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Adon’s Comet rules their sky, a fiery red orb dominating the heavens. A herald for what we know now, but the rulers of that time could only guess. Some think the end of days still continue, while others hope the first spring blooms bring the life of a new age……

-Excerpt from legends and facts of the third age

The First Year of the Third Age

Music From The 1st Age [Ambiance]


Across the lands collectively known as Illesia, fragments of once great lands persist. Humanity may have proven they’re their own greatest threat, their own folly. The shattering of the second age was proof enough of that to most. But one thing no one could predict is just how strong they are..


The Holy Adonian Order, though secluded, remains busy year round in Illesia. Expeditions heading from their fabled city go far and wide. It’s not uncommon to see their priest in villages, towns, cities, preaching the good word of Adon, their fabled profit from the 2nd age. Adon was a legend of old, a “President” which was a title of great power in the 2nd age. A man whose ideals were so powerful they echo through time itself. Far more deadly parties roam the wastes, seeking out the words and creations of Adon…


The Bak-nari Republic ships can be seen by any nation on the oceanic coast. The Republic is sealed shut, never admitting or sending diplomatic and trade missions. Little is known of them, and it’s the same for them of Illesia. Their sleek and agile ships prowl the coast, whilst strangely garbed women are seen onboard, observing..




Nothing good comes from those near the Ill Horde. Already rumors are spreading across the locale. Tales of enslaved merchants, adventurers, even farmers on the frontiers of some lands. This quiet horde has been slowly expanding for centuries from a central point, eating up the leagues in precise moves orchestrated with expert effect. Primarily men on horse make up their army, always seen patrolling their borders and beyond. Now touching even the great river, raids on boats are not unheard of either, with the kidnapping of sailors becoming a common theme.


The Kingdom of Camadacia, with competitors on all sides, has been remarkably tight-lipped about events within their realm. Their infamous King Odilon Langlois Descoteaux has reportedly been touring his lands, visiting each of his Great Lords in turn. Ever since losing close to half the realm’s size to a peasant’s revolt, the Kingdom has suffered a severe loss of prestige. It does not change the fact they remain Illesia’s strongest Kingdom.




The Kingdom of Hausenberg, always the bitter #2 in the region, and Camadacia’s rival, has been hard at work improving their land for decades. The highly militarized and hostile society stands in stark contrast to the Camadacians. These crude, and brutal men seek only power in the new age. Anything in their way is trampled, and all within are subjugated.


The Rurviche Syndicate has long prospered off this rivalry. This oligarchy of rich merchants dominates coastal trade in the areas, and is known to lend heavily to both Kingdoms. These no nonsense businessmen forsake war like the Ideals of old. But the corrupting influence their gold has, and drives men to do, is nearly as bad.


Akim’s Freehold is the last true bastion of the second age. A massive complex wall dominates the majority of the island, made out of a reinforced material none can identify. A small but thriving harbor lays on the island just outside the wall's protection, where all can come to trade. Within the walls are various compounds, divided by more curtain walls with various buildings and farms. A central complex the size of some cities is condensed in dozens of layers of boxes. Known now for its original purpose, but it’s now regarded as the safest spot in Illesia. The Freehold itself is a multi-ethic society of priests, scholars, healers, and all the other professions idealized in the 2nd age. Any are allowed to enter, though under the knowledge they may never leave without strict permission. One can only imagine the troves of 2nd Age relics and knowledge these clever humans must be hoarding. More recently the Freehold has become a prison for some of Illesia’s worst criminals. Mad men who wielded relics to cause mass destruction, evil king’s shipped off by their realm, murderers who roamed city streets for years, the list goes on….




The Kingdom of Zorncost was founded as Adon’s Comet entered the starry skies for it’s first time in the third age. The Lords all agreed it was the mark of their King’s true power. Power they in reality wield, they all agree, as they place the crown on his head. He’s swiftly shooed away as the powerful Lords convene to discuss the impact of their new Realm on this age. Rich river lords, who had squabbled for centuries. But with such dire odds on all sides, they had slowly been growing tighter knit over the years. With reports of Adon’s Comet pouring in, it was seen as the perfect time to coronate the weakest of them. Zorncost’s foreing policy has yet to be announced, as the Kingdom binds itself together.

The Amichai are a recently established horde, intent on nothing less than world dominance. Descending from the brutal northern wastes, they emerged poor in men, but rich in power. This exhausted Kingdom has stumbled out of the wastes, to find Adon’s Comet greeting them. Deciding right then and there to set roots, the Amichai was formed. A title given to their leader, and Kingdom. One symbolizing the power in them all, and in their influence. They openly flaunt 2nd Age relics discovered in the northern wastes, perhaps as a distraction from how little of them remain. 


The Ka’Goran Trade Confederation announces they have a big shipment coming from further north the great river. They invite any who can to sail or march north to attend one of their infamous auctions in a grand bazaar. They are unsure what’s arriving, nations from further afield usually sending the leavings of their scavenging missions. 




The peaceful Ambrosian Republic enters the 3rd age in a way that could make many jealous. Their grand bombard keeps the waterways safe, and their people grow fat and rich in safety. The governments well oiled administration ensures taxes are collected, and placed back to grow the Realm. Slightly worrying is the myriad of reports, all claiming Bak-nari ships spotted observing them in turn.


The Spirit-Seekers are perhaps the only Gorans who’s name will strike immediate fear into the hearts of mankind. These pernicious and crafty smaller humans retain the savage tradition like the Gorans of old. A tribe to make Shermani himself proud, they lay at the very gates to the Northern wastes. The Great Hierophant of the Spirit-Seekers, Utu Gruug, is visited by two hermit Gorans still holding to the olden ways. One claims riches of the mind lay to their north, while other promises material riches to their south.


The Pilgrimage has at long last arrived in the fabled lands of Illesia. Was Adon’s Comet not a sign their cause was not only righteous, but inevitable? The Ka’Gorans nervously let them through their land, citizens ahead of the army running indoors and shuttering the windows. But silence does not march with the Pilgrims, as they sing hymns and chants. Upon reaching unclaimed lands, the host sets camp to appraise their situation. Scouts soon report two potential threats nearby. The recently established Amichai are already sending contingents closer and closer to the river, eager to stake their claims. Secondly, a horde seems to be paralleling their advance, on the other side of the River Ynn. They offer no diplomacy or word, and indeed have already enslaved a few Pilgrim outriders. Those that survived claim it to be a splinter group from the Ill Horde. A horde whose reputation precedes them, no doubt.




Refugees flood into the interior of the Black Camadacian’s freeland. Shattered hamlets, holdfasts, and farmsteads, all burned to crisps. A single name is on everyone’s lips. Adrian De Grempesh, a notorious Camadacian general. It would seem the Camadacian crown was too honorable to simply march their army out and crush the Black Army. Or so they claim. Instead they have opted for the usual way of conflict nowadays. Careful border raids permeate the border, as the Camadacians test the Black Armies defenses and resolve. It was not outright war, or a declaration of one. No it was far more subtle, men garbed as bandits, enacting wanton destruction. Of course both sides know what’s happening, but this delicate balance of power, honor, and ambition swirls deeper and deeper.




Word soon reaches the Don of Serra’s ears, of egregious wrongs done against him. It would seem a particular capone in his chief maritime port was holding back on something. Be it gold or knowledge, it was clear he was outright refusing orders by now. The rest of Don Corrado’s flock are hanging back, eager to see how their leader handles the situation. Rumors indicate none other than the Rurviche Syndicate is backing him, perhaps an explanation for why he’s so bold. 


The Kingdom of Albarias has boldly planted their new Kingdom in the harsh wastes. A settled kingdom, they represent an entirely unique way of life to most others in Illesia. Little of value or sustenance is found in their land, a dirt poor place. But the spirits of the humans living here are the deepest of vibrant colors. They bear the righteous fury of god in their hearts, and eye the Wastes as their own. It would seem they had contenders for their own version of paradise, as a Holy Adonian reclamation party has reportedly entered their southern lands without permission.




Herzogtum Greifenburg experienced their entrance to the new age with a stability lasting decades. King Albert in his steadfast way has ensured the Realm prospers, and thrives with every passing year. This year is marked with the arrival of several caravans, all eager to trade in the stable land. [+5k C]


Lanta perhaps did not truly know how powerful a color could be, but Purple has ascended them almost overnight into an important trade stop. Already some of the richest merchants from Realms far and wide have sent envoys, all clamoring for their dyed clothes. It’s quickly becoming a fad among Nobility, and they’re willing to pay large amounts for it. [+7k C]


The House of Vrizia has experienced perhaps the most tumultuous and thrilling saga for adventurers. Their constant rises and falls have led to an experienced and savvy band. Illesia perhaps doesn't know what it’s in for, as these Knights and their retinue flood into greener land. They find themselves with rich and open land on all sides, little of note transpiring to them. Troubling reports from the east however indicate many Realms are under threat to the Ill Horde.




THE GREAT CACIQUEDOM OF CANEY experiences a taste of their own medicine on the coasts as Adon's Comet enters the sky. A ruthless war party of Bak-nari descend on one of their more far flung western hamlets. The entire settlement is razed to the ground, and not a single male Caney makes it out alive. None truly know what this Republic intends, but it's clear they view the Caneymen with hostility, being so close to their lands. Curiously, all the Caney women are allowed to live. None actually make it back though, the women being carried off into the ships reportedly. 


The River Kings of Korynn have experienced decades of peace, prosperity, and growth. Various Kings and their retinues dot the river in populated groups, engaging in fishing and their games of war. But darker undertones have begun to wrap around this people's lands. Like hidden currents in a river, trouble is knocking on their door. It was first noticed perhaps a few weeks ago, as the sky was growing red from Adon's Comets inevitable return. The water level of the river itself was lowering. The bottom begging to silt up, the banks becoming further and further away from the actual river. At this rather they were under threat of losing it entirely, the land being reclaimed by the northern wastes. It would seem the very source of their River was drying up, deep in the Davor mountain range. Worse yet, nothing but fell rumors circulate about the mountains, a place any river fearing King would not dare tred.


The Diusi have emerged from the wastes hardened and ruthless. One does not last long in their ranks, unless they wield true power. Their current leader is one such man, and perhaps he realizes the massive nature of the task at hand. Their promised land could be over the next rise, or a world away. Though they reside in the northern wastes for now, there seemed to be promise of greater lands to the south. All agreed the north was inhospitable, but surprisingly, many argued they should continue roving the northern wastes for now. Some argue they should acquire wonders of the 2nd age to combat the settled Greenlands, while others want to set out immediately for the promised land. High Chief Tao has a difficult balancing act ahead, the paths both alluring, and dangerous.....


The Tarnished are used to being the watchers, the shadows on the wall. But one of their newest initiates, bathing in the toxic waters, and emerging alive, comes running with a bold tale. They claim while they were swimming, they stumbled into a party of ungarbed women also swimming. They were clearly suffering, but powering through the pain, had attacked the initiate. Only through their training did they survive to report the incident, the women having swum away after being bested. Just days later, Bak-nari sails are reported, sleek scouting ships heading upstream. Women with rudimentary surveying gear are seen along the banks, taking notes, as others collect bottles of the mist, bringing them back to ship. They are gone almost as quickly as they come. But for the rest of the spring, their ships remain ever present, observing, ready to flee at the first sign of sails.




The Republic of Lena's bustling trade capital is by and large noted as the first major stop going upstream, and the last down. Though some other small nations occupy the Ynn as they do, none have the utility and prestige of the Lenan port. For decades the merchants have ruled a stable insular realm, growing fat of tariffs collected on trade. Various pirates, foreign merchants, local war ships, and independent ships dot the large dockside, sailors pouring in and out. This porous Port is known with affection across all of Ilesia. However the 'golden age' of the Lenan merchant class is possibly under threat. Radical Captains of the Guard have been building on the militarist support that's been growing for years.  They clamor for war, seeking to expand the Nation's power beyond trade. Perhaps even more concerning is the Ill horde just over the river Ynn to their east. Already reports of raided ships, and disrupted trade have begun to filter in. With potential threats on all sides, will this Mercantile republic hold true to their ideals, and keep the flame alive? [+4k C]




Osberht awakens for the first time in this new Age, the Third Age. For now memories of his past life are uncertain, shrouded in blood and misery during the final collapse of the Second Age. He finds himself in a strange land, once fertile. But the river he wakes nearby is a shadow of it's former self, and villagers are seen grimly fishing what's left. Few catch anything, and soon to be starving children run over to him, curious. Osberht soon realizes he's in the River Kingdom of Korynn, but darkness has it's grip on this once stable realm. [+4 Prestige]



Edited by GrimBeard
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"Glory is the reward of Valour."


Far to the east, across vast plains empty of life or livestock, through rugged mountain passes populated with creeping, mutated goblins, over mountains swept bare by wind and Ancient wickedness, in dark, dank forests, bereft of light and populated by horrors that still haunt the dreams of Roland, lies a castle, the namesake of his house. It was a grand castle in its day, a tall stone keep, thrice expanded by old Lord Robert, surrounded by a pair of high curtain walls, with a deep ditch circumnavigating it all. It had been a warm place, strangely warm for a castle, heated by the Ancient springs deep within the earth, vast pools of heated water treated by whatever sorcery the Ancients had employed. He remembered it well, did Roland, even now he could see it in his mind's eye - not as it had been at the end, covered in enemy banners, burning, with collapsed walls and strewn with corpses, no, he remembered it's airy grandeur, it's wide open halls, the vast courtyard where he had trained with axe, sword, bow and lance, the rooms where his brothers had been born, where he had been raised.


He stood on a tall hill, letting the cold wind blow around him. His eyes were closed, and he swore he could nearly feel the rough hewn stone beneath his fingers, could touch the tapestries, sink deep into the lush furniture his father had loved so dearly, but when he opened his eyes, there was nothing save an open plain, covered in low hillocks. He felt a sharp stab in his heart and, despite himself, tears pricked at his eyes. It had been home, that castle, and its loss was a bitter blow. Still, there was little time for such reminiscing. He glanced to the ground, where he had carelessly cast his sword and helmet, before turning his gaze back to his encampment, in the field below.


The tents, once fine pavilions, were patchwork now. The banners and the pennants thin and frayed, the surcoats and livery coats tattered and worn. Still, he reminded himself, the horses had thrived in these open grasslands, and the men were fighting fit too, and that was more important than any number of flags and banners and coats. "We've been in worse states, Tancred." He called to the big, hulking figure striding up the hill, clad in mail, missing an eye and most of his cheek. Tancred, the eldest of his younger brothers, reached the top and sat down in the grass, sprawling in the warm air. Roland smiled, gently kicking his brother as he sat down beside him. "We've managed to find some twelve hundred more men, Roland, nought more than levies, mind."


Roland nodded, staring down the hill towards the encampment. "Then we'll march at dawn." He looked to Tancred, and cracked a smile "After all, there's a kingdom to be won!"




-Roland employs a new miner. (5kC, 2 B.)



-The House of Vrizia rides to war….

Edited by The_Mad_Skylord
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Kingdom of Albarias


The first year of the third age.

His fist met his desk swiftly, his mustache and fabulously groomed beard moved ever so slightly as he mouthed each word “Those bastards dare encroach upon my new Kingdom? Not even a year after it comes to fruition and they already dare to pillage and take what is not theirs?” Pnultimo stood silently while his King blew smoke from his ears. Watching as with every second the King grew hotter and hotter. “I will deal with these reclaimers.” Sebastián proclaimed standing up from his desk. “Penultimo we must ride. I entrust my wife to command the garrisons should they need it whilst she sits on the throne.” Pnultimo did his usual salute, but this time as he did, his Morion was tilted down a bit, covering the slightly shorter than average man’s eyes, which were a lovely shade of green. As Sebastián marched past him with a pat on the shoulder, his relic blade glowed ever so slightly with every step. To be completely honest, Sebastián wasn’t exactly sure Pnultimo was paying attention, but that was the usual. Besides, his trusted advisor and friend had never done anything to let him down in all their years together. As the pair made their way outside of the keep, the gallant Knights of the realm stood ready and waiting. As the pair mounted their own warhorses, the Caballeros followed. Those other soldiery with their king who had no horses began walking behind and so the retinue began their trek towards their guests…

Sebastian takes a retinue of men to dispatch the relic reclaimers back to their homes before riding to the village to the south east and offering the people there security, safety, and a chance to join something bigger than themselves. (RP/MOD)

Economic actions:
Two units of light archers are called into service of the Kingdom. (5,000 C)

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1st Year of the Age of Salvation, Spring


Eleazar’s feet sank into the soft mud with every step forward. His heavy ceremonial robes dragged through it as he went. In his hand, the censer rhythmically swung side to side, suspended by a golden chain. 


“Blessed is the ground on which thee tread, for thou make way the road to salvation …” 


The High Magi announced as he went. As he passes each rider, the man steps forward, bowing low to the muck before placing a kiss upon the elaborate golden box.


“Blessed is thy errand, for thou bring glory to the heavens. I say to thee; the wicked flee when no one pursueth, but the righteous are as bold as a lion …”


The last of the horsemen steps from his animal, stepping forwards to kiss the Ark. A tight smile grips at the old Magi’s face as his hands extend upwards, 


Go now! Make ready the road, ye faithful! Make ready the road and cast from it those who will not follow!” 

The whole group, once mere savages picking away at one another as they wasted away in the desert, now an elite and devoted arm of the Pilgrim Church, raises their bows or sounds their horns as a Pilgrim banner sways back and forth from the lead man, and the contingent thunders out of the camp …

Economic Actions
- Organizing one group of miners
- Saving the rest

RP Actions
- The Pilgrim Church’s vanguard (225 Light Horse Archers) are dispatched, along with Desab’s warriors, to the 6 villages along the Pilgrim’s route. They are to offer the inhabitants a single chance to join the Pilgrimage. Should they refuse, the village is sacked and razed, all are taken as slaves and integrated into the Pilgrimage by force.


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"Ye who have refused the call, know this - your fathers are dead. Your husbands are dead. But for you all is not lost, for you may still watch the Day of Salvation in chains. Rejoice in your new life as slaves of the Savior Desab, Emperor of the Promised World, the First Pilgrim, the Reshaper of Destinies, Chosen of..."


Desab watched the babbling savages, unimpressed. The men of this place had barely resisted - up until the very end they had begged and bargained, promising everything they had of value in this sad pigsty, if only the Pilgrimage would leave them alone. Every one of them was too stupid to see what was happening until Desab's men started nailing them to the walls of their homes. Pathetic.


"...in service of this army which does not move except in the service of Heaven. Accept your new place, and you will once more be free in the Promised World. Deny it, and the punishment for your blasphemy will be as harsh after death as it will be...


Desab said nothing as his lieutenants walked among the slaves, dividing them up - half to the Church, and half to his own soldiers. The children would have to be separated from their mothers of course, or the poison of whatever they called a "culture" here would infect them. For the latter it was too late of course, but the camp would find uses for them nonetheless.


As the process went on, Desab called one of the church leaders over. "You've made your sweep?"


"Of course... There's nothing here."


"I'd have never guessed," Desab snorted in derision. "We move on, then. This place depresses me."


One dismissive motion later and the warlord was gone. By the end of the hour, there was one less village in Illesia...and the Pilgrimage was on its way to the next.



Together with the riders of the Church, Desab and his army move south devouring everything in their path. Conversion is only offered by the Church when they arrive first. When Desab arrives, all hope is lost.





Edited by Zanderaw
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The Spirit Seekers



Deep in the northern wastes one would be forgiven for assuming there was no life at all. Yet even here humans had learned to thrive. Not all were strictly speaking ‘human,’ however. Nestled between two rivers a city of yurts and wagons spread as far as the eye could see, bustling with Goran folk even in the cold winds of the night. Clattering warriors whispered with shamans and storytellers, all cowering before the great red light that hung in the sky. Adon’s Comet had come, and its baleful glare unnerved even the strongest hunter.

The storytellers recalled tales of the comet, and that it heralded the end of the Times of Good. It was the greatest and clearest of omens, and the shamans refused to read the winds of prophesy with it above them. Dark times were coming, and worry had gripped most of the tribesmen’s hearts. At the centre of the great encampment lay the largest yurt of all surrounded by the largest of the diminutive Goran hunters. Each hunter eyed their fellow tribesfolk suspiciously as the mass gathered around them and looked for the guidance of the Great Hierophant in this troubled time. The Hierophant too was seeking guidance.

At the very centre of the darkened yurt, Utu Gruug sat cross-legged, surrounded by burning incense and hanging talismans to ward away malevolent poltergeists. He stared at a shard of light only his wizened eyes and learned hands were permitted to see and touch. An ancient tool still inhabited by the worrunt’e, its light cast strange shadows inside of the Yurt, responding to his touch as he gazed at the images upon it. What he saw were mountains that bordered the river’s fork as if observed thousands of leagues above. He could see routes through the crags and the natural paths that wound between their crumbling peaks. First gently touching each corner of the shard, he whispered his thanks for the spirit’s aid, and drew his finger across its smooth surface. The mountains slid away, and in their place were simple, blocky shapes of lines and squares. These symbols and the mystical runes that surrounded them indicated where once the Great Houses of the second age stood, when men could build wonders with the aid of the spirits. In such places were useful things, and sometimes, on rare occasions, tools still inhabited by their spirit...

The shine from the shard began to fade, and Utu carefully placed it upon a soft, southlander cushion. The spirit was old, and needed rest each day, lest it fade like the worrunt’e of the past.

He gave his thanks, bowed, and exited the yurt to speak his orders to the chieftains.





-Utu receives the two hermits, and permits them safety and sanctuary within the yurts as is the Way. He takes the former up on their offer, for the mind is always more important than material benefit. Sacred scriptures of the Second Age would please the Worrunt’e more than any shard of metal. Scouts are sent north to scrounge the site indicated.

-A band of horse archers are recruited from the clans. (-3000C)

The great horde travels and gathers the wayward peoples of the wastes. As gently as possible, but they are still gathered.

(I am still a nomad faction, by the way)

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"Now, now children." Osberht says, "I am not a monster from the north, I came from near Hausenberg."


"But you look funny." A small Korynn goes, "You must be monster from north."


"No, no, I came from the south!" the exacerbated mercenary goes. The gaggle of chuldren surround him as he marches along the river front, his eyes continuously darting upwards through to the water ahead. There must be parents around here somewhere, some one to tell me where I am precisely. The compass in his mind points south-south-west, useless really to tell him where in Korynn he is.


"Where are those blasted canoes." Osberht mumbles as the children natter below him. In half a mind to simply outstrip the children by increasing his pace, he stays slow enough for them to follow. Their parents would look for them eventually.






The sword sings in the air, cleaving through the haft of the spear infront of him. The flash of certain knowledge, that of death, spawns in the footmans eyes as the blade hits his breastplate. The body crumples as the whirlwind moves on, a sprawl of bodies behind him as Osberht moves with inhuman quickness. There is a reason people seek his services, no one can match his ferocity when its unleashed.


The dust on the plain obscures the view of the man, rain pounding down and causing the earth to churn under the weight of the armies. Osberht pauses, feeling the change in the air. The Count d'Arkese has fallen, and Osberht's skills can avail him naught. He can feel the trumble under foot, the smell of horse sweat. "****." Osberht states, noticing the enemies heavy horse turn its attention on him. Osberht is inhuman, yes, but not a god. 


The first horse is cleaved in two, the second's rider is smacked out of the saddle. The third holds his ground as Osberht hacks the shield apart; before a lance bursts out his chest. Osberht's mouth foams with blood, before he skewers the rider before him in a final burst of adrenaline.


He falls to the ground, his life escaping him.


Osberhts eyes open, a fertile valley ahead of him.




The canoe creaks as Osberhts ferryman carriers him towards the Nad’ynnar. The sights of the valley such a change from the dustbowls of the last few years. He sighs as he thinks to another master's death, his own too. Well that was the past now.


The rumours of the river drying up intrigue Osberht, for he knows when he is needed.

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Herzogtum Greifenburg




Year 11 of Albert's reign


"Deborah! Isabella!" shouts the aging duke as he marches through the halls of the Greifenhorst. "Where are these two daughters of mine... Komodan, boy, come here." The young boy and heir to the Herzogtum was quietly sitting reading literature he has recently picked up and come to like, tales about brave knights and fair maidens. Adventures. An alright passtime, as long as he doesn't pick on the servants, their children or other noble kids. "Where are your sisters? I require to inform them that I will be absent for the coming weeks." - "Ok." - "Do you know or do you not know?" - "I do not know." - "Then answer straight in the first place boy when you are asked a question as such. I have no time for nonsense." Albert fumed as his son only offers a disinterested look before returning to his book. It took the better part of the morning until Albert did find out that his daughters went (without telling anyone) to the nearby town to visit the market. Dear, dear, only trouble with the youngsters.


Herzog Albert von Greifenburg has been somewhat impatient in the recent days, with his uncaring son to succeed him, with nothing of interest happening as of recently, his daughter spending fortunes on their little brother and the local markets to satisfy their own needs. For a change, unlike his usual patient and calm self, it is as if something snapped and Albert was in the need for action and activity. The prolonged time of complacency dulled his senses it seemed to him and so he went for something new, he hadn't really tried so far. He would lead a diplomatic mission himself. To the West were settlements that were de facto independent, peaceful, but perhaps willing to listen to what the old Greifner had to say, perhaps capable of seeing the advantages of being under the unified banner of Greifenburg. With their close proximity it was expected that both language and culture would be shared.


And so Herzog Albert prepared an expedition, of course after duly informing his daughters of his plans and upcoming prolonged absence. To the West for the accession talks!




2 towns (wooden palisades)

5 villages (no improvements)



Taler (C):

6,750 (2 towns, 5 villages)

5,000 (event, this turn only)


Metalle (M):

2 (2 towns)


Vorräte (F):

30 (2 towns, 5 villages)


Baumaterial (B):

2 (2 towns)


Expenses (maintenance)

Taler (C):

1,000 (2 wooden palisades)


Metalle (M):



Vorräte (F):

2 (2 wooden palisades)

9 (armed forces)


Baumaterial (B):




Taler (C): 10,750

Metalle (M): 2

Vorräte (F): 19

Baumaterial (B): 2



1,250 Greifner Büttel (Light Spearmen)

500 Wappenträger (One Handed Med Infantry)

300 Bogenschützen (Med Archers)




No construction projects to take place this season. Resources to the stockpile.


Herzog Albert himself tours with a small retinue to the settlements in the west. The visit is diplomatic in its purpose, however with the motive to bring them into the field of the Duchy, peacefully. With his own presence negotiation should be swift and decisions final. (Mod)






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The Diushi Clans

Hai Yun rode along her scouts, south of the Clans gathering in the waste. Down from the mountain she could see a distant village, it wasn't much of a place but one village was like any other out here in the waste.  Hong Tao had trusted her to see this scouting mission through, it wasn't difficult and didn't do much to fulfill her or the mens lust for a battle but she was certain that would come quite soon. Seldom did a village in the hordes way stand for long, and seldom did they give up their things so easily which is much how she preferred it.


Hong Tao walked out of his tent as Zhen was at his side.
"High Chief..I do not question your choice to raid the village to the south, I simply am concerned about putting her in charge of an assault. She's young, hot headed and doesn't see beyond the next man she's going to drive her axe into." Hong Tao chuckled "That is precisely why I'm sending her, its a raid as any other. She's one of my trusted chiefs, she deserves the chance at least. Experience is the only power here, no reason for me to deny her such until she gives me a reason."

Zhen sighed knowing there was no arguing this point. "So while she leads her warband south where are we going?" He asked as Tao mounted his horse. "West." he answered, though it had Zhen confused. "I thought we were going South?"

"Yes the Clans are, I am leading my own warband west. I plan to lead us out of these wastes but there are still...many relics in this harsh place perhaps someone somewhere knows where to find them. You will be joining me, I'll need your...manners to engage with the Villagers."
2 Caravans, 5 Parties

C: 5,000
F: 20
M: 0
B: 2

F: -10

C: 0
F: 10
M: 0
B: 2

Heh, wouldn't you like to know?

check army description

---Construction/Recruitment Actions---

The Warbands need to grow to ever hope to continue keeping the clans unified existence. New Blood is broken into the Horde's Warbands. 1,000 Light One Handed Infantry (-5,000c +4 Light Infantry Units)


The Clans begin to move their caravans and warbands south (Red) with the intention of finding rest to the south along the edge of the mountains. Hai Yun (Yellow) will lead the warriors of the Clans to attack and subjugate the two Villages along the Horde's Path. She leads the remainder of the forces Tao did not take with him.

Hong Tao (Green) leads a party to a western village in the wastes, upon arriving he demands tribute and information and in return he will spare the village from destruction. He leads 75 Heavy Cavarly, 250 Light One Handed Infantry and 150 Medium Crossbowmen. Afterwards no matter the outcome he will travel back and catch back up to the Clan's Faction.

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Catastrophe was the first thing that the Third Age had brought to the fertile river valleys of Korynn. The Korynnar's very life, the Ynn, was inexplicably being sapped away, and with it all the prosperity that had been centuries in the making. That is, unless, that the Ynn's true children could restore it - thusly were the River-Kings determined.






The many plazas and piers of Nad'ynn hummed with the throngs of tribesmen going about their lives. Locals and travellers from across Korynn toiled, traded, and talked, but the normally lively and energetic din was instead submerged beneath hushed shock and wailing grief. Canoes and fishing boats were crowded and stacked taller than any had seen before by the side of the Korynn river, the waters of which flowed far below the clear carving in the soil that marked the river's usual height. Their usual occupants thronged before the large mound-like keep at opposite end of the town's central road, an animated and prickly debate on the fate of the Korynnar sparking among the barrel-chested fishermen, tattooed warriors, and finely cloaked traders waiting for the Ynnkhard's descent from the keep.


However, an equally large crowed was forming at the bottom of the road, seeming to be slowly moving up. Quite unlike the rest of the town, the crowd buzzed and children ran out and back in, more young friends in tow. At its centre, a single man was surrounded by excited Korynnar, marvelling and questioning his strange attire and visage. Very few outsiders came this far into Korynn, that much had become evident to Osberht as he made his way toward the obvious centre of the town.


After a few minutes of the foreigner answering inane questions and politely smiling, the two crowds merged as Osberht arrived at the foot of the keep. The stirred-up fishermen, warriors, and traders leered suspiciously and whispered among each other, not sharing the others' enthusiasm. The undying knight sighed as he tried and failed to make his way any further forward through the now huge gathering, resigned to indulging the locals until they left him alone.


Watching Osberht's approach with some amusement from atop the keep was Malakynn. His people were easily distracted, he thought to himself, glad that something other than the Ynn's and their own peril was on his people's minds. The rather grotesque man shook his head with a chuckle, and began making his way down the steep staircase leading from his keep. 


The crowd turned away and up toward the keep as Malakynn neared, beginning to shout out to the chief to point out Osberht's arrival - and his appearance, his threat, his promise, his strangeness. Suggestions were asked from and made to the Ynnkhard as to what should be done with him, or whether his coming was linked to the Ynn's going. Malakynn gave no reply as he made his way toward the shining-suited man, waiting to sate his curiosity before playing his hand. Soon enough, the lord of the town was before the talk of the town, both sized up by the other. 


After a few tense moments of exchanged glances, the crowd quietened somewhat as they waited for something to happen. Malakynn rubbed his chin and furrowed his brow, almost seeming to exaggerate the appearance of his analysis of Osberht. Then, the bubble of tension was popped, as the Ynnkhard threw up his hands.


"There can be no doubt this stranger's arrival and our great Ynn's ailment are two streams of the same river. But, my friends, I am certain the Ynn would not bring him to us, if it was not for our and its salvation! Nad'ynnar, Korynnar, we are saved!" 


Most of the crowd erupted in to cheer, with only a few stubborn heads shaking and walking away. Malakynn joined in the jubilation, hugging and slapping his tribesmen. Little attention remained on Osberht as he glanced around confused and speechless at his apparent sudden induction into these people's fight for survival. A few even started playing music, the outburst of joy escalating as much of the crowd began singing and dancing. Eventually Malakynn squeezed out from what was now a party toward Osberht, slapping the man on his pauldron. 


"Hahah! Apologies my friend, you've come at a strange time! I invite you into my home now, we have much to discuss!"








Envoys are sent downriver to the independent town and two nearest villages. They express the need to band together in the face of the strange nomads to the north who would lay waste to them both, offering protection and gifts to the locals and seeking agreements on trade, and alliance if there is enough enthusiasm. As long as the locals aren't opposed, the River-Kings declare to those nearby the town and two villages are under their protection and not to be threatened.

[500 Gold gifts]


The Trynn'tarokhar are dispatched upstream, where they are to begin finding a location for and planning a canal between the upper forks of the Korynn. Travel to the confluence at Nad'ynn is one of the greater limits on efficiency internal transport and trade across Korynnar, and the aim is to allow for direct waterborne travel from the south to the north. Furthermore, it's planned location nearby the village of Trynn'hal would bring increased trade through the settlement, and the canal itself would allow for greater irrigation of the more inland nearby farms. Finally, the canal's position would effectively turn Nad'ynn and its hinterlands into an island, making it much easier to defend.
 Once an optimal path is picked out, the river engineers begin work on gathering materials and plotting the construction.



The Korynn's drying had brought intense alarm to the four Ynnkhard, who believed they would be able to fix it, but also saw the need to secure greater grain production and more importantly a grasp on the banks of the Ynn's great mainstem. As such, the River-Kings dispatch their warriors south toward the two villages between Korynn and the trunk, ordered to demand their submission.

[Sending 500 L-OH Infantry, 250 L Spearmen, 150 M Archers]


The quest to save the Ynn begynns......



Recruiting 500 Light One-Handed Infantry, 750 Light Spearmen

[5,000 gold]

Edited by hellfiazz
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The congress chamber of Villequiers



An otherwise unsuspecting town, Villequiers was bustling with activity today, as people from all over milled through the town- before eventually congregating in the square. However, many of these faces weren’t locals, at least of Villequiers. Representatives from every commune made their way to the town’s historic congress building, home of the revolution. Even those out of the loop of current affairs knew the councils had been convened.


The councils were the means by which North Camadacia conducted important decision-making. Though opposed to a central government, the North Camadacian Free Inhabitants knew the communes could stand no chance upon their own.


Once again, the communes were under threat. Word trickled from the sights of incidence to the interior. Eventually, one name crossed the lips of every North Camadacian that morning; Adrian de Grempesh, the latest in the line of Camadacian dogs to be sicked upon the free people of the north.


This was the matter pushed before the councils.


Ironically, despite living in Villequiers, Enguerrand was one of the last representatives to arrive. He could offer any sort of excuse, to duties in the household or helping another comrade with their fieldwork, but he need not explain himself to any other. Furthermore, the council needs no distraction to their deliberation. A path parted for him, as he approached the mass gathered around the congress building, of all faces he knew. Some muttered, gossiped, but none impeded him, or bothered him with a frivolous question. They knew they’d be filled in at the discussion’s end, as was their right, for they were all equals in the Free Territory.


Enguerrand flung open the chamber’s cast iron doors, stepping into the room’s center. The room itself was rather modest, with functionality in mind over flashiness. It was a carpeted room, the size of a tennis court. The wood furnishings were of fine make, but lacked the golden embellishments often found in the Camadacian Kingdom’s halls. The benches were arranged in a semi-circular fashion around a pit where a speaker might petition the councils, and where Enguerrand found himself standing.


A few impatient representatives impatiently eyed Enguerrand, though if they had any grievances with his tardiness, they certainly didn’t air them. The current speaker even paid Enguerrand no mind, seemingly locked in debate with a representative across the room. Enguerrand recognized them both, of course; Colonels Morvan and Sardou.


Though this was officially a military matter, Enguerrand held no official sway. Though, the leader of each commune’s militia would often seek counsel from the communal leader. As such, Enguerrand made his way to his bench, sitting beside Colonel Dartagnan, who acknowledged him with a nod. He seemed absorbed in the discussion at hand, perhaps seeking an opportune moment to weigh in.


“Provins can meet the quota.” Sardou explained, as he leaned forward from his seat. “However, there may not be enough hands to manage the fields.” 


“I’m sure you understand, Comrade Sardou, that there’ll be no fields left to till if we continue to let the Royalists trounce all over us.” said Morvan tiredly.


To a foreigner, the proceedings may seem surprisingly calm and civilized.


Enguerrand raised a brow, and looked at Colonel Dartagnan.


Dartagnan looked back at Enguerrand and nodded. “It’s trivial, really.” he whispered. “You know what to say.”


“Comrades.” Enguerrand declared, his voice resonating throughout the chamber. Both Morvan and Sardou fell silent, turning their attention to Enguerrand. “Villequiers has produced an excess of grain this season. I’ll see to it that enough is shipped to the stores of the Commune of Provins.”


“It’s settled then!” exclaimed Colonel Morvan, before anyone else could speak.


Aye. We’ll muster with you, here in Villequiers.” said Sardou, looking over to Dartagnan and Enguerrand. “It’ll be an honor to fight by your side again.”

Dartagnan surveyed the room’s mood, before standing. “Then war it shall be. Within a week's time, our combined host shall make for Quiercy, and join with you, Comrade Colonel Morvan. Together we will destroy Grempesh, and show the Camadacians that our beacon of liberty will not go quietly into the night. To battle, comrades.”





Colonel Dartagnan’s Communal Militia of Villequiers, prior to campaign





[MOD] The North Camadacian Black Army moves to intercept Grempesh’s host and prevent further incursions into North Camadacian Free Territory.

  • 300 Light Archers
  • 500 Black Army Militia
  • 75 Medium Melee Cavalry


[MOD] The General Assembly diverts funding towards the restoration of the Undercroft, as a result of renewed aggression by the Kingdom of Camadacia. Materials and provisions are not-so-mysteriously whisked away and taken below the surface, to aid the influx of refugees from the borderlands. (1,000 C invested)


[5,000 C, 2B] Constructing Mine in Villequiers

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The Dominate of Ayan Rus



The valley was deep here, and tall green pines grew on either side, their boughs to thickly intertwined that Myukor could barely see the night sky above. Shredded clouds hid the stars, and beneath the trees it was dark and quiet. The mists muted every noise and gave the dirt path and its surroundings a dreamlike quality.



Misty Forest



“This is a waste of our talents,” he said. “I would be better off making my way to Adonia.”


“You’d be better off doing what you’re told,” said a high voice. And out of the mist materialized a dark shape, short and thin, her features as pale as bone, her eyes milky and ever moving in the shadows.


“Your grandfather must be so proud of you, Kalina,” sneered Myukor. 


She stiffened and glared at him, her hand hovering over her dagger. “Watch your mouth. The Patriarch’s orders are law, krysa.” She tossed her head, her dark ponytail dancing behind her. “Anyway, you have it easy. I need to track down one of these Bak’Nari pizdy and get my hands dirty.”


“Whatever,” he grumbled. On any other day, he might have complained more, but these days… They continued on in silence for a good while, and their long and easy strides brought them to the end of the forest, where the trees withered and died. Here, they could no longer water themselves from the poisonous waters of the Strygoi, and turned into dust and sand, stretching out for what seemed like forever in a long, narrow, pass. 



Death Valley | Dave on the Trail



A single path branched off to the right, leading up into the hills. It was barely visible, as if it were rarely taken by men, but to his trained eyes it stood out like a campfire in the night. Tell her, whispered the voice.


“We should use the Fire to destroy the Fire,” said Myukor suddenly. “Restore balance. Use the Great Satan’s unholy flames against him!” His eyes shone with fervor and he stepped up to her. She would understand, they would work together, hand in hand- her gleaming knife was an inch from his throat.


“You-” she shook her head and shoved him away. “Keep your idiotic thoughts to yourself, Myukor. Nobody else needs to hear that one of us is cracked in the head.” Her face darkened. “We’re the only ones left, after what happened… We have to restore faith in our Order.” She turned away and began to trudge up the hill, leaving Myukor standing alone in the sand until she disappeared into the darkness.


“Which is why we need to start making a real change…” But only the sad wailing of the wind answered him.




-500 Light Spearmen and 150 Archers are swiftly trained up to protect the home island, as news of the Bak’Nari incursions reaches the Patriarch.



-Kalina, the Tarnished, is sent to deal with the Bak’Nari intruders. All lands touched by the Strygoi Mist belong to the Ayan Rus, and soon, it will be the Bak’Nari’s turn to learn this lesson… [Discord]


-Myukor, the second Tarnished, is sent to the Town at the far mouth of the Strygoi River. His mission is simple, and though he is reluctant to carry out the will of the Fat Patriarch, he does as he is told… [Discord]


-The Ayan Rus send a missive to the Adonian Order, the letter sealed with wax and sent through the informal systems of trade ships and caravans. Each man gets paid by the next for the letter, and so on and so forth until it reaches Adonia. Once they break the seal and open the cylinder, the Adonians would find an old, dry piece of feces inside.


-A small expedition of men, with about 50 spearmen and 10 archers, is sent north to explore the surrounding badlands for possible plants or animals of a toxic nature, from which they might extract useful poisons...

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League of Serra

-Year 1-


The aged patriarch of the Orsi, the famed leader of the Black Hand sits in his country villa as the finest musicians in Serra play for him, for the Don it was an afternoon of leisure and rest that he did not wish to be spoiled. One of his advisers approaches him and whispers in his ear, informing of the situation developing in Porta Serra. He knows to send his top enforcer, Antonio Blundetto to resolve the issue one way or the other, his leisure had been disturbed by a Captain who had betrayed him and the family itself. 




Two units of Black Stripes would be sent to infiltrate the town of Porta Serra where the disloyal Captain was, led by Antonio Blundetto the top enforcer of the Orsi Family. They would seek to trickle into the port and eventually organize to capture the disloyal Captain for questioning. [Mod]


A Market is constructed.

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“The southern tip of the Republic in the City of Iena, held the singular most important district to the Republic’s future. Not something built by any of the Ieanians, but a historic feat that outlasted the test of time and apocalyptic destruction. First time the Ieanians laid eyes on it, the harbor was in complete disarray. Some of the docks were swallowed by the mighty river, buildings of a bygone-era collapsed much like its builders. The survivors used it as shelter, repaired the buildings as much as possible with so much technology lost. The rest was stripped, smelted, and dismantled. 


After being repaired and built upon, for what felt like a century, the pride and what would become the core to their prosperity was completed. The Grand Harbor of Iena was completed and operational, hosting trade caravans and ships waiting to make their trips up and down the Ynn. Its completion allowed for an accelerated growth to be maintained and the Iena people to grow their territory deeper into the mainland. However, prosperity was not the only thing that was brought to the ports. 


The first moral question, the early Republic had was the question of Slavery. The first slaver ship came downstream into the port. At first, it was a strange question, many assuming the first patch were prisoners of a war. Strong, able-bodied men marched off the ships, stripped of any dignity they had remaining. The people of the port continued on with their days, stocking up carts, carrying crates up and down the dockyards wooden pathways. That was until the women and children came off the ship. Everyone looked in shock, for what might have been the only time in the history of Iena, total silence was achieved. Not a wisp of wind, or a crashing of the waves against the stone retaining walls was heard. That was before a shattering scream of a mother broke the silence, reaching for her child as the slavers forcefully removed them from each other and marched them into separate areas. Breaking the docile nature of the citizens was when that same mother was beaten, her sobs and cries carrying through the street. People looked around at each other in a hurry trying to figure it out, before one man. An older gentleman with a scruffy white beard and lazy left eye hurled a rock with all his might at one of the slavers, it struck him square in the head. The fuse was lit, as violence exploded onto the scene and erupted forth, as a bloody battle with the slavers ensued, killing them all the free the slaves. From that point, slavery was banned in the Republic, in the public’s eye that was…” Porizano closed the history book as he took a sip of his tea, looking out from his house towards the roads that ran west, watching as his army marched under the late summer skies towards the battle of freedom. The anxiety gripped his chest, and his hands shook for a moment. As he took a deep breath, maintaining his calmness. As tomorrow he also road off, in a different direction for different things… 


Financial Actions: 

(11,500 C, 3 M, 3B) 


Serene had longed to be back on the seas, its what gave her life, and gave her a new meaning to the ideals of this world. She embraced the sick and twisted nature of warfare and raiding, however she also understood the logistical downfall that caused her to be captured. Through sheer will power, she had convinced Porizano to issue the funds for the construction of a workshop to begin the rebuilding of a naval force. (5,000 C, and 3 B for a workshop) (6,500 C remaining) 


With a large range of land to cover, Sorics conscripts Two units of light melee cavalry to be introduced into the army. (6,000 C) 


500 C and 3 Metal are stored away for future use. 


RP Actions: 


- In response to the Vrizian siege, Socris and a small force is deployed to assist the town in lifting the siege. Not allowing for a town so close to them to be incorporated by such violent means on their doorstep. 


In addition to this, Porizano is sent to the village on the northern outer-reaches of Iena, to invite them into the Ienaian Republic, informing them of the news of the Vrizia siege and offering them the protection of the Republic.

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The thunderous claps of a symphony of drums reverberate on the peaks that ornament the Sacred Valley of the Caney. An upbeat, ominous rhythm causes many of the critters, usually fast asleep in their nests and dens, to be stirred by the booms. Near the beach, a dozen elongated rafts line the coast, dimly illuminated by a thin veil of warm light from nearby torches. Before them, amassed are hundreds of warriors, knee deep in the water, some with clubs, others with ornate spears decorated with feathers, shells, with a shiny, sharpened tip at the end. Many of these weapons have been in these warriors' families for generations, passed down from father to son. 


At the behest of the warriors, a lean individual, with long flowing dreadlocks, and a white crown atop of head. He carries, at his right hip, a long sword, of some form of white metal. On his left side, a large conch, polished and waxed, with many beads and strings decorating it, the dream conch. Behind him, several older men, amongst them Cayey, standing unnerved, to the right of the young Chief. Resting upon his bare shoulders is his signature weapon, his mace, with its handle, according to legend, made from the Femur of his family's patriarch, Gauca, who was the firstborn son of Atabey, also the firstborn of the Seven-Faced Turtle.    


Placed before the Great Cacique, on a large wooden table, is colossal sized Swordfish, the Jicotea, or the Warrior-Fish. On the other side of the fish, a priest, with a massive headdress, larger than he is, and a painted reed dress. As the drums beat in the background the priest raises his hands to sky, trembling. 




The Priest, begins to twitch, as his hands lower, and he points towards the ocean. 




The Priest’s entire body begins to tremble and shake now, as he looks to the sky, white foam beginning to seep from the corners of his mouth, dripping onto the sand below. The Warriors, amassed behind the Cacique, fall into the water, their eyes just above the water line. 


The Drums, begin to beat faster. 


The priest, begins again. 




The Priests eyes, roll to the back of his head, his eyes now pearly white. On the table, he dips his fingers into a bowl with some gray oil, and begins to draw spirals on his face. His fingers shake every time they dip into the bowl. 


“WA , WA CIMU, OKO SIBA, CANEY!” The Priest says, shouting. 


The warriors, shout back. “CANEY!”


The Drums, beat faster yet again. 


The Great Cacique, as if on cue,  unfastens his sword, and slices the belly of the Sword-fish, cleanly. His hand slips past the slice, and he rips out a small sack-like organ, with millions of little orbs. He opens his mouth, and the orbs begin to fall into his mouth, and he casts the sack to the side, on the beach. 


The Priest, before him, slices his forearms open, blood dripping on the sand, and begins chanting, as he starts to dance in the sand. The Cacique turns around, and he addresses his warriors gathered before him. “The Sea-Slugs to the south, the thrice cursed Bak-Nari,  have slaughtered our ma’ana and taken our kani. Because of this slight, Atabey will sail with us, on his seal, Maci,  when we exact judgement. Their ma’ana, will be slaughtered, as they did to us. The dieties above have told me the punishment they wish to deliver on their kani. Guabacanex orders the kani defiled, and drowned. May the deities above grant the warriors of the Caney a long breath.”




Shrieks the priest, as the Warriors rise from the ocean, now canvassed in a grey colour. As they rise from the beach, many of the warriors have been transformed, from a tame human, to flesh construct possessed by some form of otherworldly savage creature, as many begin to let out unnatural sounds, and guttural screams. One by one they all walk up to the altar, take a bite out of the swordfish, and board their canoes. Before long, all that was left of the fish was the long spine.


The Priest delivers a final blessing upon the warriors, and the canoes push off of shore, into the abyss of the twilight.



-1 cog, 8  War-canoes, with 380 Warriors (380 light one-handed), depart, with the dream conch, to the northern enclave of the Bakari, to enact the Spirit of the Wave, Guabacanex, the Arbiter, judgement on the Bak-nari. They raid a village, slaughtering the men, and defiling all the women. They also take whatever their canoes can store from the village. The men on the canoes, invade from the sea, while the warriors on the cog, invade from land.  


-500 light warriors, subjugate two villages to the south of the Sacred Valley.


Economic Actions

-1 One mine is built.


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