older man, gray and age showing.

So you think you’re ready to lead this raid all on your own?” the man asks, flipping a dark colored coin between his large and callused fingers. At first the younger man didn’t answer. “Well, do you?” He asked again, his neutral tone unchanging. The young man would pivot and face him with a serious and determined demeanor “As if the question must be asked. I have trained with these men and raided with them for years.

Yes, but you have never led them.

I will today. May the heaven’s bless our hunt.” He would say putting on his helmet as he would depart without another word into the carrier.

May the heaven’s bring you home..my son.

==Actions==

The beginning of the year is marked by the detachment of the Sky Clan’s fleet and it’s Sky Warriors to seek out and hunt for prey amongst the skies. The Dragon Fleet departs from Matar and head’s north into Naresian League Territory to hunt for convoys. (MOD)

The Clans take their years of work and stockpiles from previous successes to further increase the economic power of their Isolated Kingdom. A vast amount of money, resources and work is put into expanding the infrastructure of the five cities.
1 Logistics District - 10,000c, 1M
1 Naval Industry - 10,000c, 3M
5 Material Industry - 50,000c

==Tech Research==
Slot 1 (The only one)
Traveling amongst the skies in search of prey and worthy warriors has been a long and hard kept tradition for the Sky Clans. While tribalistic in some ways the Clans are not an entirely backwards people as some other civilizations would put it. Coordination between vessels can and is difficult in harsh weather or in the heat of a battle, communication and coordination is key to success for the Sky Warriors. The use of the Radio has not gone unseen or unnoticed and such a device could in theory greatly aid ships in their endeavours. As such it is put at the head of efforts to better incorporate it into naval use for the Clans, it could also have usage outside naval or military hands.
[Researching Radio]

Edited by Sovereign_of_Solaris
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Protectorates of Contamrol

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(A couple short story strings for myself. No-one else is allowed to read them, so you better not!!!!!)

The winds of the southern wastes were different than that of a normal desert. Each gust tore a thin layer of rust from the sky-piercing monoliths that dotted the ruinous land, and expelled it into the air. These ‘rust storms’ were the bane of pilots and traders, being far worse for engines and breathing than a sandstorm. Some ships flew into these ‘Hakhbreezes’ only to be found months later buried in the rust—their mummified remains stained with blood from their ragged and torn throats. This land of sand and steel was the home of the part-tribal Contamrolites, who thrived in the epicentres of the world’s ruination.


U5wUWJY.jpg


The Craters were a ‘natural’ barrier against the terrible storms, and the civilisation of Contamrol had gathered within them. The capital, Parlamann, was a mix between an old tribal culture, the surge of heavy industry, and the pervasions of a dictatorial aristocracy. A man dressed in a silk coat from Varnyn would commonly share the street with a woman in wormthread robes, and these anachronisms were nothing unusual. A shaman scribing runes of protection on factory equipment, an axe-wielding warrior and clerk arguingover taxes placed on salvage, and airship captains consulting soothsayers to predict the nebulous weather—all such things were commonplace in Contamrol.

Story 1: The Warders.
The streets grew denser as one ventured towards the centre of Parlamann. While the outer parts were shielded almost entirely from the Hakhbreeze, the centre saw rust-particles lazily wafting down like a poisonous shower. A perpetual mist of industrial smog and metallic mist pervaded the homes near the factories. It was here the small folk needed the aid of the Warders more than ever.

Turning into a thin allyway were four men clad head-to-toe in yellow robes and metal breathing masks. They chanted monotonously as they walked, occasionally stopping to mark walls in holy unguents, speaking the words of warding.

 

“The outer-circle, our home.
The inner circle, the poison.
North, south-west, south-east.
The houses of the Hakh.
We contain them, as did the forefathers.
Only They can poison, only we can cure.
The sacred sigils shall encase them.”


“How much do we have left, Kisper?” The taller of the masked men queried. The second pulled out a map, and stared at it closely through glass goggles.


“We must make it through the next hirelk. Yashna’s group will be waiting at the sled-lift.”
Kisper grunted, and looked towards the work. “The dust peels the markings away too quickly. I fear that t-“


His voice was cut off by the shrill cries of a woman, trudging with surprising speed towards them. Her face was wrapped in wormthread cloth, but her uncovered eyes were welled with tears. “Yekhta! My husband! He isn’t well! The curse has gotten him!” She grabbed the hems of the forth warder’s robe, and pulled at him towards the direction she came. “Yekhta! Yekhta! The Ra-Ashan will eat him whole! He hears their stomachs growling!”

Gentle words calmed the woman, who hastily told the warders of her plight. Her husband was very ill, and clearly beset by the ‘curse,’ a degenerative illness typical of contact with Hakh spirits. The group agreed to see to him, following the woman through the streets towards a house built from ancient iron buttresses and sheet-metal.

 

“Kisper, my Mineath, speak truly—do you believe this home ticks?”


“Yes.” Kisper answered gravely. “The pattern of the winds, behold!” He gestured to the swirling motes of dust above their heads. “The Hairless Ones are strong here. We must ward this place at once. I shall tend to the one within.”


The tall one gently placed a gloved hand on the woman’s shoulder. “I am Doctor Ghomra. We shall do what we must for your man. This placed is now Irridad—Forbidden. It is cursed.”


The woman fell to her knees, weeping into the hems of Ghomra’s robes. The other two Warders walked around the walls of the makeshift house, placing the sigil upon the walls and speaking their sacred words.


“Your man shall be purified. His soul will rise with the morning sun and find peace in the Sea of Stars.” The woman’s weeping only intensified with Ghomra’s words.

“We were s-supposed to be happy! We spoke to the oracles to be certain! He took the job in the... that factory, and we had so much! So much to eat and drink! This isn’t- it’s not-...” Her cries echoed in the sheet-metal streets. Ghomra’s gaze lifted towards the Nameless Factory. Its smokestacks were of unholy chrome, and from them wafted the white smoke as it always did. And despite its cleanly appearance, the whole structure filled him with dread.

The blasphemy of its existence enraged him, and yet high above him and the smoke a vast airship hovered threateningly. It reminded him of his station, and who to blame for the suffering of innocents.

Story 2: The Engineers
p4Ww8nz.jpg

 

“Do you smell it, Radoon? That sumptuous scent! Yekhta! You simply must!”
Radoon, a man of 45 years, brandished a sledgehammer as he slowly crept towards the sound of the voice. Clad in a worker’s breastplate and face-covering steel helmet, his eyes were watchful of every movement in the quiet factory. Warily, he sometimes spun around to make sure no-one was behind him, and he would catch a flash of movement, or a half-heard whisper.

Once, he saw a face. He still dreamt about it.

 He was currently searching for his friend, Kjyl. They had studied engineering under the Grandmaster Imo of Factory Three. It was here they learned to use the ancient equipment to reforge scrap-metal into perfect, flawless steel. The machine was intensely complex, so much so that the Grandmaster himself had only the vaguest concept of how it functioned. No-one truly knew how they were operational. No-one even knew what powered them. Regardless, he and Kjyl had been at the factory for 30+ years together, learning many of its secrets, if not their source.

Only, Kjyl had disappeared a year ago, and now here he was calling out to Radoon - almost pleading - to remove his helm and partake of this 'scent.' His roach-wing gloves twisted against the steel handle of his sledge as he ducked carefully beneath an ancient chrome pipe.

“Radoon, how slowly you walk, old shoemaker! Why won’t you speak? It’s been so long since I’ve heard your voice! Akhminah! Breath in, and call out to me! Breath in, and scream! Breath in! Breath in!”

Rising from the tangle of pipes, he finally found his friend. Kjyl was squatting on top of a massive chrome valve. A perfectly cylindrical rivet had popped out slightly from its housing, releasing the barest, hair-thin wisp of white smoke. Kjyl’s face was buried in a plume of this smoke, obscuring his features save for a cheeky grin.

“You’re too serious, Radoon!” Kjyl’s body shimmered like a mirage in the wastes, matching the lazy dance of the tuft streaming from the rivet. A moment more, and his body blew away formlessly like a mist.

Radoon straddled a large pipe, and brought the sledgehammer down on the rivet over and over until it was pushed back into place.

“Ah, my dear friend.” Kjyl’s disembodied voice sighed. “You can be such wormfood these days. Don’t worry, the scent always be here, as will I!”

When the rivet finally sat flush against the valve, the voice stopped, and the factory floor was quiet once more. Those that worked in Factory Three were forbidden to speak of what they saw. Radoon kept his eyes low, not wishing to see another face watching him from the dark. 


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I am selling.... NOTHING!

 

30,000C + 10M + 1 Admin Point (Due to Domed City PoI) towards 1 city...
JkH2YV3.jpg
 ... here!

[Mod Action] The Contamrolites send an emissary to the Khan.

[Mod Action] 3000C towards an expedition!

Research: The Contamrolites love them some SPEED! Perhaps chemical rockets would be properly fast? Or make good weapons. Who knows?! (1RP towards research into rockets)

Edited by Catostrophy
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ACADIAN CONSULATE

 


 

1 WEEK AFTER THE ARAMIS INCIDENT

 

Captain Laurent Puginier of the 18e Régiment d'Infanterie sat somber amidst his fellow servicemen, of whom occupied the first few rows of the morning’s wake and memorial. Citizens and soldiers from across the capital gathered on the grounds of the Lucerne Aeroport to hear the First Consul speak about the events which unfolded a week earlier. What was a clear and beautiful day, was drowned out by melancholy as the country mourned their dead. The events raced through his mind- determined shouts, the exchange of gun-fire, and a deafening explosion which could be felt throughout the city. Puginier had been one of the first responders, attached to the Marine Aeronautique’s station in Lucerne. By the time he had arrived, a thick plume of smoke already suffocated the Aeroport as bodies were strewn across the tarmac. This was the doing of the so-called ‘revolutionaries’ which Premier-consul Roucayrol had spoken so fervently against- those who would seek to tear down Acadian harmony for self-serving and short-sighted gain.

 

At first, Puginier had his doubts. However, seeing the various photographs of the fallen on the podium struck the captain hard. Be it the Beauverger Kingdom, to the Acadian Republic, to Roucayrol’s Consulate- the politics had never risen with him. Puginier served the Acadian people, and by extension the head of state. Yet, during the wake Roucayrol had demonstrated that the Acadian people themselves were under attack- by the perverse revolutionaries who tried to poison the mind of the good, working Acadian man. Good men died that day, he was reminded. And Roucayrol spoke at length about the heroics of a particular civilian who had stirred his fellow captives to action, helping to wrestle control of the Aramis away from the terrorists, who ultimately lost his life during the raid, lionizing him as a martyr. The Consul posthumously honored him with the highest civilian merit, proclaiming him as the model which all Acadians should strive for.

 

He didn’t have to do that, Puginier thought. The assault teams were well on their way to breaching the plane. He recalled the tense blitz across the tarmac, as teams of federal infantry rolled boarding ramps up towards the cockpit and emergency exits, past the bodies of fallen revolutionaries whose bodies had yet to be retrieved. Lest he gag, he knew better than to stare. This man, Puginier pondered, was likely on his way to find a better life in the colonies. He, among many others, had done their time serving their country. Yet, there he stood, as the civilian honored the call to duty once more, despite hanging up his uniform and weapon however many years to go. He had sacrificed himself, whether by shaming the others or being the final nudge, and led the revolt against the revolutionaries. Selfless, Puginier thought. Though, I’d never dare say a fool. It is an honorable thing to serve your people, and be willing to die for them. Yet, when faced with the opposite end of a barrel, who’s to say whether you will remain meek or meet adversity eye to eye? We do not choose when our time comes-

 

The echoing din of the gunfire fogging Puginier’s mind, the ragged shouts of  "Get down!" or "Hands up!", and the fatiguing, methodical sweep of every floor and crevice of the airship to make sure every body was accounted for... The captain had lost track of time, as the Consul concluded his speech with an announcement that a monument would be erected within the Aeroport- dedicated to those who had lost their lives on that day. He followed the end of a memorial with an award ceremony for all those who had partaken in the ‘Aramis Raid’, as it was being called. He quietly watched and observed as the rows of servicemen before him rose and filed up the stairs, each being pinned a medal by the hand of Roucayrol himself. Puginier’s name was called, and he too joined the procession. As he stood on the stage, he gazed out into the crowd, feeling the weight of a thousand eyes burning into his soul. It was as if each and every person was simultaneously performing an evaluation on his character. He thought to himself, "Am I fit to bear this medal?" Perhaps it wasn’t his place to say, but Puginier did know that he acted under his obligation as an Acadian to uphold the sacred fraternity. 

 

As the Consul pinned the metal to his chest and they shared a firm handshake, Puginier could see flames of the Acadian spirit burning deep within the tired eyes of the aged general. This was a man who had been to hell and back, who had lost everything to the revolutionaries (even his dearest friend), and a man who wouldn’t relent in his pursuit of a more perfect Acadian society until his dying breath. In the face of that afternoon’s chaos, Roucayrol came down to the scene, directing men and taking control of the situation- well aware enemies abound, at risk to his own person at the epicenter of it.

 

This was a man who was fit to lead the nation; one who had given his very body and soul to Acadia.

 

...Though this was but a fading memory in Puginier’s mind. He was on a transport ship bound for the New World, not as a colonist, but one of the pioneers who would clear the area for future settlement. As much as he’d like to settle down, the captain had many years of good service left within him, and he’d be damned if he spent them withering away on some farm. Though, that’s not to say he’d like to at some time in the future! For now, he was thrilled to travel, with childlike giddy- setting foot where no man had ever before; a trailblazer. He would see the world as it was meant to be seen, from 10,000 feet above.

 

A new era dawned for all Acadia, it’s future lying beyond the Continent.

 


ACTIONS:

 

FIREARMS CURIOSA — Cross-section sketch of the French MAS-38...

 

[RESEARCH] The Aramis Raid demonstrated the limitation of rifles in interior spaces and narrow corridors. Acadian R&D is issued a directive by the First Consul to begin development of a portable weapon capable of unleashing high volumes of fire; a sub-machine gun, so to speak.

 

[-5M] Selling 5M to the Market

 

[+4,000] A generous gift to the Acadian Consulate by the Aadrensveld-Rhynish! Roucayrol expresses his admiration for their southern friends, who had carved out a shining beacon of order and stability in their corner of the world. With King Bartholomeus’s permission, an embassy is established within the Kingdom, while they are similarly permitted within Acadia’s borders.

 

200 Acadian livres to the treasury.

 

eHCCRTB5fepeEDa7D1LoEkEx2SoYpOQu1ICNJB9viVmnzHkFISWFie3IvMFhFcKczFXYFsxNR6rnuxxgGz_O2skvKFsepR54h4zoPv6rIJ9E2h47oyhE4_yITYpuK65kVEyMZgLm

Colonial efforts are renewed in earnest in the year of 1890. With normalcy restored to the Lucerne Aeroport, voyages once again set across the Acadian straits. Though it’s no secret these stop-gap islands likely pale in comparison to the lands beyond, hopefully some people will come to call these foreign lands home, appreciating a life away from the choked politics of the Continent. Three colonial cities are founded; Pontcharraud, Rhodes, and Chambéry. [90,000 C, 12M]

 

el3wYa2U9dUjq-e4J7JSSYnTugoHo4mYGoigtFln2ui_4cA6sXp4FpkGaCs19EaiwoOFWA2x1zEgdrWcTNw6iO4WychXEgumnjvAQVx8UmAJBvPn3whQfTo0gaxE1XMM5dn4eBO6

To pave the way for next year’s colonization efforts, a division of infantry under escort of the Acadian Marine Aéronautique, begins to cross the straits further than any Acadian has ventured beyond the Continent. Their objective is to scout ahead and clear a safe landing zone for future colonists. Most importantly, they explore Terra Incognita.

 

[MOD] The Army is sent in to control the situation in the rural parts of the country most affected by the wild beasts. A whole division is mobilized, who move to secure the Biological Research Facility, escorting an entourage of their own scientists and researchers to uncover the true nature of the facility.

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Kingdom of the Heavens

Bantu baseZulwini

1890

umculo


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Green hills sway under the wind coming off of the sea, the salt air bringing a tang to the air. Yapping can be heard as Horn wild dogs chase down an antelope. That is, before the sound of a small granship comes racing through the valley, another hot on its heels. Marked by the King’s emblem, they race over the summit towards Langa itself.

 

The sounds and smells of the Bazaar lay heavy in the air as people barter, the sounds of singing and laughing heard from all around. People praying to the Heiromar, albeit in the Bantu’s strange way, and the undulation of voices around a bar where a water buffalo roasts upon a spit.

 

The Bantu are a fortunate people, given the grandest land of all, and this is but the beginning. 

 


 

The granships move through the air past the great dome, entering through a rift in the side. The Architect Simphiwe watches through the observation port as a gaudy Church ship touches down, Bishop Ntuthuko disgorged in all his finery as he begins to chant. Simphiwe bows his head as the first prayer that must have been uttered down below. The landed ship has more priests and holy men leave the bowels as they begin to disperse through the city, bedecked in their beaded reinments.

 

Simphiwe looks back, seeing the other planners, architects, foremen and more that have gathered on this freighter’s deck. Contracted by King Bangizwe himself, the Great Hands Company was to construct this old-one city back to habitability. Simphiwe smiles faintly as the initial reports were pored over once more, the sheer marvel of the construction and how it has lasted is astounding to the Bantu men.

 

“The roads need -” “The pipes along this -” “The construction of -”, the numerous voices were finishing their respective meetings around the table. Simphiwe rolls his shoulders slowly under the leopard skin cloak before he begins.

 

“Men, we have a task ahead! We have been charged by the People to great works! A new city based on the ancients! We shall learn much as we strike the earth, and open the sky!”

 


 

It is a hive

without any bees

to build the walls

with golden bricks of honey.

A cave cluttered

with a millstone,

calabashes of sour milk

claypots of foaming beer

sleeping grass mats

 

wooden head rests

tanned goat skins

tied with riempies

to wattle rafters

blackened by the smoke

of kneaded cow dung

burning under

the three-legged pot

on the earthen floor

to cook my porridge.

 

Mbuyiseni Oswald Mtshali

 


 

Actions

 

Claim Trade Hegemon

 

A Scouting Party of 1 LC and 2 D to the south to discover the lay of the land in the peninsular. [Mod]

 

A Scouting Party of an infantry battlegroup is sent through the Underway, to establish a beachhead for further settlement.

 

Spoiler

aZA40es.png

 

Ambassadors reach out to the fellow southern nations of Varnyn and Reismark [Mod]

 

Other agents are sent forth [Mod]

 

Consecration of Sihlalo [Mod] [10,000C]

 

Research

 

Project ‘Voice of Heavens’ commences. The project is centred around improving long-range communication for telegraphs to be something simply better. The new world requires long-range planning. [Radio]

 

Project ████████ - ████ ████████████████ ██████████ ███

██ ████████████████████ ██████ [██████][Mod]

 

Economy

 

Conversion of 26 TP to C [195,000C]

 

Construction of the southern Domed City, to be renamed Sihlalo [1 AP, 20,000C, 5M]

 

Construction of 18 Materials Industry [180,000C]

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The Pact of Jena

1890

_____________________________

 

Hardings-First-Cabinet-crop.jpg

 

 

The Acadian Consulate, the Crusader State of Jena and the Koninkrijk Aadrensveld-Rhynsland hereby agree to the following terms, now outlined under the name ‘The Pact of Jena’:

 

  • To offer unflinching support in times of aggression against one of the signatories. Offering either fleet or armies to protect their sovereignty and self-determination.
    • To face no obligation to aid in wars of aggression against other parties, unless such war has been proven beyond any doubt to be preventative war, such that no other option exists, other than to further delay and face an inevitable, and better prepared enemies. 
      • Such aid must be unified, and sent forth by both non-aggressed signatories.
    • To face no obligation to aid in colonial wars of aggression. To face only obligation to aid in attacks against a signatories continental (Old World) borders.

 

  • To commit to favorable trade agreements between parties, trading goods at fair and competitive prices without suspicion or economically exploitative tactics.
    • To face obligation to reject trade agreements with those with whom a signatory is in open war with.
    • To face obligation to reject trade with those who have engaged in piracy against a signatory.

 

  • To allow for the inclusion of further nations into the Pact if a majority vote has been achieved. Failure to achieve a majority dictates the reconvening of a council the following year.

 

  • To elect a representative to the Pact, seated on a rotating basis in each signatories capital, changing at the end of the third year. 

 

Signed by,

Lord Commander Solomon Horatio of Jena

Eden Roucayrol, First Consul of Acadia

His Grace, Johann Friederick van Alfrenz, Duke of Jannenveld, Chancellor of Aadrensveld-Rhynsland, in the name of His Majesty, Bartholomeus van Aadrensveld, the Third of his Name, and by the grace of Hierormar, King of Aadrensveld-Rhynsland, Prince of Rhynsland, and Duke of Coenstaad

 

 

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THE BOUND CONSTELLATION

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“Not long now. Pack yer things.”

 

Laurent shuddered awake in the back of the cart, dislodging a thin layer of ash from his body. The grey dust seemed to fall faster by the hour, and he wondered to himself who would want to live in a place like this. Maybe this was all a mistake. He could go back to Velka, and forget all the rumors he’d heard about the invisible city of Eleutheria. He might be alright - it had been a few months. The police had bigger sky-beasts to slay, didn’t they?

 

Struggling through the terrain, the cart rounded a massive pillar of volcanic stone, as grey as everything else. Behind it there was what could charitably be called a slum: sad huts clustered together up a rocky slope, sad people sweeping what passed for streets here of the ash. There were no guards. There was no customs station. There were no peddlers doing business. There was just a road leading uphill through rows of run-down huts, and desperate eyes watching him hungrily.

 

Surely the police had moved on by now.

 

The cart ground to a halt. “Eleutheria,” said the driver, turning back. Half the man’s face was covered with a scarf to filter out the falling ash, but his eyes were fixed on Laurent. “If ye please...I got a caravan te get back to.”

 

“I’ve changed my mind. I want to come back with you.” Laurent sputtered, his head snapping away from the bleak town.

 

“I ain’t headin’ south.”

 

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll go wherever you’re going.”

 

“Ye paid all ye had. Searched ye yesterday...in yer sleep.” Laurent couldn’t see the driver’s mouth beyond the scarf, but he knew he would be grinning. Hieoromar damn these wastelanders.

 

“You...you can use my services! I’m a physician - a doctor. How many of those do you see out here?”

 

“Out of the cart, Doctor.”

 

The man showed no sign of budging. Reluctantly, Laurent picked up his heavy suitcase, and stepped from the cart into what must have been a foot of loose ash. Then the cart was gone, and he was alone. For a moment he stood there, watching the inhabitants just as they watched him. It was several minutes until, with the ash piling up on his shoulders, he tightened his own scarf around his mouth and finally trudged into the slum.

 

It was bigger than he’d thought. Hollow eyes watched his suitcase as he hiked up the slope, and he uneasily picked up his pace. With each step, more huts appeared to the side, buried under drifts of ash or hiding under basalt shelves. Some of the more dedicated exiles kept their roofs clean. All seemed on the brink of starvation. Eventually, it all came to look the same.

 

It was only when Laurent exhausted himself and sat down on an outcropping that he saw the gate. Shrouded in haze, past just a few more rows of exile huts, there was a town.

 

Laurent scrambled toward it. The wrought-iron gate was set in a low wall, and he had no trouble seeing the multi-storied dwellings behind it, clinging to the slope. Nothing special, but out here it may as well be the Hieoromar’s own city. He coughed on the ash, but ran nevertheless. The gate didn’t open. He reached the wall, and shook on its bars. A white-robed figure inside turned to look at him, but the gate didn’t open. He stared into the guard’s eyes, and motioned to the lock - but the figure made no move to open the gate. Instead it stared back at him, as lively as a statue.

 

Finally, it spoke in a man’s voice. “Eleutheria is closed to you. Come back tomorrow.”

 

Then it stepped from the gate, and no matter how loud Laurent called it would not return.

 

----------

jDqMdpt.png

 

80,000 C to build Mat. Industry.

 

----------

 

PROJECT PRAT - REDACTED.

Edited by Zanderaw
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REPUBLIC OF LANNION

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An emerging artists depiction of a busy road in Sarnes, with the steeple of the Basilica dwarfed by the dome of the Conciergerie. 


EARLY SPRING, 1890

 


The opacity of the cell is broken by the grinding iron of the manhole above. The well kept mutton chops of two soldiers peer over the ledge, at the being lying at the bottom of the pit. A man conquered by his unkempt body hair, with a brown cloth tied around his torso, his only possession to his name. He's a frail man, a thin sheet of flesh tightly stretches around the little musculature he has. As he opens his mouth to speak, his lemon stained teeth obligates one of the soldiers to turn away from such a bitter sight. “Is it time?” His dry voice croaks, his vocal chords too parched to procure anything but a hoarse growl of a pitch. The two soldiers look at each other, and chuckle. From the heavens falls a long, half eaten loaf of bread, bounces off the prisoner sprawled on the ground, and rolls several feet away from him. “Supper, Duque,” jeers one of the soldiers.

 

The pair of soldiers disappear from the view of the prisoner,, and the low hum of the cover grinding returns, and soon darkness consumes the pit once more.

 

5 DAYS LATER

 

From within the hole, the prisoner feels the low vibrations of footsteps approaching upon his cheek, pressed against the dirt floor. He raises his torso from the ground, already covering his eyesight to soften the impact the bright light invading his dank space will have on his retinas.  The manhole hums to life, revealing the same pair of soldiers, and another man, with a bushy mustache. He kneels down, examining the squalid man at the base of the pit. He wears a navy blue cap, and as he talks, a downpour outlines his silhouette. The prisoner prys open his jaw, capitalizing on an opportunity to moisten his lips. The man, while the soldiers wince once more, grins, the hairs of his stache fanning out as his lips grow wide. “Duuuuuqueee!” he shouts, joyously. “Remember me, my Lord?” he says, chuckling. His smile disappears from his face, as he enters a deep pensive state, sarcastically. “You were there, no? You don't remember me!?” He says, as the prisoner's eyesight begins to acclimate itself to the presence of light. “It is I, Maximilian, I hung your family, surely that jogs your memory?” His grin returns, as the soldiers chuckle from above. The prisoner, from below, stares at him blankly. The man above releases a frustrated groan, “No matter, surely when we retrieve you from this hole, and you get a closer look at me, you'll come to your senses. Consider yourself lucky, you have been called to serve the Republic, Duque!” The man rises, chortling. “Pull him out, and put him on Le Varlin.” The man barks, and after a few, a rope is tossed into the hole, sinking in the mud.

 

When the man is pulled down, his legs are too frail to bear his body's weight, and must be assisted by the soldiers. As he gradually raises his head up, he realizes he is in a barrack, with soldiers busily going to and fro. Up above, an airship ominously looms above his head, workers dangling on scaffolding and ropes, painting over the old monarchist flag, in the new colors of the Republic. Around him, on the roofs of the stores and homes, flies the Republican flag, and most prominent of them all, is the flag flying from the peak of the Conciergerie, a symbol of the triumphant Republic. 


ACTIONS

-6 coal, and 6 steel are sold to the Market. 

-8 Materials Industry are built. [8k]

-The Republic funds an expedition to the east, in search of rumored new territories. A royal cartographer is employed on this trip, by the name of Jacques Cartier. 10 Destroyers are sent on this trip, and are given the order to avoid combat at all costs, and focus on exploring and finding prime land for settlement. [10k]

-A group of soldiers are sent to climb the spire to its apex, in an attempt to uncover the secrets at its top. [3.3k]

Edited by Raul F
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