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Alfonso X el Sabio

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About Alfonso X el Sabio

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    Petro Kardas

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  1. NAZR DYNASTY 1889 A busy workroom is at its peak hour. Men in uniform are nearly catastrophically colliding into each other, gliding across the floor to hastily try and make ends meet, yelling orders across one another, carrying telegrams back in forth to different parts of the high command. One particular young man, is carrying a bound stack of papers, covered by a forest green covering, the colour signifying a directive from the Office of the Chief Minister. The man knows the destination of these, they all go to the office of General Badias. And so, like any other soldier following orders, he completes them to the best of his ability. The men of the military respect Badias, he represents a heroic, highly moral, honour-bound type of general garners much admiration from the infantry cadre. As such, his soldiers do not have the same fear many others have for him, they hold him in highly esteemed and respected, almost venerated by some regiments. As such, it was a particularly normal encounter for the soldier. The struck thrice on the door, and he calmly cries from within. “Enter.” The man opens the door, and strides in, standing at attention to the General. “Stand at ease.” He states, quickly glancing up at the soldier, before returning his gaze back down to the papers strewn about on his table. He is standing, in deep thought on something. Papers are laid about everywhere, but there is order to his madness. They are neatly and well stacked, and placed, seemingly, with a meaning. He extends his hands, waiting for the correspondence, which compels the soldier to move forward and hand it to him. The soldier places the pack of papers on his hand, and steps back, standing at attention once more. “Dismissed, soldier.” the General says, eagerly unraveling the cover paper. The soldier leaves the room, and quietly shuts the door. The hallway is dead quiet, no one traverses this hallway regularly, out of decency and respect. He walked away, continuing with his labors and chores. In the distance, through the wall, he heard quiet the ruckus, an enranged fit, occurring behind the wall. Out of character for Badias, he stops and pauses for a minute, glancing back at the door, but he continues on his way, out of sheer respect for his General, and not a word to anyone else. “That honourless, idiotic, dog…” Badias quakes as he quickly flips through the packet, dropping paper after paper on the floor. “Savage!” he cries launching the thick pack of paper across the room, and flipping the table over, kicking it with his right foot. He sits back, hands on his waist, watching the chaos he caused before him. The General waited for the storm of papers to quiet down, giving time for his temper to cool off. He eyes a lone glossy black cabinet, in the corner of a room, and the sword placed atop it. The moment the last sheet comes to a rest, he storms over the blanket of papers on the floor. Upon the cabinet lies a sheathed curved sword, in the traditional Nephite style. He grasps it, flipping it over, looking at the art on the sheath. The entirety of the sheath was a canvas, it was all one artwork depicting ancient myths and legends dating back to before the Aaronian era. The sheath was made of snake skin, black as night, and glossy like the table under it. He put his hand on the sheath, made of ivory, inlain with golden lions chasing each other, traveling around the hilt until its point, where a lions head nobly lay. He slowly pulled out the sword, and he read the exquisite calligraphy on the blade of the sword. ‘HONORBOUND’, it read. He understood his calling, his obligation, he was in all essence, a soldier, honour, and morality, compels all soldiers, including himself, to follow them. Badias returns to character, brushing a few hairs that had gone out of place, pressing down his uniform, and adjusting the collar. He placed the sabre at his side, on his hilt, and from within the cabinet , he grabs a leather holster, an ivory butt of a revolver sticking out, and places it opposite to the sword. He opens the door, and began striding out towards his men. Duty has obligated him to act now, he must begin. Within the envelope, the Chief Minister had ordered him to mobilize the Army. He complied, and did so. With a brief statement to the offices of the High Command, General Badias started a frenzy in the office. The Caliphate had entered a state of war with the Free Junta, and it was time to be introduced into the horrors of modern warefare. ACTIONS TOTAL GOLD(NET): 213,400 DINARS (TWO TURNS + 800 STOCKPILED) -The Army marches of south, to war against the Free Junta, in response to encroachment of historical dynastic territory. -General Badias ensures his men are given better kits to all his men, as the pride of the country marches off to war.(Tier 3 equipment given to entire Army.)(36k) -Badias also utilizes his connections in Mt. Hermon’s prestigious military academy to train the soldiers over the course of the year. (18k) -A sizeable chunk of money is mysteriously redirected away from the treasury, where could it have gone?(-40k) -Expansion westward begins, as a combined result of the population of serfs increasing, increasing capitol, and nationalism, the Nazr begin to expand westward with a series of lightly defended outposts. (-20k,8 outposts constructed.) -10 Civilian outposts are constructed.(-50k) -3 Airshipyards are opened. (-30k) -3 steel mills are constructed.(-7.5k) -2 Vitrium Refinery is constructed. (-10k) -1.9k is stockpiled RESEARCH -A group of students at the military academy at Mt. Hermon have put together a project for a class that has caught the eye of the administration. They proposed utilizing half tracks, and trucks to create an efficient, quick, warfare based on the use of machines, drawing inspiration from ancient raids conducted by tribes in the area. The army is the pride of the nation, as such it needs improvement.(-20k towards Mechanization, 6 Education) READY BY:1894 Several Nephite soldiers testing experimental forms of the Maleker, the name given to the rifle. The Caliphate contracts the services of a famed engineer and owner of a large industrial manufacturer in the nation, Hiram Malek, to manufacture a cheap, efficient, semi-automatic rifle to outfit the pride of the nation- the army. Currently the military utilizes an outdated bolt-action, that has served the military well in its time, however with the changing times, upgrades are necessary. (-20k towards a semi-automatic rifle, 6 education.) READY BY:1895
  2. NAZR DYNASTY 1887 The first beams of light were breaching over the crests of the waves of the river Mina. Minute by minute passed, and the rays flooded the land, and nature was awakening itself. The charming songs of the birds filled the air, the trees yawned to life with the rustle of their leaves, and the mysterious and solemn cracks of twigs in the forest began to frequent the full orchestra of the forest. The sun's light began to also awaken a different part of the forest. The suns rays passed over a small hill, and they began to bombard the face of a still slumbering portion of the forest. A golden line slowly creeped up the slender body of a man, sleeping, reclining against the trunk of a tree. The line moved up his torso, up his neck, trekked across his chin, mouth, and nose, until it reached the very crevice of his eyelids, and he bag to stir. The man shot up, still sitting on the ground, but admiring the beautiful vista at his dispense, of the sun rising over the banks of the river Mina in the background, and the rolling hills and dense thicket of broadleaf trees in the foreground. It was this same site that he was greeted with every morning, and yet he never grew tired of it. He sprung up on his bare feet, dusted and stained black everywhere. He brushed some clinging branches and leaves off his canvas white tunic and trousers, but to little avail. He was covered in tree-litter and stains of dirt, from head to toe, even on his long, messy, straight strands of hair. His stride was long, quiet, and confident as he made his way through the forest. He bypassed all the social norms and rituals usually performed upon wakeup, and walked as if one with the forest, graceful as a stag, nimble as a fox, and whistling as if a songbird. He traversed his away around every tree trunk, every hill, every brooke as if he knew the land by heart, like it was his home. Until finally he arrived at a small shaded clearing, with a small tree in the middle, standing out from the rest. It was filled with a small, round fruit, different from anything else grown in the area. Upon approachment, the fruits were green and yellow in hue. It was the forbidden fruit in Nephite society, it was a Lemon tree. Casually, with no remorse, the man strides up to it, pushes some branches away, and inspects the fruits, rejecting them all until he finds one that he is pleased with. Round, yellow, with little blemishes or bruises. He yanks it downwards, removing it from its host, and removes his head from deep within the mess of leaves and branches. He looks at it, spinning it around his hand lightly, examining it, caressing it. He pulls out a small pocket knife from his waist, and slices it in half, sticking one half completely in his mouth, unnerved, and sucking it, lacking the usual response people have towards the sour taste of Lemons. And on his way he goes once more, going over hill after hill, leaping over swirling streams, until he reaches a large hill, with a lone, sprawling oak tree on top. The man hikes up the hill, leaving back the shade and entering the domain of the sun once more. He reaches its thick, aged base, and grabbing the black cane given to him by the General Badias. He holds it crudely, as if alien and unaware of its true purpose. He lays it down beside a patch of roughened, disturbed soil beneath the tree, and on top of it sets down the remaining half of the lemon. He discards the other half, near a large pile of several old, decomposing lemons, and begins digging, using his two hands to move the soil aside. Eventually, a tin box begins surfacing, enough to see the glimmer of its top, then enough to see the size, then enough to grab it. He lifts it out of the hole, placing it to the side, popping open its lid, exposing its contents to the elements. Inside, a rustic, long barreled Iaret revolver, lain neatly on a bed of ammunitions. Rustic looking, its barrel a hardened, slick wood, and the rest of the gun, cleaned and well maintained, shined in the summer sun. Iaret revolvers are popular amongst the Zamanites and Nazr, the officer core, and are expensive pieces of equipment. He examines it closely, holding it as a mother holds an infant child. He runs hand along words engraved along the barrel, spaced evenly, slowly, as if deciphering each letter, “P..E...A….C...E...M...A...K...E...R” His hand moves from the engraving towards the butt of the revolver, and his dirty, stained nail runs along an artificial notch made into the wood. He shuts his eyes, bowing his head, as if reminiscing over a past incident. He remains a minute in solace, his long strands of hair, falling to his shoulders, shielding his face from the harsh sun, now elevated in the sky. It is around 9, nearing the start of the work day. He pops open the gun barrel with a click, his eyes still closed, and begins to grab one brass bullet at a time, placing it in its chamber. When he is done, he clicks the chamber back into place, spinning it once for fun. Methodically, he moves the gun towards his back, and he places it on his belt. He begins methodically cleaning up, putting the tin box back into its hole, brushing the dirt back into it, and patting it down with his callused hands. He grabs the lemon first, sticking it in his mouth, and then the cane, his dominant hand on the butt of the cane. He opens his eyes, and rises, his regular warm, cozy features everso present on his face. He begins descending the hill, sucking the life out of lemons, and heading towards the smoke of civilization, and away from the songs of the wilderness. Jethro materialized from the woods, holding his cane as if a bat, or club, with authority. Hes greeted by a thousand or so soil-faced, poor farmers, clustered by families,the children sitting down, the men and women chatting and conversing. When Jethro appeared, the drones of the conversation died down, and everyone's eyes were on Jethro. He paid no mind, and strode to the front calmly, a massive, gray barn to his back. He let one end of the cane drop to the ground, kicking up some chunks of dirt. He begins pacing back and forth, examining each family, looking them up and down. Whispers, begin to assume control of the air, until he reaches the middle of the column, and stops, turning towards the crowd, and preparing to speak. “We got work to do.” he declares. He quite effortlessly projects his voice so that it reaches the ears of all, and beyond. His soothing voice carried, and its volume was renowned. After a short pause, he begins to name off surnames of families, and assigning them to specific tasks and locations, barking orders to them much like a general orders his soldiers. “Hilak, tannery..” a cluster in the middle rises, and the mother and father begin ushering their children onwards. “Kames, Rakhor, wheat” on so and and so forth, until the space in front of him was cleared. He accomplished this seemingly at random, yet all the laborers knew it was not so, they were aware of his unorthodox methods, and why they worked. There was a reason as to why Jethro was always given the mandate in the Generals stead. He was constantly going back and forth, from barn to barn, ensuring work got done, often times strict handed, yet he was efficient, well organized, and confident in what he did. The first day passed with ease, all quotas were satisfied, and Jethro went to rest against his tree soundly, and comforted. ACTIONS TOTAL GOLD(NET): 100800 DINARS -6 Steel Mills are constructed (-15k) -2 Heavy Industries (-15k) -4 Vitrium Mines(-20k) -2 Civilian Industries(-10k) -800 Stockpiled RESEARCH -A group of students at the military academy at Mt. Hermon have put together a project for a class that has caught the eye of the administration. They proposed utilizing half tracks, and trucks to create an efficient, quick, warfare based on the use of machines, drawing inspiration from ancient raids conducted by tribes in the area. The army is the pride of the nation, as such it needs improvement.(-20k towards Mechanization, 6 Education) Several Nephite soldiers testing experimental forms of the Maleker, the name given to the rifle. The Caliphate contracts the services of a famed engineer and owner of a large industrial manufacturer in the nation, Hiram Malek, to manufacture a cheap, efficient, semi-automatic rifle to outfit the pride of the nation- the army. Currently the military utilizes an outdated bolt-action, that has served the military well in its time, however with the changing times, upgrades are necessary. (-20k towards a semi-automatic rifle, 6 education.)
  3. NAZR DYNASTY A riders chestnut horse giddly trots along the gravel road, the path shielded from the menacing rays of the sun by the cool embrace of oak trees, its branches saturated with green leaves. The rider, dressed in crimson red vestments with some scrub hardening his face, gazes between the thick trunks of the trees, towards the orchard, and all its rows of smaller sized trees. As he passes each row, he notices entire families, dressed in stained and dirty robes, tending the trees. The story repeats itself. The children stuck under the leaves, on their backs, picking at the fruits near the bottom of the tree. The women and older girls are on their feet, their fingers at laboring away at every branch, removing every single fruit. And the men, where are the men? He strains himself to look, adjusting himself in his saddle, until he spots a long train of dozens of men, hauling woolen sacks laden with fruits along a lonely country road cutting in front of him, towards a desolate looking farm-house to his right with a dense thicket behind it. The hose stops, but the laborers don't. One of the men does stop, looking up to the rider with solace, beads of sweat dripping from the tip of his nose and his chin. The two men, of vastly different backgrounds and lifestyles, exchange reflective glances. The rider clicks with his tongue, and spurs the horse forward with his legs, continuing to trot along the road. Finally, he arrives at an airy luxurious palace like home-with a terraced roof, an elegant garden surrounding the house, and beautiful mosaics depicting myths and legends found in the BOOK OF THE MOUNTAIN, the religious source for many of the nations military class. The gravel road encircles a cool fountain, with butterflies and birds habiting at the wild flowers planted around it. The rider follows the road, stopping his horse and dismounting, tying it off to a tree off the road. He grabs a satchel near the rear of the horse, and walks over to the fountain, performing the ritual cleansing necessary before entering the home of a higher-class. He washes his arms to his elbows, his neck, his face, and his feet. This is called tumat. He completes the ritual, and approaches the home, following a path created by tiles. As he nears the door, he is addressed by one of two guards, posted on each side of the wooden door, plain looking but solid, its only feature standing out are its door knob and the knocker, fashioned of gold and engraved with the calligraphy of Badias family. “Sh'lam” states the guard on the right. “Sh’lam lek” responds the rider. “I have a message from the capitol.” He gently taps the leather buckle on his satchel. The guard extends his hands, beckoning towards the satchel. “I will ensure it reaches him.” The rider shields his satchel, shaking his head thrice. “Er, i have explicit orders to hand it personally to General Badias.” He fumbles momentarily, procuring a small folded piece of paper, a seal of the caliphate greeting the guards eyes as he receives it. “Racha, can you read?” he says, unfolding the piece of paper. The other guard shakes his head thrice as the others brown eyes hopelessly zip across the note. “Just let him in, it has the seal anyways.” the other guard states, annoyed. He hands the note back to the rider, who stuffs it back into his trousers, and raises the sleeves of his ankles, legs, and exposes his neck. The guard passes a pristine white towel through each body part, inspecting it afterwards for any blemishes or stains. He folds it and places it within a pocket in his coat, and opens the door to the palace. As he steps up, passing the threshold, he is immediately hailed with a gush of cool air, and overwhelmed in stupor with the elaborate ornateness of the interior. The white tiles of the floor polished and shining, the wooden furniture decorating the house finely engraved, the silverware and other previous artifacts lighting up the hall, and the artwork framed on the walls awing any visitor. The door shuts behind him, and the guard interrupts his daze. “Right this way sir.” his arm is outstretched towards a corridor on his right, which he follows, walking behind the guard as a dog being guided by a leash. The guard comes to a large set of double wooden door, and raps it twice. From within, a harsh, raspy, serious voice resonates. “Come in.” The guard bows down, and opens the door, shutting his eyes and looking away from the room. The rider enters ,the sound of his steps intermingling with the scratching sound of pen on paper. He immediately sprawls across the floor after a couple steps into the room. “There need for such formalities is void, for we are of the same birth.” announces Badias, his trademark voice compelling the rider to stand. The rider rises to his feet, his gaze down. The sound of pen furiously scratching paper stops. “Look at me.” The riders head slowly rises, meeting the icy expression of the general. The rider feel his green eyes opening his soul, and cannot sustain eye contact with him for more then a few seconds at a time. The rider breaks the silence, his voice fluctuating. “A message from the capitol, Majar.” The messenger procures a scroll from his satchel, died green. Green meant from the desk of the Chief Minister. Badias outstretches his hand, confusing the courier. His hand remains frozen, his eyes never once break their grip on the envoy’s. He strides forward several places, placing the scroll gently into the Generals hand’s and striding back. The general immediately unravels the seal, and his eyes glide over the paper. The envoy eyes eyes begin to drift across the room, the austerity of the room surprising him. The room is humble, the desk and furniture simply crafted, the only decoration being a map of the known world, and a romantic painting of a family on a homestead. His journey is interrupted, as the General rises from his desk, thanking the emissary with a nod, completely out of character to the man before him, as he bypasses him, walking briskly in his military uniform, gripping the hilt of his sword. The rider is left lost in confusion. The doors behind him open, and shut with a loud bang The guard posted by the door is already standing at attention, while Badias returns the favor. ‘Prepare horses for the guards and I, with provisions long enough for a journey to the capitol.Summon your accompanant on your way out,`` states Badias, as if relaying orders to a subordinate in the field. The guard begins marching in perfect step away from Badias, opening the door and leaving it open, to which the other soldier marches enters. Badias gaze harshly analyzes the guards every step, longing to find something to criticize as the guards leave and enter the home, and approach him. Once the guard is within his presence, Badias barks another order. “Bring me Jethro.” The soldier performs an about face, and marches out of the house. Completely alone now, Badias’ stone stare relaxes, the buttons holding in his stomach strain, and his shoulders drop ever so slightly. He now projects the appearance of a homely man, instead of a forbidding , prideful prideful general. His hand runs over the seal of the Caliphate, as he reads the letter once more to himself. His frigid expression and pride returns, and he steps towards the main hall of his house, losing himself in the winding halls of his house. Roughly an hour later, Badias is saddled upon a horse, three soldiers adjusting their saddles and mounting their provisions on a luggage mule. He is watching a soldier approach in March, while a tall, lanky, scrawny looking man strides calmy beside him. The pair eventually reaches him, and the soldier stands to attention to Badias, while the man remains unnerved. Badias nods to the soldier, who begins to mount his provisions on the horse, and prepare himself for the journey. “ Jethro, you are entrusted with the upkeep of these grounds in my absence.” Badias says, staring down Jethro. A man with long locks of curly hair, a full beard, and a labored face, stained and littered with wrinkles. “You are freed from your obligations for the time being, organize and run this stead as you see fit, my only demand being you uphold my rules, maintain the peace, and satisfy these quotas, is this clear?” He hands over a slip of paper with a set of scribbles on it, Jethro reading it over. “Yeah.” he calmly replies, returning Badias’ stare. He procures a small black cane, with the same seal on the butt as on the door knob. “Promulgate my will.” He hands it over to him, who receive it carefully, and places it on the ground, leaning on it. He nods in gratitude. Badias leans over his steed, nearly whispering into his ear. “Zephethiah won't give you much trouble.” Jethro nods, moving out the way as Badias yips the horse forward, the five guards following his lead. Once the guards are out of his vicinity, Jethro begins making his way back to the farms, resting the cane on his neck as he walks with a new life in his step. ACTIONS TOTAL GOLD(NET): 95800 -A group of students at the military academy at Mt. Hermon have put together a project for a class that has caught the eye of the administration. They proposed utilizing half tracks, and trucks to create an efficient, quick, warfare based on the use of machines, drawing inspiration from ancient raids conducted by tribes in the area. The army is the pride of the nation, as such it needs improvement.(-9.8k towards Mechanization, 6 Education) -Emissaries are sent to the Commonwealth of Valdek, and the Carnelian Sultanate, with 3k each to attempt to open up trade between the two nations.(3k to each) -Two commercial districts are constructed.(-20k) -12 Civilian Industries are constructed.(-60k)
  4. Discord:You have it Name of Nation: Nazr Dynasty Type of Government: The Nazr Dynasty is ruled by an Emperor, or Kalifata, whom rules shrouded in mystery, separated for life from the common people. The Emperor promugaltes his policies and laws through decrees, which is enacted across the sizable nation through a formidable and all watching cadre of government officials and civil servants, selected through a rigorous civil exam that weeds out incompetent men, and ushersthe best and brightest to government positions where they may enact the will of the emperor to the best of their abilities. The Nazr Dynasty itself, is descended from a order of mystics who entered the nation by intermingling as foreign traders from the south, from the vast ocean of grass that, in a different time, they held dominion over.Their power stems from the clever politking of the founder of the dynasty, Darius I e-Nazr, who occuped a high economic role in the government under the previous family, and was even a trusted household friend, having bestowed the prestigious title of Kiakh, or roughly, river brother. The Nazr are ethnically and culturally different from the natives(Nephites), and the invasion of an foreign people have radically changed their society and culture, by ushering in alien foreign norms, imposing new restrictions, and discarding certain native traditions. The current Kalifata is Darius VI e-Nazr, who is relatively new to the Gilded Throne, crowned in the usual sacred ceremony only 7 years prior. As per tradition, his personality and figure is unknown to the public, yet his cult flourishes nonetheless among Nephites and foreigners alike. History/Culture: The Nephites have a long history, dating back thousands of years into the past. They originated as river dwellers, preferring to stay close to their fertile hearts, next to their wheat and rye which grows abundantly in the region. The vast majority of the region is engaged in jobs in the primary sector, extracting resources from the earth, whether it be fish, foodstuffs from the banks of the fertile river, or the deep mountain mines where they extract new minerals powering revolutionary technologies. Nephite history is made up of various different periods, of which different dynasties and kingdoms ruled over, each leaving a different scar on society and culture. The combination of these scars, the marks that history and change have left on the natives, have formed the Nephite society that exists in the present day. There are 7 different periods recognized by Nephite scholars, of which three are the important. ‘The Creation’: The ‘creation’ recants the foundation of a united, Nephite nation. Preceding the creation, the Nephites were organized into different city states strewn about on the river banks and the coasts, living in anarchy, and darkness, according to scholars which inscribed the history into words. Until then, described in a poetic interpretation of events written by a scholar of the time period, arrived Aaron the Forger, a great conqueror hailing from the city of Neph. He, united the city states of the Nephites into one state, and declared himself the King of the Nephites, and the name stuck. Aaron was a godly ruler according to the sources of the time period, stamping out sin with every marching beat his army took. However, revisionists scholars from a later period later wrote that he was a cruel ruler, concerned highly with his ego, especially his size, cutting the knees of all those in his court who were larger than him. Nonetheless, Aaron’s brutality and military prowess established the foundations for a united Nephite state and culture, and literary allusions would continue to be made to his acts until this very day. The Rule of the Three: Aarons kingdom lasted 400 years, until it fell into discrepancy and was replaced by another dynasty, and another, and another, dynasties and Kingdoms all crumbling into the dust. More than 1,200 years had passed, and the Nephite borders were now subject to incursions from foreign lands over the river banks, south by fur clad men from the grass sea, and even seamen from the mystery lands to the north. The cities which had stood for a thousand year bad been crumbling, and society as was reverting back to the ages of anarchy and darkness as the scholars described in the Aaronian age.. The final straw was the Collapse of Neph, the Nephites pride and glory. Neph had been badly pillaged by southerners, and its houses, monuments depicting mythological rulers, were hanging by its last rocks and stones. Untill, as if a message from heaven, the earth itself collapsed and convoluted below the city of Neph. First the city began shaking, then one by one, building by building, road by road, the entire city collapsed, until what was left was merely defensive fortifications and the walls surrounding the city. Work had already begun on rebuilding, but another tragedy struck: a bolt of lightning struck the kalifata, who was personally helping moving massive blocks of stone in the debris. People saw this as a message from the heavens, priests began prophesying an apocalypse, and anarchy ensued. For a week, among the ruins of Neph, there were no laws, no rules, only the chaos of man. Holy grounds were desecrated, idolatry committed in spite of the gods for punishment, and the week was forever remembered as Asfet. A saviour arrived to Neph, however, or saviours, in this case. Three brothers, zealots who were part of a group who rejected society, and chose to reside in the mountains where they collectively utilized their masters wealth, and constructed upon it. The Three brothers descended through the gates of Neph, 500 monks in tow, and using their words and message, managed to restore order to the anarchy in Neph, and evacuate the ruins of the city, in one night. The Three brothers spent months conversing with them, each form distinct backgrounds, and converting them to their kellia, or path. In three months of preaching to the former inhabitants of Neph about order, harmony, peace, alluding to the chaos that ensued in Neph, the Three Brothers had an army of zealots at their disposal. Meticulous planners, they had already selected a site for a new settlement, and within a week had begun working, and construction was a very quick process thanks to the extreme planning of the brothers. In a month, the cities streets were laid out. In 6 months, houses were being constructed. In a year, the walls. In three, a glorious city adhering to the principals of the mountain monks. This city was called Aaru, or paradise. The entire cities population consisted of zealots dedicated to the Kellia, path. Aaru was designed to be a shining beacon of how Nephite society should be, harmonious and peaceful, and such it was. Everything was organized, roles were defined down to the minute action. The brothers created a code of law replacing the archaic Aaronian based code, with a newer one more just and encompassing, still partly in effect today. Aaru prospered, and within 5 years it grew to the largest in the region with thousands of converts flooding over its walls. In the space of time between the rise of Aaru and the collapse of Nephite society, city states once again grew to dominate the Nephites, some governed by fanatics, others who claimed descendancy from Aaron, and others were even ruled by the multitudes, of the most famous was Toph, ruled by a dictator elected directly from the populace. Tophs ruler, Tertullian, sought to reestablish a United Nephite, and waged war against the neighboring states, crumbling ancient walls that have stood steadfast for millennia. One of the brothers, Ananiel, stepped forward. Ananiel lead an army of zealots against Toph, and slew down their institutions, and razed the city. Ananiel went on to unite the Nephites once more, and they ruled in prosperity. The Rule of the Three was marked by the creation of many of the culture of the Nephite nation, its art, distinctive architecture, religion, music, and government structure. The Nephites were ruled by three separate royal families, directly descended from the three original brothers, sharing power and ruling equally. It was also the final time there would be widespread civil violence in Nephite society. The Gilded Age: Falling in suit with trends in the era, this era is when the Nephites pioneered many forms of science, literature, mathematics, constructed great libraries, and innovated machines of mass killing and war. Many of these projects were sponsored by the Nazr dynasty, foreigners were assumed control of the nation. Currently however, Nazr society is composed of an aristocracy dominated by plantation culture along the fertile river banks, with rarely any residing inside the few metropolis’ available, unless they are a civil servant. Economical Disparity is extremely high, and the lower classes are forced to expand southward, developing a large settler culture, or live in poor conditions within the cities. Starting Points: Size-6 Army/Navy:8 – Most of the aristocratic families have a deep military history, most having sons or brothers who attended the prestigious Academy of the Exalted Name, constructed in the Aaronian era. It is one of the only remaining works from the era, and is one of the finest examples of the periods architecture. It is located on a high mountain in the nations south, and is highly secretive to preserve its arts. It is commonly referred to as Hermons Bluff, and only the top cut of society have enjoyed its luxuries. Aviation:0 Industry:0 Development:2 Economy:8 Education: 6 Notable Characters: Japheth y-Badias: General of the Armies, discrepancy in the fact that he does not hail from the elite planter culture in the nation, and is in fact a rough-cut pioneer from the frontier regions. He is a Zamanite, of the same ethnic group of the Nazr. Zadok Tadros-An extremely wealthy Nephite from a renowned dynasty descending to Ananiel. A poor orator but an extremely effective policy maker, he runs the day to day affairs of the Caliphate, notably notorious for micromanaging every single affair. Kalifata Darius i-Nazr- The Caliphate, his presence is scarcely felt throughout the nation, promogulating few prerogatives and decree in his tenure as Caliphate so far. Seth of the Sea: The chief religious figure in the Caliphate, he too has personally opted to take a reserved position, choosing to stick to his sea-side monasteries and temples. There is rumor though, that he undertakes a variety of different identities used to foment dissent against the government. National Idea: tba Unique Units: cba Proof you’ve read the intro and the rules: **** off green pricks
  5. Discord: You have it Civilisation (Name): The Insimbi Capital (Name):Ogun Government (Empire, Republic, etc, you may go into details): The Government of the Insimbi operates on a yearly cycle revolving around a Mlungisi(One who brings order), or an Emperor, born into a lineage of rulers extending back thousands of years in the past. The Mlungisi rules until his death, and is revered amongst the populace as direct descendants of the Mother(Ma). The word of the Mlungisi is supreme, and is final on all matters of state, and he holds utmost power on everything. In Isimbi society, there exists 7 social stratas in the form of clans that every individual is born into based upon the designation of the mother. The clans are as follows: the Breakers(Mvukuzi), the Warriors(Qhawe), the Children(Izingane), the Wroughters(Ngungi), the Brokers(Obhuloka) , the Reapers(Abavuni), and the Builders (Umakhi). These clans all control separate districts of the cities, of which there are 6 in every single one, where the members of their own clan operate under their own set of laws, their own set of local rulers, and their own set of judges, guards, etc. To maintain balance and order, each clan is to labour enough to produce a certain quota, or Mawini(Ma’s share), mandated by the Mlungisi. As such, each Insimbi city is a massive hive like factory, dedicated towards manufacturing. In the eyes of the Insimbi, stratas, coupled with the pressure of complying with the Mawini, allows for order and peace to be maintained. In the absence of them, calamity will surely ensue. Each year, on the seventh month of the year, of which there are eight in the Insimbi year, the various clans of the nation sent 5 delegates to a council named the Komhlambi(Gathering of the Flock) held in Ogun, the capitol. To be chosen as a delegate by your clan is a massive honour in Insimbi society, and it is a ritual heavy affair, the traditions varying from clan to clan. The Komhlambi is an opportunity for the clans to present their grievances and petition the Mlungisi. It is here where the men of the nation bicker on the affairs of the state, yet it is a highly venerated occurrence. It is the choice of the Mlungisi, a God amongst men, whether or not he decided to heed them or rebuke them. The council meets for an entire week, sometimes more, not permitted to leave each other’s company in the hall until the Blood Poppies bloom. Each Clan is governed differently, a principal established long before their forefathers grazed the very lands they too walked upon. However, each has the same foundational principles. Each has Umbonisi(Overseer), with 7 lesser officials beneath him, elected every 3-5 years directly by the male land owning population. These lesser officials are the supervisors of the day to day affairs in each district, the handle disputes, collect taxes, and enact the will of the Overseer. Most importantly, these officials are usually popular or well-known individuals from the clan, not of the the Children, which is what the Overseer belongs too. The position of Overseer is hereditary, and they are not Idwala, but they are Izingane, having disposal to their attributes and perks. Racial Distribution (Primary Race, probably minorities?): The Insimbi are a dark skinned race, with wooly hair, white stained palms and feet, and usually very lean and slender. Within the Insimbi people, there are two different ‘ethnicities’. Izingane : The Izingane are a very small minority within the nation, numbering not even .1% of the nations population. Usually, there are no more than 300 Izingane alive at a time. However, it is they who control the nations affairs. The Izingane all belong to the Clan of the Children, and the Mlungisi and all the other Overseers of the clans are Izingane. The Izingane rarely mix with the Idawli, and they are regarded as near-Gods, but not such. They are simply descended directly from the Mother. They live in opulence, completely separated from the Idawli. As such, the Izingane have developed specific traits that distinguish them from the lesser Idwali. Physically, they usually have more blemishes or marks on their skin, and are lighter on average, having a caramel complexion more often than not. The Izingane live exclusively in cities, in opulent villas surrounding the Forge. Idwali The Idawli make up the vast majority of the population of the Insimbi, and they are your common folk. They occupy all the clans of society, except the Izingane, or the Children. The phenotype of the Idwali may vary from person to person, but many boast the same characteristics. They have a leaner physique on average, and they are of darker complexion then the Izingane, usually ranging around a dark chocolate colour. Moreover, every Idawli is branded upon birth with the sign of their clan, on their right wrist. Racial traits (as needed): The single most dividing trait that separates the Izingane from the Idwali is their Isipho, or gift. All Izingane are born with the ability to manipulate all metals to their will,they are able to conform it and mold it with their very thoughts. From this blessing stems their power and their supremacy, as the Idawli revere this as a trait passed on to them as a result of their lineage from Ma. However, this trait can only be passed from mother to child, not from father to child, and no Izingane woman has ever birthed more than two children in her lifetime. The Idawli, do not escape themselves from Ma’s blessing. They have magnetic abilities that allow them to attract or repel basic metals, such as iron, copper, bronze, etc. These traits are passed to all whose mother bears the trait, and Idwali mothers have no known restrictions on their fertility, bearing from 4-10 children on average, more in rare cases. Religion (Whatever you prefer, you may be creative): The Insimbi mythology revolves closely around metallurgy. Their religion is monotheistic, and they believe that all metals, and stones have a portion of the soul of Ma, or the mother, and different metals have different amounts of Ma’s soul, as well as varying degrees of purity as well. Technology & Arcana (that is notable; have you pursued magic? Be fair and remember to do tradeoffs): Masonry, and smithing, are ritualistic activities, with smithing being conducted exclusively by priests dedicating their entire lives to the task. As such, in every city there is one communal forge which serves as a central place of worship, in which 10-20 priest-smiths work tirelessly to forge metal to perfection. Masonry and construction also is a highly skill as a result of its religious importance. The Masons are a very proud and respected household, and each Mason undergoes extremely extensive training and practice. As such, buildings and public works in the Insimbi culture are unrivaled in magnificence and longevity, but it is often times a painstaking process as a result of the high attention to detail. Description (Culture, history, politics etc): The Insimbi live a live dedicated to labour, and as such have a culturally promoted high work ethic. Their history spans back thousands of years, and as such, so do their cities, great wonders of ancient works spanning back thousands of years. They are not a seafaring people, instead catering to people's needs who enter their ports and trade with the traders. They choose to stay inside their great stone buildings and work. The typical Insimbi is lightly clothed, the men commonly wearing short robes to cover their genitals, and rarely anything else. Women commonly wear airy or light robes spanning most of their body. Accessories are an important part of Insimbi life, each clan having access to wear different accessories. Only the Izingane can wear gems and precious rocks, as well as metal on the head, and accessories wherever they wish. The Wroughters and Builders can wear gold metals, and accessories everywhere except the head, but they may don metals on their earlobes. The Breakers can wear gold metals, and can wear accessories anywhere baring the head. The Warriors and Brokers may wear metal anywhere baring the head, but not gold metals. The Reapers may only wear any metals not silver, or gold, and only on their hands, feet, and attached to their clothing. The Insimbi language is a notoriously difficult one, including clicking, whistles, and whoops within its phonetics. Education is also scarce, with individuals rarely learning anything outside of the skills needed for their profession. Women in general are highly respected in society, succession is done through them, and they have the right to hold property and to divorce a man. However, men still have dominance in the day to day affairs of the state and primacy when it comes to social affairs. Geography & location (As detailed as you wish, with a note on the map below as to where your realm would be in existence): The Insimbi inhabit a dense jungle biome, knowing nothing else. They are usually concentrated within large cosmopolitan cities, save the reapers which find themselves outside of the city walls, straddling the banks of the River Gbule. Size (Tying in with racial distribution, as well as geographic location. Be just, the map is only that big):
  6. APPLICATION Forum Name: Alfonso XI el Sabio Skype: God Name: Emaztea, Light of the Sphere, Goddess of Morality, Transcendence, Righteousness, Harmony. Appearance: (Can be anything to a toga clad old man to a swirl of leaves.) Emaztea is a pale, tall woman, measuring nearly two meters in stature. She is slender in physique, and her pale skin looks porcelain to the touch, smooth and without imperfections. Her face is angular, her facial features well defined and prominent. The feature that most stands out, however, is her long flowing hair. Glowing a bright fluorescent yellow, light itself radiates from out of the silky strands of hair. It also acts as a compliment to her eyes, which also are a yellow colour, glowing in the darkness. Agenda: (How will you act in the world? What would you oppose in other gods?) Emaztea seeks to create a morally and ethically perfect society in the world sphere, which, in her eyes, is ripe with evil and corruption, two things she hates with a passion. She seeks to drive out anything she would consider as impure, or corrupt, from her demense Description: (Long-form description of your god’s nature, personality and vision for the world.) Emaztea is a calm, quiet being, yet highly critical of anything she deems evil, or incorrupt, and will go out of her way to right such imperfections, in her eyes. She desperately wants to create a society void of all evil, so that the mortals may live correctly, in her eyes. She has a almost motherly personality when it comes to her followers, loving each one of them equally, yet setting strict rules for her children not to break. She has her vision, which she orders her children to replicate across the world, in order to save the mortals from their own evil and corruption which their sins bring about. Sample Creation: (Could be anything to a law of nature, a place, race or a magical avatar of your will. This is just to jog your imagination.) The Baths of Perfection- A natural spring giving way to a massive stone bath house, complete with beautiful growing flowers, animals, and visitors to the baths, all coexisting in harmony at the baths. The water of the baths is a constant temperature year round, and when drunk or bathed the user cannot harm any life, violate any rules, or commit any evil, so as long as his body is in contact with the water.
  7. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HVw_1RZncec DUCHY OF ULYADAR 1528 Alriks room was meager. Humble, bland, dark, but organized, clean, and tidy. The room was barren of any details, and lacking any decoration. The furniture it boasted was nothing out of the ordinary, a simple rickety wooden cot where he, and only he,, could lie in with some furs for comfort, a chest beside the cot to put his belongings, which doubled as a desk, and a wardrobe to stash his clothes in. Yet, he made the best of it. His chest, strewn open, was filled to the brim with knick-knacks and a multitude of other things, a a collection of souvenirs he's acquired throughout his lifetime. Books, hammers, hats, everything was there. Lying upon the cot was the chubby ashy-blonde haired boy, hypnotized with the songs the words on a book sang in the candle light, which rested upon on the top of one of the legs of the cot. One could say, despite its restrictions, the room was rather comfortable, and there was an aura of peace, and serenity filling the room with ever flicker of the candle. The tranquility quickly hid in recesses when the booms of one loud thud on the wooden door resonated through the four walls. The entire door shook, the vibrations even seemingly causing a hat that was half in the chest, half out the chest to fall out upon the ground. Alrik immediately jumped, his silky strands of hair in his bowl cut dancing past each other with the turn of his head towards the door. Another loud thump resonated throughout the room after a few seconds of an eerie silence. The flame of the candle trembled even, and Alrik stood up and shakenly grasped the wooden candelabra, and slowly approached the door. As he grew closer, he could make out large indentations in the wooden planks, with wooden shards protruding out of the deformed boards. He took a couple more slow, nervous steps. He could make out the chopped breaths of a struggling individual on the other side of the door dividing the two. Nearing the door now, his steps were cautious, almost as if every pace was meticulously planned out days in advance. But nothing could have prepared him for what was going to come, bursting in through that door. On the last step he took towards the door, right before the third rasp, he heard his name uttered softly, by a trembling voice, as if the two syllables sucked the life out of the speaker. He didn't have time to react to this, however. On the third stroke, the door gave in. The sounds of the horrible scream of wood fibers ripping out of each others bonds, the brutal clangs the metal hitches made on themselves as they were detached from the stone wall they were nailed into, and the massive hulking body of the man behind this mess, all merged together in a cacophony of chaos. Down came a massive man, tumbling behind flying wood planks, that one time made up the door, smelling of burned, rotten skin, covered in a shiny, red, armor, with no cracks, no dents, and no knicks in the metal. It was utterly flawless, as if new. The symphony of chaos did not stop at that, however. The suit of armor, before looking like a felled, lifeless piece of timber, was now seemingly repossessed. Before Alrik knew what was happening, the man in the metal, met the stone floor rolling, absorbing his massive bodys impact skillfully. In a blinding red flash, he springs out from the clutches of the debris from the mayhem at the doorway, and wraps his body around Alriks, bringing him down to the floor already in a masterful choke hold. The horrific sounds of Alrik gasping for breath, and his fingers sliding off the metal as he attempts to fight for his life, came first then that of the falling parts that made up the door. “S-stop, puh-lease.” hacked Alrik through his clenched throat. After a moments which seemed like hours of struggle, finally, the man in the armor breaks his silence. “I-I cant Alri.” he groans through the metal.” I can't.” Following this short interchange, the only audible sounds in the room were that of coughs and hacks of Alrik, clinging on to each and every breath that makes it past the death choke. Alriks futile grasp on the metal gauntlets of the armored man begin to slowly relent, his life escaping from him , when suddenly the grasp on Alriks neck was released, the attackers arms slamming into the stone ground with godly strength, as if they'd been pried off his neck by a foreign force. The impact creates two sizeable craters in the floor as a result. Alrik immediately rolls over, hacking and coughing several lungs as he struggles away from the being, to the farthest corner of the room. The armored man shoots upwards on his feet, watching the boy crawl away from him. Seemingly disappointed, he rests his head against the wall, banging it a couple times for good measure. The sounds of Alrik regaining his breath are accompanied by an anger filled fury of punches and blows against the walls, bits of stone flying out in every which way as a new collection of craters and indentations are left in its wake. The tranquility that filled the room prior to the intrusion returns, as the two engage in a peaceful stalemate, drenched in their thoughts, and recovering from what just occurred. Finally, someone breaks the silence.“I-Im sorry, Alrik.” mumbles the man in the suit. Now, the sound of quiet sniffles takes the place of the hard breaths of Alrik, still laying in the fetal position in a corner of the room. Wait. He recognized that voice, even though he didn't recognize the man. Then, it hit him. Alrik realizes everything. “K-Knut?” he asks, his eyes, snuggled in his chubbiness, squint, as he gazes in the small hole in the visor. The man in the armor nods the headpiece scraping against the wall as he does so. “W-why would you? I don't understand?” asks Alrik, grasping a peg of his cot as support as he rises to his feet, approaching Knut slowly, using the same caution he did earlier. Knut immediately reacts, lifting his hand up for a punch but instead redirecting it once more to the wall, pebbles and rocks flying outwards. “No, don't come near me…” he'd say, backing up slowly away from Alrik. Alrik was visibly shaken by the whole affair, and he stopped his approach. “No… I won't!” shouts Knut, as if speaking to someone in his head. “I made a mistake, Alrik. Fueled by greed.” He pauses, banging his head against the wall, another crater forming.”Now, I will live with the punishment forever.” his head hangs once more, as he rests upon the wall, examining the shiny red gauntlet part of his suit. Alrik relents once more, and slowly begins approaching Knut once more. “What do you mean, Knut? Just… take it off..” hed say, completely dumbfounded. He shakes his head, brutal scratching sounds filling the room as his helmet scrapes against the wall as he nods. “It is my skin now, it has been… forged into me, burned into me. “ Hed show by trying to pull the gauntlet off his hand, but failing to do so. Alrik has approached Knut, being very close now. He examines the metal of the armor closely, the armor reflecting the light of his candelabrum back into his green eyes. “There has to be a way…” curiously exclaims Alrik. “He says there isn't.” solemnly replies Knut. “Who is he?” asks Alrik, extending a hand slowly attempting to touch the breastplate. “The Armor, i-it speaks to me, in my head, like a man screaming, starving for blo-.” begins Knut, until Alrik sausage fingers touch the breastplate. Knut, with reactions faster than light, turns around, cocking his iron fist to punch Alrik. Yet his fury hesitates, and his fist trembles in the air, as if fighting against something, something preventing the blow to be unleashed upon the poor victim. Alrik, could only hold his hands up in a futile defense against sure doom. “NNNnnooooo!” With a strained groan, Knuts body rotates, and the fist unleashes a blow against the wall, a massive hole forming in it, shifting several objects in the room. “You won't control me!” hollars Knut, several more times smashing the wall in pure rage. The wall, once smoothly polished, has now been reduced to a porous crater littered surface, the aftermath of Knuts struggle. Alrik could only stand by, and watch in pure disbelief, at the conflicted monster that stood before him, that happened to be his best friend. “What have I become…” wails Knut, sliding down the wall, resting on it. Alrik let his arms fall to his side, his guard vanishing. He looked at the broken man inside the suit. His best friend, his brother, was now entrapped in a parasitic, magic-infused suit which controlled all his actions. It already sounded bad. He stood there for a moment, recollecting his thoughts. It all happened so very fast. A massive man in armor barges into his room, and attempts to kill him. Then, it is revealed that this man is actually Knut, having cursed himself eternally to the armor by foolishly trying it on, and now he cant take it off. This was the basic information that Alrik had at his disposal, although it isn't as much as he'd like to have, he would have to make do. His thoughts are interrupted by the sounds of footsteps, whispers, and metal sounding in the hallways. He had questions to be answered, but not here. If Tormund, the mages, or the lords find out what happened, surely he'd have both his friends and his heads on a pike. It helped that his friend was now a killing machine, yet he wanted to help his friend nonetheless, and, knowing the total lack of knowledge the eldershad in regards to Knuts situation, knew exactly the place to go. “Knut, we must leave. They're coming.” Alrik says, looking down upon the hunking mass of metal. “Let them come, they can't kill me, not even if i want them to” he responds, sadness saturating his every word. “They can't help you, Knut. They don't know anything about the blood armor. We have to ask Assirbanakh, he can help us. I want to help you, Knut. You think Bjorn will want to help you, Thormud, Eirik? They don't care if you starve in this armor, your life is useless to them. There is nothing here you could want. We must leave, we need to learn more, and we can't do that here.” begs Alrik, nervously switching gazes between Knut and the hallway, shouting and voices clearly being heard, with the occasional orange flicker of light from a torch. Knut remained unresponsive, sulking on the ground in the midst of the leftovers of his uncontrolled outbursts. “We got to leave, now, Knut, they're coming!” once more asks Alrik, nervously looking at the growing sounds coming from the hallway. Knut, remains completely unaware, his visor buried into his hands. Alrik,clearly hearing the clinging sounds of soldiers clearly in the hallway, had his hand forced. He tried to grab Knut by the arm, and yanked him upwards on his feet, but his plan was an utter failure. As his hand wraps around Knuts arm, the armor springs to life, sending Knut flying across the room, landing on the ground with a dulled thump, lost in the sounds of pain and fear from Alrik. Knut was preparing to fly towards Alrik, and finish the kill once more cocking his arm to prepare a crushing punch. The fist flies, and Alrik flinches, until it stops a mere inch from Alriks chubby cheeks, calmly hovering in place this time, not trembling like it was before. Alrik hadn't noticed in the upheaval, but the armored men had entered the room, and swords were sword drawn, one resting upon Knuts neck, the tip of the blade staring into Alriks eyes. “Don't do anything funny.” calls out a raspy voice from behind Knut. 4 other men stand behind him, swords flashing and their eyes on the red armoured man. Knut’s head turns, registering each opponent for a moment, before it turns back to face Alrik. Here, Alrik could clearly see through the visor. There was enough light that he could see Knuts green eyes filled with tears amid the searing burn scars. They two had a moment, for a split second, Alrik truly felt the pain Knut was going through at this time. He shared his tears. He saw Knuts lips move too, when he whispered to him. “Thank you, Alrik.” mutters Knut, and his eyes close. What Alrik saw next, he would never forget. The armor filled Knuts every muscle with godly power, as one arm flys upwards, grabbing the blade of the sword. The soldier uselessly tries to release the sword of his grip but to no avail. He then spins around, slicing the soldiers head off clean with the lower part of the sword, the headless body of the soldier falling to the ground with a thump. The hilt of the sword ends up nearly an inch away from the wall, and Knuts body is facing the other four soldiers, with Alrik lying on the floor below him, and the other four soldiers glaring at him in disbelief. Once more, the armor comes to life, making quick but elegant work of the four remaining soldiers. He almost effortlessly glided out of the trajectory of swords and pikes, entombing his sword in each of the guards, dispatching them often split cleanly in half. When he was done, the room was nothing but a cesspool of blood, with bodies littered everywhere. Knuts eyes pop open, the tears gone and his eyes shot with blood Alrik removes his hands from his head, as he'd been throughout the entire debacle, sheltering and protecting his dear life throughout the entire affair. He took the brief seconds of stillness he had to look in disbelief at his surroundings, at the aftermath. With barely any time to actually react , hes yanked up and tossed over Knuts shoulder. Without any words Knut walks out of the room, stepping through puddles of blood and bits of flesh on his way. Curiously, Alrik notices small clouds of red surrounding his feet, and the blood receding around it. He had no time to notice anything else though, as Knut quickly cleared the room and was sprinting down the hallways at a speed parallel to the gods, and Bruce. They passed by the door to the throne room, the courtyard, and several other important areas if the keep, the, doors and locations becoming blurred together at the speed they were traversing the courtyards.Maids woman gasped as they quickly shuffled out of the way of the boys, charging through the endless stone corridors, covered in blood. Eventually they reached the tower, the same tower the two sneakily spied on a foreign princess years ago, when they were even younger boys than they are now. . Knut leaps up, skipping most of the rungs and grabbing the highest rung of the ladder and hauling himself up through the hole after carelessly tossing Knut through the hole first. All this was done in haste, hoping to clear the keep before anyone else could retaliate to their crimes. Already, on the tower, they could hear the shouts and cries of the guardsmen. He collects him once more, and clears the stairs, the pair reaching the top of the tower exposed to the brunt of the elements. Knut takes several steps back, looking out over the battlements, towards the endless white wastes with the grey outlines of mountains in the background. ‘Knut, no, piss off don't!” protests Alrik, but it was too late. Knut, with Alrik in tow, had already cleared the battlements, and was halfway to the ground, the screams of Alrik were getting carried by the bitter frozen winds, reaching the ears of many curious onlookers who viewed the two through their murder holes and glass windows . Knut lands on his feet with a grunt, and the screams of Alrik cease. Knut tirelessly trudges through the feet of snow as the two run far far away from the crimson keep, into the protection of the snows and the wilderness. The pair had disappeared from the keep, along with the armor, leaving a mystery, choices, and opportunities behind for those still at the crimson keep. NATION INFO CITIES: Ulya(Capitol)(Starter) Alost (Port)(Starter) Yakur(Port) Tykirfell Odeilia Rypapa Elirkuta Grimsar Halsar Skalanes Kjolr Krossa Hofsland Folafotr Bitra SETTLEMENTS: POPULATION:= 11067799 SLAVES:6K ARMY: (11500)4 units of T3 Medium cavalry (1000) 2 Units of T3 Crowssbowmen (2000) 4 Units of T2 Light Infantry (500)2 Units of T3 Polar Bear Cavalry (1000) 2 Units of T2 Light Archers (1500) 3 Units of T3 Light Cavalry ARMY UPKEEP: 3.75K GOLD NAVY: UPKEEP FOR NAVY:0K GOLD UPKEEP GOLD(GROSS):178K GOLD GOLD(NET):174.25K TRADING PARTNERS: Chapel of True Knauledge, Fortress Libraries, Kingdom of Bulgar Trident, Volaruci Princedoms, The Antigonid Dynasty, Kingdom of Icefeld, The Nascent Kingdom BUILDINGS FARMS:45 MERCHANT COMPANY:13 CATHEDRAL:1 CHURCH:1 SHRINE:1 MANUFACTORY:7 PORT:8 TRADING COMPANY:4 SETTLEMENTS:0 TOWNS: CITIES:6 SHRINE:1 HERMITAGE:1 BARRACKS:32 MONASTARY:1 TOTAL MAGI:3 TOTAL ADEPT:36 KEY CHARACTERS BJORN, PRINCE OF ULYADAR EIRIK, PRINCE OF ULYADAR KNUT, PRINCE OF ULYADAR THORMUND, REGENT OF ULYADAR TANCRED, ORACLE OF THE BLOOD FORGE LUDIN, ORACLE OF ASSIRBANAKH(MIA) DUKE BRUCE OF ULYADAR(MIA) DUKE ARVID, DUKE OF ULYADAR(DECEASED) ACTIONS -For no reason at all, the crown deems an expedition to the stitches is needed! A band of nearly 200 men depart from Yakur, towards the stitches to search across the entirety of the range for at least a viable route through it. They look for hidden passageways, coastal trails, tunnels, anything that could lead them through the wretched mountains.(10k) -Knut begins to experiment with the powers and limits of his armor, including bonding with his cortana! -Work on wroughting the blood metal continues in the fiery pits of the blood forge.(5k, 55k invested total, 2 edu points.) -6 ports are built throughout the Duchy.(90k) -The shipyards of the Duchy remain active this year, building 4 carracks.(24k) -Two towns are upgraded to cities, Ingolfsfell, and Haukadalur.(30k) -4 farms are built, (20k) -The Telescopes begin to research the planets and their orbits, hoping to find information on each of them. (3.75k, Supreme 8 Edu points I have 2)
  8. DUCHY OF ULYADAR 1527 Ulya, at the peak of summer Eurylon hobbled down the steps into the courtyard of the Crimson Keep, his raven black hair untamed, sprawling in every which way. He groaned as the summer sun invaded his eyes, straining his half-asleep pupils. He pulled his black fur closer around his body as he stepped off the last step, exhaling outwards as the frost seeped into his southern bones, his breath turning into a cloud momentarily before dissipating into the atmosphere. In his hand, he held a hollowed out white tusk of an animal, wringing it frustration, peering inside it every once in a while. The lord came to rest at a stone railing rounding the green area of the courtyard. His brown eyes, carrying a couple of thick bags under them, scanned his surroundings, muttering complaints in a foreign tongue. He sees nothing. Once more, his vision darted across his environment. His search had become frantic. Where was it? He’d seen it last night. Once more, his drowsy vision surveyed every inch of the courtyard. Finally, there it is! In all its glory, a wooden barrel laid, as if fallen from the rails, underneath a tree. He made haste towards the barrel, focused on it. His bare feet making a melodic tapping sound on the polished stone every stride as he crosses the enclosure, with a spring in his step, his hobble being vanquished. He made his way to the green tree, its trunks and hearty leaves blanketed in a thick layer of fluffy snow. With an audible ache, he bent down, knocking the barrel over on its side, and casually sticking his horn in the earth, underneath the cork. He popped it out effortlessly, and watched as a clear liquid began gushing outwards. He removed his horn from the grasp of the black dirt, leaning back as he gulped it all down, in nearly one sip. Pleasure overtakes his face as he releases gas, and he begins to lean in once again for another hornful, until a voice calls out, from a very close proximity, and rather monotonous. “Hello, Lord Eurylon.” Startled, Eurylon, spins around quickly, gasping for air. Upon coming to a realization of who it is, his guard drops, and he leans over once more, to collect more of the gushing liquid, seeping into the frosted soil now. “Prince Eirik, to what do I owe the pleasure of this entertaining encounter?” he calls out, lifting his body up and downing another horn of alcohol. Eirik stood some one-two feet behind him , his arms folded behind his stained red robe, his blonde hair in a bun and flaunting a rather forced smile. “I was on my way to a council meeting, when i saw you under a tree, my Lord. I was wondering if you needed any… assistance.” croaks Eirik, his body remaining unmoved. Eurylon removes the horn from his lips, licking them as he sets it down, rising to his feet and hauling the barrel up, placing it on the railing of the courtyard, where it was previously, with a groan of effort. “Never needed help getting a drink, prince.” he'd say, the clear liquid flowing out unhindered, splashing on the stone of the floor when not caught by the horn. He picks up his horn on the ground, and blocks the stream of liquid, filling the horn to the brim and downing it quickly. “Never will.” he'd say sticking the horn under the stream, the intensity of the stream waning. The pair would simply stay idle for several moments, the air between them turning awkward. “As you wish, my Lord.” Eirik breaks the silence, and he bows his head lightly. Hed begin to walk off, before pausing, and rotating his head back towards Eurylon, who cautiously watched the shamans light footsteps traverse across the stone paths of the courtyard, heading towards a hallway.”Ah...It escaped my mind, my lord.” His entire body turns to face that of Eurylon, who remains unmoved, downing his 4th hornful of alcohol. “You may attend the council meeting too, if you'd like. Prince Bjorn has made it so. You’d probably make it there before Knut!” Eirik concludes with a plastic giggle, his vision hacking inside the very soul of Eurylon. Awkwardness plagues the two once more, as the reins of the conversation are taken hold by the rustling leaves and the chirping birds in the distance. “I'll leave you to it then, my lord.” once again chirps Eirik, performing an about face and disappearing through a hallway in the castle. Eurylon produces a troubled face, which his quickly hidden by the gaseous side effects of the ale. The soft taps of Eiriks feet rebound across the long lonely hallway, eventually making their way towards a lonesome wooden door, through which behind it could be heard the audible muffles of a chorus of men quarreling with each other. Eirik removes the bolt, opening the door wide for his lean body to pass through. At once he is greeted by the arguments and cries of dozens of angry lords, with Bjorn, Tormund, and even Knut, with his usual displeasure though, present at the meeting. The Lords pay no mind to Eiriks entrance, as he silently makes his way towards his seat. The room is intimate, with some dozen or so lords engaged in a shouting match surrounding an elongated table with eaten bits and pieces of food on wooden plates. “The County of Ryapa will not recognize a new Duke, simply because a letter said that this boy was the Dukes favorite son!” screeches a pot bellied stout man. A chorus of ayes and chants of assuredness join the man who casts a face of spite towards Bjorn, whose face is saturated with unbelief. An elderly lord, more elegantly dressed wearing fine thin silks rises, with his hands clasped, and his frail voice begins to sing. “My lord, the rules cannot be bent under these circumstances. The Lords are in agreement. The Clash must go on.” Once more the various lords agree, displaying it by a collective ‘aye.’ Tormund rises, and begins to go down the road of a long winding monologue. Knut however, grows restless. His posture has changed and is changing. He seems anxious, as if teeming to leave the confines from his seat. Thormund’s monologue engages the audience, his words infesting some of the hearts of the lords with doubts, and throwing the chamber once more into a fit of insults, name calling, and debate. Knut did not want to listen to this, as the lies and tales of bureaucracy was not for him. He had pressing matters to attend to. In the heat of the argument, no one noticed his silent departure from the council. Some looked as he crossed in front of seats and between the legs and through squeezes between chairs. They noticed, but they did not care. The chances for a successful candidacy were slim for him, was the recurring thought in the minds of many of the Lords in the council, preoccupied with defending the traditions of the Dukedom from the hands of an eager young candidate. Knut had shut out himself out from the bickering of the men with the latch of the wooden door that separated him from the world of politics. But as he stepped out, the flames within him grew. The flames of curiosity. These flames propelled his every step through the halls of the crimson keep. However the fires grew, and his tempo increased with every corner turned, his light stride turning into a brisk walk, turning into a jog, turning into a sprint. He ran through the halls like a madman, bypassing maid, soldier, and lord alike. Even Eurylon, quite cleaned up from the earlier affair, who looked at him in a dazed confusion, yet continued trudging along, not paying much attention after. Eventually, the endless running ceased,at the presence of yet another, plain looking wooden door. Knuts hands shook, as a result of a combination between the running and his yearning for what awaited him on the other side of the wood. He threw it open, revealing an empty room, nothing on the walls, no tables, no furniture, no banners nothing. Yet there was everything at the same time. One artifact, laying on a stand against the wall. A gleaming set of armor, ruby red all of its plates. Its craftsmanship was excellent, yet it bore evidence of wear, struggle, and war. A relic of his forefathers. This was Knut’s life. His every thought for the year since he'd seen it displayed in the throne room. He wanted to find out its secrets with a passion. No one knew what it did, its mysteries were held away, as only for the future Duke to exploit. But Knut would know, he needed to know. “I am forever indebted to him” muttered Knut, his jraw hanging half way down to the floor in awe at what was before him. His jaw recollects himself, and a grin transforms his face. The door shuts, and after a couple of moments, a red light seeps out into the passageway, for a mere instant, and everything had changed. (sorry for lower quality) NATION INFO CITIES: Ulya(Capitol)(Starter) Alost (Port)(Starter) Yakur(Port) Tykirfell Odeilia Rypapa Elirkuta Grimsar Halsar Skalanes Kjolr Krossa Hofsland Folafotr Bitra SETTLEMENTS: POPULATION:= 11067799 SLAVES:6K ARMY: (11500)4 units of T3 Medium cavalry (1000) 2 Units of T3 Crowssbowmen (2000) 4 Units of T2 Light Infantry (500)2 Units of T3 Polar Bear Cavalry (1000) 2 Units of T2 Light Archers (1500) 3 Units of T3 Light Cavalry ARMY UPKEEP: 3.75K GOLD NAVY: UPKEEP FOR NAVY:0K GOLD UPKEEP GOLD(GROSS):178K GOLD GOLD(NET):174.25K TRADING PARTNERS: Chapel of True Knauledge, Fortress Libraries, Kingdom of Bulgar Trident, Volaruci Princedoms, The Antigonid Dynasty, Kingdom of Icefeld, The Nascent Kingdom BUILDINGS FARMS:45 MERCHANT COMPANY:13 CATHEDRAL:1 CHURCH:1 SHRINE:1 MANUFACTORY:7 PORT:8 TRADING COMPANY:4 SETTLEMENTS:0 TOWNS: CITIES:6 SHRINE:1 HERMITAGE:1 BARRACKS:32 MONASTARY:1 TOTAL MAGI:3 TOTAL ADEPT:36 KEY CHARACTERS BJORN, PRINCE OF ULYADAR EIRIK, PRINCE OF ULYADAR KNUT, PRINCE OF ULYADAR THORMUND, REGENT OF ULYADAR TANCRED, ORACLE OF THE BLOOD FORGE LUDIN, ORACLE OF ASSIRBANAKH(MIA) DUKE BRUCE OF ULYADAR(MIA) DUKE ARVID, DUKE OF ULYADAR(DECEASED) ACTIONS -The government nationalises several workshops, much to the protest of the owners!(8 Manufactories, -60k) -Building upon a recent breakthrough, some lords, tired of fish and sea food for all three meals a day, invest in building farms surrounding gashes of lava in the earth. Finally, grains!(4 farms, -20k) -Two settlements are constructed on the coasts, from settlers hailing from Odeilia and Tykirfell.(-10k) -The crown grants Bitra coin for a guild hall, to promote trade in the city.(Merchant Guild, -10k) -The shipyards once again spring into activity, filling up in all corners of the duchy.(10 cogs, 15k) -Scientists and engineers from both nations continue to labor over finite adjustments to lenses, mirrors, and brass mechanisms. The image is there, it simply needs the finishing touches to procure a clear, detailed rendering of the objects hidden deep within the heavens, away from the prying eyes of the man in this world. The project consumes yet even more gold, as the scholars need the best tools and resources to create an eye into the celestial realm. Should the telescope be completed, and a clear image can be shown, they quickly begin on their prophetic task:studying the planets. (-30k, 70k total towards Telescope, Supreme has 7 edu and I have 2) -At the blood forge, the mages and smiths continue to work hand in hand on recreating the red armor found at the blood forge. They attempt many different ideas, trying to heat pure blood in the fires of the forge, embedding the black, shiny rocks found at the forge with magic, or creating an alloy of blood and metals found at the forge. Last year, the sweat of their brows slaving in the fires of the volcano resulted in nothing but nuggets of charred metal. This year, they attempt to make at least some improvements, more gold being used to fund the project.(-29.25k towards blood metal, 50k total, I have 2 edu points.) -Knut tries on the blood armor, exposing him to its effects.
  10. DUCHY OF ULYADAR 1525 “She is so beautiful, Alrik.” comments Knut, leaning on crenel at the battlements of one of the towers of the Crimson Kreep. Alrik was next to him, encased in a red robe similar to that of Eirik. Alrik, was a boy similar to Knut. A couple years younger, but they were childhood friends since birth. They were of the same build, and thought alike. Alrik was a lot chubbier than Knut though, by a wide margin, and his cheeks were always rosy red, contrasted to his messy black bowl cut. “You’ve looked long enough, it's my turn!” whines Alrik, tugging lightly on the pelts of Knut. He snaps back, his gaze leaving the beauty. “Hold on, Alrik. You’re not the one with a chance to marry her.” The young boys vision returns to that of Calypso, the talk of the Duchy for months. It took a month and much hassle to extract her from her home nation, and transport her to these frozen wastes, but by the Gods all the rumors whispered about her were absolutely true. The Rose of the South, the Ulyadi called her. But words fell short to describe her elegance. Her golden locks of hair, falling down to her back in an untamed, but civilized fashion, reflected even the coldest winter rays, catching the eyes of even a pair of boys staring from a courtyard away. Her face angular and symmetrical, but still a tinge of gentleness, and softness in the way her skin bent when she smiled. Oh her smile, even poets- quick, she’s looking back! Knut’s trance promptly ends, and his back quickly makes haste towards the wall of the battlements, meeting it with a rush of adrenaline. Did she notice i was staring? thought Knut. Does she know it was me? “What wrong, Knut?” asked Alrik, looking on with a perplexed expression. “She looked back! She noticed! Im so stupid!” He cries, sliding down the battlements and laying down on the coarse stone floor of the tower. “Well thanks bastard, now i can't look at her!” Knut lifted his head up in response, shooting him a furious glare. Alrik quickly realized his error. “Sorry Knut, I didn't mean it, really! It just… came out.” Knut let his head drop back to the ground, releasing a sigh in vexation. Hed mask his annoyance by entombing his frustration into the palms of his hand. Luckily, Alrik was a good friend, one of Knuts only friends. He knew his friend better than most, and knew exactly how to remedy annoyance, a common affliction to Knut when the two are together. “I'll... go look from one of the arrow slits.” he'd quietly mutter, crawling over to the ladder, expertly avoiding detection, leaving Knut to himself. Immediately when he hears the last step of Alrik leave the immediate vicinity he snaps up, and crawls over to a different crenel, sticking out only half his face, one eye. He continues to spy on the princess, analyzing her guise. What was she constantly smiling at?. He couldn't really make it out, but now with the rabble of Alrik out of the equation, he could hear the sounds of wood on wood, and the charming giggles of the princess. He adjusted himself, switching from crenel to crenel, merlon to merlon, recklessly attempting to get a better view. Three crenels down, he could finally see the display that was seemingly winning the heart of the exotic beauty. It was Bjorn. Damn him! Thought Knut. Bjorn was engaging in a stupid showcase of strength, with Calypso in the audience. Seeing Bjorn woo the heart of the princess by ‘expertly’ banging at a snow packed sack on a stick filled him with ire. And seeing the princesses peaceful pleasure made the pot boil over. Why should Bjorn get everything, thought Knut, his thoughts once again going down a rabbit hole. Seeing him succeed, effortlessly, filled him with desire. A desire fueled by greed. For the hand of the princess, and the power of the blood armor. Bjorn didn't appreciate these things! Perhaps he did not want to be Duke yet, but these two things he did want. Badly. The princess once more, looked in the direction of the tower, but she did not see anything, for Knut was hidden well, and the distance was too far to make out half a pale face, masked within the groves of the gray stone of the tower. But, it was time to leave nonetheless. Lessons with the great warrior Skegg were in an hour, and Knut had to prepare for the daily palate of welts and bruises handed by Bjorn, Eirik, and Skegg alike. As Knut retraced the steps of his friend Alrik, descending the tower rung by rung, he eventually met his anxious compatriot, patiently awaiting Knut’s exit out of the ladder. “Knut! Did you see! Bjorn was-” he begins, interjected by the exasperated tone of Knuts voice. “Yes, Alrik, I know.” he pauses, sighing.” Every single day, he does something else to anger me, God how i would like to stick an axe so far in his skull!” Hed continue walking through the plain gray halls, towards an opening at the end of the corridor, wringing his hands at the conclusion of the statement.”If this whole charade wasnt rigged from the very start, I would actually try at sending his ‘strong’ body to the depths of Mt. Arfast.” Knut would say, sarcastically emphasizing the word ‘strong’ in his sentence. Alrik would nod slowly, though he replies with a rather confused stare. He had remained rather quiet the entire time, simply listening to Knut’s rants “What does ‘charade’ mean?” he finally asks, much to the irritation of Knut. “You know, you really ought to read more, the shamans don't have books at the forge?” Alrik quickly responds, their rattling conversation filling the solemn gray hall. The pair are now roughly halfway to the end of the hall, snow can be seen through two double wooden doors. “Not really, no. Only old manuals or scripts. Nothing i can read, afterall.” “Do you still remember what i taught you?” questions Knut, casting a quizzed face towards Alrik. “Well, I hope so...” heavily retorts Alrik, and the two walk in a somewhat awkward silence, before Knut stamps it out. “You have reminded me of something, what has Eirik been like? How has he been holding up? What's he doing?” Alrik runs his hand along the stone wall of the fortress, answering Knuts questions in full. “You haven't heard? Knuts become an adept! He's performed his first sacrifice! The Oracle of the Forge was there.” “Is that it?” replies Knut, unsatisfied. “Tell me more.” pressures Knut, his blue eyes glued on Alrik. “I… don't see him much, him and Tancred are quiet fellows, you know that. All i know is he's been growing stronger, and he has a lot of friends at the demesne.” counters Alrik apprehensively, buckling under Knuts relentless coercion. “Everyone here is getting stronger except for me, and everyone seems to care except for me.” He says with a sigh, approaching a wooden door and propping it open, stepping through the threshold. Alrik would follow, but Knut quickly turns and bars him passage, using his boney pale arm to halt his advance. “I have to prepare for class, Alrik. Find me after, if i live through this session.” “Alright..” begins the apprentice, watching the door closed shut as his body quickly responds, banging on the door thrice, much to the aggravation of Knut, who opens the door and pops his head through a crack. “What is it?” snaps Knut. “I was wondering if i could maybe have one of your books to read, you have a lot, i just want something eas-” quivers Alrik, shyly. “Im reading mine, go to the Ducal library, there many more there.” Knut promptly states, beginning to shut the door, but jutting his head out once more. “‘The Skies’, by Kori Haklangson, is a good one.” And then the door closes, and the sound of a metal lock resonates through the hall, leaving Alrik to his chunky lonesome. Not for long however, as from the courtyard zips in Bjorn, storming through the halls briskly. “Move, chick.” he'd say, condescently, shoving him out of the way any towards the wall, proudly holding an opened scroll in his arm. He walks past Alrik, barely acknowledging his presence, save for one announcement. “Tell bones that he doesn't have to die, Bruce has named me heir!” Immediately, a latch of a door clicks open, and a pale lanky hand pulls in Alrik from the cold passageway, and the sound of the latch resonates once more, and once again, silence. NATION INFO CITIES: Ulya(Capitol)(Starter) Alost (Port)(Starter) Yakur(Port) Tykirfell Odeilia Rypapa Elirkuta Grimsar Halsar Skalanes Kjolr Krossa Hofsland Folafotr TOWNS: Bitra SETTLEMENTS: POPULATION:9667045 x 7%= 10343738 ARMY: (2000)4 units of T3 Medium cavalry (1000) 2 Units of T3 Crowssbowmen (2000) 4 Units of T2 Light Infantry (500)2 Units of T3 Polar Bear Cavalry (1000) 2 Units of T2 Light Archers (1500) 3 Units of T3 Light Cavalry ARMY UPKEEP: 2K GOLD NAVY: UPKEEP FOR NAVY:0K GOLD UPKEEP GOLD:3K(BASE)+30K(POP)+44k(TRADE)+42K(MERCHANT GUILD)+ 4K(ECON POINTS)+7k(MANUFACTORY)+36K(CITY)+3K(TOWN)=169K GOLD GOLD FOR THIS TURN:166.750K TRADING PARTNERS: Chapel of True Knauledge, Fortress Libraries, Kingdom of Bulgar Trident, Volaruci Princedoms, The Antigonid Dynasty, Kingdom of Icefeld, The Nascent Kingdom BUILDINGS FARMS:38 MERCHANT COMPANY:13 CATHEDRAL:1 CHURCH:1 SHRINE:1 MANUFACTORY:7 PORT:8 TRADING COMPANY:4 SETTLEMENTS:0 TOWNS: CITIES:6 SHRINE:1 HERMITAGE:1 BARRACKS:32 MONASTARY:1 TOTAL MAGI:3 TOTAL ADEPT:36 KEY CHARACTERS DUKE BRUCE OF ULYADAR TANCRED, ORACLE OF THE BLOOD FORGE LUDIN, ORACLE OF ASSIRBANAKH DUKE ARVID, DUKE OF ULYADAR(DECEASED) ACTIONS -As with every year, fish farms are constructed, and some of the brighter Ulyadis begin to even grow crops around lava scars in the earth! Truly a bright race!(35k,7 Farms.) -As per the wishes of the young Bjorn, Thormund sends out ravens and begins to summon the levys once more. (15 Units of T3 Medium Infantry, -60k) -The Town of Bitra is given a city charter, and after the due celebrations, is declared a city!(-15k) -The Shamans, lead by Tancred, have informed the Dukedom of an imminent threat, a seemingly big one, hailing from the north. There is good news, however, they can predict when this catastrophe will strike. To do this, they will have to investigate and research a device that will allow them to peer into the skies, and find these elusive planets. Luckily, their friends the Antigonids are pursuing a similar goal! Ulyadi and Antigonid engineers begin working on a contraption to do this, high up on a mountain peak, safely tucked away from the hindrances of cages, glacier zombies, or volcanos.(30k,+ 10k from Supreme. 2 Education, Supreme has 7) -The Shamans seem to be very busy this year! Eirik, having become an adept, as taken the charge alongside Tancred to continue researching to make the red metal. The best blacksmiths are contracted, most notably being Jomar Boesson, who helped discover the blood runes long ago! The Shamans try a variety of different ideas, including attempting to make a metal out of pure blood, heated by the fires of the forge. The attempt to make a metal out of the very lava of the forge, and even wrought an alloy made of a mixture of the two. The Shamans are now dedicated to rediscovering the ‘forge’ part of the Blood forge.(16750 Gold this turn towards red metal, total 20,750 Gold. 2 education ) -The Antigonid Princess, makes her way to Ulyadar, immediately making waves about her beauty! --Tall stone walls on Yakur, Low stone walls on TykirFell.
  11. DUCHY OF ULYADAR 1525 Every single seat at the Crimson Hold at Ulya was taken by inquisitive lords, many part of a certain clique that had arisen in the past few years, enthralled in the obscured history of their mysterious forefathers, the only thing left in their wake being paintings preserved in feet of frost, and a near-indiscernible script. Today was the day that Tancred was to return from consulting Assirbanakh, on the history and purpose of this perplexing artifact. Present at the courtroom were dozens of different elites, hailing from all he corners of the realm. The armor was the headline of today's session, but it was still an opportunity for the lords of the land to express their qualms and distresses, and seek counsel. Presiding over this gala was Thormund Arvidsson, a ginger haired man with a filling beard, emerald green eyes and messy hair, but always dressed well. Being Bruce's brother, he was elected by a council of lords to act as interim Duke whilst the proceedings for choosing a new Duke happen, as exhausting as they may be. At his right hand side sits a child, a rather large one at that, dressed in boiled leader, with flowing blonde hair. He looks rather large for his age, and built well, strong. Aside from his hair, he looked eerily like his father, a legendary figure, the Bruce. His body, his face, and his eyes. The boy shared the same emotionless, stoney gaze that his father was renowned for. Slowly, he was learning to use this weapon in the same way the late Duke’s crimson stare was used to cast a veil of fear into the minds of his enemies. For now, it was however, it was being used to greet each gift brought by the Lords. Three, from each visitor. During a slight pause in the train, Thormund looks over to the boy, and barks a command through the teeth of his smiling mouth. “Court is almost to start, and your brothers are still not here. Fetch them, drag Knut here if you must.” the boy would simply nod, and stand up from his wooden chair with a squeak, exiting the room through a side door and traversing the stone walls of the keep. For he was a good child, and obeyed orders. A good warrior does that, after all. He strides through the solemn grey halls of the hold, being decorated only by the occasional flame or window illuminating the path. Eventually, after several turns he reaches a plain looking door, its engravings standing out from the dull, rough stone walls. Without hesitation, he bursts through the door, revealing a cozy wooden room, hundreds of books stacked, messily thrown about the room. Pages with foreign, alien runes plastered on many of the walls, laid out on desks and on the floor. A lanky looking boy, the youngest brother, Knut, immediately closes his book, holding it shut with his body, as he quickly turns to face the boy standing square at the door. He breathes a sigh of relief, and opens the book once more, slouching in the chair as he traces the pad of his finger horizontally across the page. “Tell Uncle im sick, I don't want to go to that charade.” He would respond, carelessly, as he returns to the world of the book. Visually, there is no response from Bjorn. His face remains unnerved, as he casually approaches his desk, and with a masterly precision, grasps him by the collar of his tunic, yanking him out of his seat, much to Knut’s protests. He slaps and bangs Bjorns fists in defiance, as if trying to swat away a pestering fly. Yet the attempted defense is futile. Bjorn overpowers the pathetic boy, maneuvering over fallen chairs and through messy piles of books, out the door. “You dumb brute!” fusses the human sack, yet he cannot do much. His grasp weakens, tossing him on the ground. As he waits for him to stand, he stares him down, in the same way a person looks upon a rodent, his eyes uncanningly reminiscent, to their late father. Knut shakes the incident off rather easily, absorbing the abuse with resilience. “I'm not going Bjorn.” he replies, annoyance saturating his tone, dusting his trousers off as his bony reach begins to near the door handle. Immediately, Bjorn responds, slapping his hands away from the handle. “Gods, you are weak. Are you really my brother?” he yaps, his face scrunching up and looking upon him in disgust. Knut relies that Bjorn is relentless, and he is only left with one choice. He bypasses his brothers body, his face falling down to his chest in a sigh of exasperation. He does not look back, yet walking away in a defeated pace. Yet it is not in silence, as, after a long period of silence, Knut finds his voice. “Sadly….” is the only response he can formulate. Bjorn watches him, analyzing every pace until he leaves his sight, turning around a corner and disappearing behind a wall. Disappointment overtakes Bjorn, as he turns and walks in the opposite direction, once more turning several corners, approaching yet another wooden door, very similar to the one in the previous encounter. The door, when he is now barely within an arm's reach immediately opens and shut nervously, its opener standing by as if shielding something. It is Eirik, the middle child, an average looking individual, tall, and pale, like many other Ulyadi. His facial features are very weak, soft, and ill defined, save his cheekbones, their prominence emphasized by dark bags haloing his eyes. He is dressed in one, plain red robe, his long hood bouncing as he walks past him, not even acknowledging Bjorn, who looks at him with a confused, crazed expression. The confusion passes however, and he begins pursuing the red robed child, both on their way towards the throne room. By the time Bjorn, and his quiet accompandant arrive at the hall, Thormund and Knut are graciously accepting a gift of three, caged, baby penguins, from Halsar, where they are in abundance. In reality, it is Thormund receiving the gifts with gratitude, with the gaunt Knut slouching in his wooden chair, fashioning an unenthusiastic smile at every present the lord gifts to the three candidates. Before Bjorn takes his seat, the red robed boy, Eirik, assumes his seat, in the middle of the three chairs. Bjorn reassumes his seat, accepting each tribute with gratitude, and empathy, making small talk with each noble who comes to bid their blessings to the candidates. Lord after lord, the story is the same. Thormund and Bjorn greeting each lord with elegance and class, graciously accepting the love of the peerage of the Dukedom. The other two brothers, are a much different story. Eirik is a reserved individual, not expressing much emotion, smiling and nodding at each interaction, with the occasional ‘thank you’, or ‘blessings of blood’, escaping from his sewn lips. Knut, is a different side of the coin. He is anxiously reclining back in the wooden chair, displaying all the symptoms possible for chronic boredom. Such a gruesomely boring duty was not for him, he constantly wondered. Why did he need to be here? A fool could tell that there was already a winner in between the three of them, and that was Bjorn. Him participating in these events simply prolonged his suffering leading up to his inevitable death by the blade of his older brother. A few times, an exceptionally important lord had come to seek audience with the candidates. The endless drum of conversation grew silent, the clitter and clatter of plates clashing and ale pouring into mugs halted, and the musicians ceased to play on their drums and instruments. All of this happened when the Count of Yakur appeared at the gates. A peculiar individual, zealous and militant in his faith. Lord Skegg Hrolfson, was man renowned for his warrior ability. He was granted lordship over the large port city of Yakur, and was a clan chieftain and a master trapper before he was given a castle. As such, his vestments reflected his heritage. Bare chested and barefoot he strode in the halls. An assortment of charms and totems strung around his neck, and his face was painted with ritual markings. Blood around his lips, black around his eyes, and white dots scattered across his body. His hair, falling to almost his elbows, was binded in a long winding braid. Many of the children ran to the comfort of their mothers arm at his manifestation, seeking protection and comfort. Bjorn smiles, rising, and descending the steps, approaching Skegg, and greets him in kind, wrapping his stocky arms around the boys neck. “My boy, you are stronger every time i see you.” raspily addressed Skegg, in his embrace. Tormund would rise as well, and so would Eirik, yet Knut would remain unmoved, slouching in his seat. “Return, Bruce, let your Uncle Skegg breathe.” He’d say, chuckling. Bruce lets go of Skegg, ascending the few steps and standing by his throne. “I trust the journey treated you well, Lord Skegg?” asks Tormund, patting Bruce on the shoulder on his return. He motions towards his hips, wrapped in the soft skin of a large beast. “Indeed it did.” declares Skegg, proudly displaying the prize on his hips. “A man of tradition, you always were. The future Duke would learn a lot from a person of your class.” proclaims Tormund, his gaze shifting to Bruce in the latter part of his sentence. “What did you bring us, young, strapping candidates, Lord Yakur.” interjects Knut, layered with sarcasm. Skegg’s expression immediately darkens, his eyes nearing to squint as he lays them on Knut. “My skills, bones.” grins Skegg, at the spite of Knut. Knut immediately responds. He hates being called that, a silly little nickname from his childhood that his father used to call him. Bjorn snickers, Uncle Skegg and him shared a sense of humor, among many other things.As for Eirik, his emotions remained undecipherable, the boy was already walking enigma, credit to his time spent at Tancreds side. “I will train the candidates, so the lords don't bore themselves watching 3 weak boys butcher themselves with sticks.” announces Skegg, grinning through his yellow stained teeth, quickly glancing at the audience, and back at Tormund, who frowns at first, quickly dissipating as he joins in with the mockery. “Your guidance is much needed, Lord, the youngest one doesnt even kill a worm!”taunts Tormund. The howls of the Lords crescendos, much to the anger of Knut, the target of the foolery. He hated them. All of them. He did not have to listen to this. From his relaxed position on his chair, he rises, almost storming out of the throne room, opening the side room to exit, yet instead of meeting the emptiness of the stone corridors, he gaze greets a massive, daunting set of armor, ruby red in color, its metal cold to the touch of his hand, even though his blood boils. “Move, child.” resonates the familiar voice of Tancred, from behind the armor, ending Knuts awe-stricken trance. The jest of the court would quickly halt. Knut steps backwards, allowing Tancred to wheel the set of armor out through the small doorway, and removing the helm to barely squeeze it through its confines. The laughs of the aristocracy turned into silence, then whispers and murmurs as Tancred wheeled it out, with the assistance of Eirik, down the steps to the center of the room. Knut watched its every movement, his green eyes glued to its plate. The room grew silent as Tancred began to drone on, anecdote after anecdote, relaying the information given to him by Assirbanakh. Knut remained entranced, in the mere presence of the armor. A boy who from a young age, was mesmerized by the history of his sissinik past, this was the highlight of his entire lifetime. Tancred went on, listing the abilities granted to its wearer, and its history, which captured the attention of many warriors, including his own competitors. To Knut, none of this matters. With every passing moment he laid his eyes on the amour, his desire grew. It was not the power, nor the strength that wood him. It was as it was calling him, drawing him closer. His desire was not desire no more. It was need. NATION INFO CITIES: Ulya(Capitol)(Starter) Alost (Port)(Starter) Yakur(Port) Tykirfell Odeilia Rypapa Elirkuta Grimsar Halsar Skalanes Kjolr Krossa Hofsland Folafotr TOWNS: Bitra SETTLEMENTS: POPULATION:9034229+6k x 7%= 9667045 ARMY: (2000)4 units of T3 Medium cavalry (1000) 2 Units of T3 Crowssbowmen (2000) 4 Units of T2 Light Infantry (500)2 Units of T3 Polar Bear Cavalry (1000) 2 Units of T2 Light Archers (1500) 3 Units of T3 Light Cavalry ARMY UPKEEP: 2K GOLD NAVY: UPKEEP FOR NAVY:0K GOLD UPKEEP GOLD:3K(BASE)+28.5K(POP)+12K(TRADE)+39K(MERCHANT GUILD)+8k(PORT)+ 4K(ECON POINTS)+7k(MANUFACTORY)+39K(TOWN BONUS)+500(Bulgar trading thing)+4.5K from treasury=145.5K GOLD GOLD FOR THIS TURN:144K TRADING PARTNERS: Chapel of True Knauledge, Fortress Libraries, Kingdom of Bulgar Trident, Volaruci Princedoms, The Antigonid Dynasty, Kingdom of Icefeld, The Nascent Kingdom BUILDINGS FARMS:37 MERCHANT COMPANY:13 CATHEDRAL:1 CHURCH:1 SHRINE:1 MANUFACTORY:7 PORT:8 TRADING COMPANY:4 SETTLEMENTS:0 TOWNS: CITIES:6 SHRINE:1 HERMITAGE:1 BARRACKS:6 MONASTARY:1 TOTAL MAGI:3 TOTAL ADEPT:36 KEY CHARACTERS DUKE BRUCE OF ULYADAR TANCRED, ORACLE OF THE BLOOD FORGE LUDIN, ORACLE OF ASSIRBANAKH DUKE ARVID, DUKE OF ULYADAR(DECEASED) ACTIONS -3 Fish farms are constructed(-15k) -26 Barracks are constructed by the hand of Thormund Arvidsonn, Bruce’s brother. For what purpose??(-125k, 25 Barracks.) -Some particularly curious mages begin to run a set of experiments at the blood forge. They utilise molten rock from the fiery pools of the volcano to forge weapons, infused with blood or blood magic, in an attempt to recreate the red metal, or perhaps a new finding. The mages are given permission to use all the slaves they use. (4k invested.) -A small ship is sent, with a couple men, to approach the affected area of the mist reavers, but not enter it. On land, the city of Skalanes has had to shift significantly to avoid its maddening grasp, teetering on the edge of insanity. Here, the city becomes a look out into the exclusion zone, hoping to find any information on what is occuring inside.
  12. KINGDOM OF JUDEA “Dammit! The numbers are not adding up!” shouts a man from under an oak tree, with its branches sprawling far and wide over the luscious green gardens. The soothing sound of water flowing, and birds chirping in the hot summer winds are interrupted by the harsh tone of someone angrily fiddling with an abacus. King Abraham furrows both his brows, running his index finger along the lines of texts again and again, until he sets the piece of parchment to the side and begins to furiously slide and move around the wooden blocks on the abacus. “No!” he says, and in a fury he tosses the device against a wall on the opposite of the garden, its strings coming undone and the blocks flying every which way. The creak of a door resonates through the courtyard, and an old priestly looking individual slowly climbs down the steps, stopping half way and looking at the frustrated monarch. “Your Grace, is there anything I can help you with?” He croaks, his voice weak. Abraham responds, his face buried within his palms, in frustration. “Unless you can find me a million pounds of gold, or conjure me a massive Temple, then now, Rabbi, you may not.” Hed snap, massaging his temples with his fingers. The rabbi sighed, shaking his head in disappointment as he trudged up the steps once more, and the King reluctantly begins crunching the numbers, one last time, TOTAL GOLD 10K(BASE)+6K(CITIES)+2K(TRADE ROUTES)=18K+50K(BASE)=68K -7 Markets built, as the King seeks to deepen the coffers!(35,000) -King Abraham redirects royal funds towards Tyre, investing in a port to better facilitate trade connections and networks that are booming at the beautiful coastal city.(10k) -King Abraham elevates two settlements, some of the first to declare loyalty to his Godly regime, to the status of village, Hebron and Jaffa,(-20k) -Accepted trade offer from Macedon, Egypt, and Tarentum. -Sending Trade Offer to Persia.
  13. DUCHY OF ULYADAR 1525 ((No rp, been busy irl, nice post coming in next week)) NATION INFO CITIES: Ulya(Capitol)(Starter) Alost (Port)(Starter) Yakur(Port) Tykirfell Odeilia Rypapa Elirkuta Grimsar Halsar Skalanes Kjolr Krossa Hofsland TOWNS: Folafotr Bitra(income next turn) SETTLEMENTS: POPULATION:8442812+6k x 7%= 9034229 ARMY: (2000)4 units of T3 Medium cavalry (1000) 2 Units of T3 Crowssbowmen (2000) 4 Units of T2 Light Infantry (500)2 Units of T3 Polar Bear Cavalry (1000) 2 Units of T2 Light Archers (1500) 3 Units of T3 Light Cavalry ARMY UPKEEP: 2K GOLD NAVY: UPKEEP FOR NAVY:0K GOLD UPKEEP GOLD:3K(BASE)+27K(POP)+8K(TRADE)+36K(MERCHANT GUILD)+8k(PORT)+ 4K(ECON POINTS)+7k(MANUFACTORY)+36K(TOWN BONUS)+500(Bulgar trading thing)=129.5K GOLD GOLD FOR THIS TURN:127.5K TRADING PARTNERS: Chapel of True Knauledge, Fortress Libraries, Kingdom of Bulgar Trident, Volaruci Princedoms, The Antigonid Dynasty, Kingdom of Icefeld, The Nascent Kingdom BUILDINGS FARMS:34 MERCHANT COMPANY:9 CATHEDRAL:1 CHURCH:1 SHRINE:1 MANUFACTORY:7 PORT:8 TRADING COMPANY:3 SETTLEMENTS:3 TOWNS:1 CITIES:6 SHRINE:1 HERMITAGE:1 BARRACKS:6 BUILDINGS IN PROGRESS: MONASTERY: (20K/90K) TOTAL MAGI:4 TOTAL ADEPT:36 KEY CHARACTERS DUKE BRUCE OF ULYADAR TANCRED, ORACLE OF THE BLOOD FORGE LUDIN, ORACLE OF ASSIRBANAKH DUKE ARVID, DUKE OF ULYADAR(DECEASED) ACTIONS -The city of Hofsland are all given loicenses for a guild hall for artisans and merchants to sell and display their wares. (-10k) -City charters are given to the town of Folafotr.(-15k) -3 Fish farms are constructed(-10k) -A group of lords, teeming with ardor to tap into the plentiful myriad of secrets of their forefathers, pool their coins and furs to finance a collection of sagacious scholars to venture deep within the excavated tombs and ancient artifacts of the Ulyadi’s past and decipher their indiscernible texts, the most valuable remains of their ancestors, especially the meaning of the recurring symbol found everywhere.(-10k) -Assirbanakh is approached, to inquire whether he has awaken. -The Monastery is hastenly completed, after men began to worry and cry about the extended absence of Bruce, fearing only the worst fate. Tancred, in the monastery at the forge, sacrifices many more souls, in order to please their thirsty god, and perhaps gain answers about the fate of their beloved duke. After all, blood is the easiest way to speak to their God.(-70k) -A group of settlers, tired of the crowding conditions beginning to exist at Skalanes, leave to settle several miles down the river, to found their own city, Bitra!(-5K) -4.5k gold is kept within the treasury
  14. KINGDOM OF JUDEA “Then ye shall come up after him, and he shall come and sit upon my throne; for he shall be king in my stead; and I have appointed him to be prince over Israel and over Judah. And Benaiah the son of Jehoiada answered the king, and said: 'Amen; so say the LORD, the God of my lord the king.” -1 Kings 1:35-36 וַעֲלִיתֶם אַחֲרָיו, וּבָא וְיָשַׁב עַל-כִּסְאִי, וְהוּא יִמְלֹךְ, תַּחְתָּי; וְאֹתוֹ צִוִּיתִי לִהְיוֹת נָגִיד, עַל-יִשְׂרָאֵל וְעַל-יְהוּדָה. וַיַּעַן בְּנָיָהוּ בֶן-יְהוֹיָדָע אֶת-הַמֶּלֶךְ, וַיֹּאמֶר אָמֵן: כֵּן יֹאמַר יְהוָה, אֱלֹהֵי אֲדֹנִי הַמֶּלֶךְ. מְלָכִים א A nation wrought out of from the cold grasps of the iron shackles of slavery. Slaves to the Pharoahs of Egypts, slaves to the Kings out of Media, slaves to the Kings out of Greece, and out of Gaul. An entire nations destiny collared by the leash of foreign outsiders, numerous times, only to reach freedom by the steady hand of a watching God, a merciful God, a God of their people, a God that lead them to a land of milk and honey. All in vain, as it was only to be forced to the whip and lash once more by centuries of masters. Many were cruel, and hated, and many were gentle, and loved. Yet none, save an isolated few, were theirs. Yet, in the midst of all these strifes, the Jews, a hardy folk, persisted, as master andeEmpire rose, and crumbled. Every master that came, sought to harm the people of David. For many years, the Pharaoh tried to enslave it, yet Moses, with the help of God, lead the people of Israel through the Exodus, and introduced them to their promised land. Thereafter, the Damned-King Nebuchadnezzar came, and set the land to the torch as he expelled their people from their land, beginning the first exile. Centuries later. the Babylonians crumbled into the dust, their place taken by the Medians, yet the Jewish nation remained strong, prospering in their new homes. The Jews remained in exile, until His anointed one, Cyrus the Great, a gentle ruler, allowed the people to return to their homes, abandoned centuries before by a harsh king. Thus, with his edicts ended the first and second exiles. A period of peace ensued, where the temple was rebuilt and prophets were bountiful in the land. Then came the Greeks, who imposed harsh laws, suppressing the rules that have been inscribed in stone thousands of years prior. The Maccabees, a noble band of warriors, rose up in response to the Greeks and their vile despots, and struck them down, establishing the first Jewish nation in many centuries. The third exile ended, peace came, and all was well for a time. Yet, then came the Gauls, a nation who with their savage methods of warfare and bonded hair struck the noble jews down, no doubt as retribution for straying away from the divine path. These Gauls, attempted to impose upon us the teachings of a false prophet, Jesus ‘Christ’, after we rightfully had him put to the cross for his endless spout of slander and heresies. Revolts and unrest came shortly after, and out of spite, the Gauls drove us from our lands once more, commencing the fourth and final exile according to the prophecy of Daniel. After the Gallic Empire had become decrepit and weak, a noble man, of Davidic descent, rose up to lead the Jews out of the Gallic shackles, out of the final exile, per the prophecy of Daniel. Abraham ben Gamliel, a nasi of the Hebrew nation, a warrior-priest was inspired by a vision of a massive temple standing once more, in the city of David, Jerusalem. A righteous man, he listened to the cries of his people, and lead the Jews back into their homelands, against the whims of the waning Gauls. Thousands of Jews trekked through foreign, hostile territory back into the promised land in a scene reminiscent of that of the revered journey out of Egypt. The Gauls were forced to end the exile, and the Jews, spread throughout the corners of the world, returned to the very same lands their forefathers had abandoned centuries before, when the Gauls were feared and respected. It is here, then, when the first brick was set in the Jewish nation. Abraham, in his prime then, was a learned scholar, and had read the Holy Scrolls countless times, and was fully aware of the prophecy, a prophecy that was fulfilled. The Fourth and final Exile ended, and a Jewish state, the final one for all eternity, would need to rise, for it was the will of their G-d. And it was so. On the first passover the Jews celebrated in the promised land, Abraham ben Gamliel lead an angry mob throughout the streets of Jerusalem. Thousands of Jewish citizens marched through the streets in his program, slaughtering the remains of the gaullish garrison warding the ancient city. After a week of chaos, fires, and violence, the last soldiers holding out in the last Herodian stronghold fell to Abraham and his men, and a Kingdom of Judea was announced, on the steps of the Temple Mount. The Gaullish soldiers were all crucified, to spite them in the same manner the Gauls had mass crucified the Jews on their arrival. Much of the city was ruined, including the Holy Church of the Gauls, amongst other important buildings. Yet even so, Abraham, when the Holy city was his,he turned outwards, beyond the thick stone walls of the Davidic city. He and his army of zealots went campaigning across Judea, seizing town after town, city after city. Many times, Abraham arrived to see a line of Gauls burning in the desert sun, nailed to the cross, behind a slaughtered lamb and other burnt offerings to the Lord. And this put a smile on his face. All of Judea fell to Abraham, and the jewish people had finally been imparted with a just savior. However, the success of the new Hebrew nation were the envy of others. The Gauls had abandoned their losses, and extracted their last men from their last fortified position in the land, and finally the land was Jewish, at last, what they had been waiting for. Yet, there were still those who sought to test the new nation, God's chosen people. The Great Median Empire to the east, wrongly thought the newborn nation was weak, and sought to bring the Jewish nation to their heel, as they had done thousands of years before during a time when the nation had strayed from the words of scripture, the word of their G-d. Now was not that time. Droves of Persians flooded over the river Jordan, spouting their flame-worshipping nonsense, burning temples and slaughtering Jews by the thousands. Every alley they swept through was stacked with resistance, and stoned streets of Jewish towns were stained red with the blood of persians. Yet they were many, and when one died, three more came to take his place. The persians were a strong foe, and they conquered a vast part of Judea, even reaching the gates of Jerusalem itself. For a time, it seemed as if it were all a sham, a intricate game played by their God. Yet, to refute all other claims, Masada, a fortress manned by merely 200 men, still held out against an army nearly a hundred times that size. As long as the men at Masada held strong, the nation of Israel survived. “Masada will not fall again…” -King Abraham, on the gates of Jerusalem fending off a Persian siege. The persians and their unholy armies crossed Judea, and flooded into Egypt. Their generals were smart, brilliant even, and every army they meet on the field was met with defeat. Except for Abraham. Jerusalem would have been a crown jewel,for the Persians, and for many years they besieged it. Yet no matter how many catapults, how many trebuchets, how many men they would toss carelessly at the walls, the Jews would not bend. For years, the scene was the same. An endless siege, trebuchets wreaking havoc on the roads and buildings, yet the wall remained firm, drenched in the blood of Medians. It was only when an army arrived from the north, after routing a Persian army, that the siege was broken, and Jerusalem was relieved. The city was safe, yet swathes of the king’s land still remained under occupation of the enemy. Abraham, riding at the behest of a united host of the people of Israel, retook his lands, and forced the Persians to return, all the way in Egypt now, over the river Jordan to their temples of fire and desert cities. Victory was declared at Masada, which never fell to the invaders, and Judea was Jewish once more. KING ABRAHAM BEN GAMLIEL
  15. DUCHY OF ULYADAR 1523 The setting in the Ice keep has gone unchanged, even if through 20 years, long, unique years. It is a different age, the rule of Duke Arvid, one of peace, stability, and more importantly, normalcy. What has been for thousands of years has remained, not the case in the present where the wraths of Gods lash out from magic stone pillars and leave a gaping whole in your stomach. In the courtyard, there is a tall, bare chested stout boy, with flowing locks of sun-sprayed hair, bearing a wooden sword, sweating behind an aged shield littered with chips, cracks, and nicks. Before him, sprawling on the snow blanketed floor lays another child, with long black hair held up in a braid and wearing a leather tunic and black britches. He is grimacing, his hand tightly gripping the area behind his knee, as he hobbles up on his feet once more, and locating his weapons, a similar busted shield and a large dane axe, made of wood. “Come on, Bruce! I didn't even hit you that hard!” he'd say, snickering behind the cover of his shield. At the jeer, Bruce is overcome with anger, releasing a shrill yell from within as he charges his foe, bashing the edge of his axe against his shield, wildly and uncontrollably, in a small tantrum. His opponent, had little to no time to pull together a coherent reaction, and he had to absorb quite the barrage of clean connecting shots, before his instincts kicked in, forcing him to bash the fiery boy away, and land his own collection of strikes with his sword, causing Bruce to fall to the ground, once more. Yet, his opponent, unlike the first occasion, was not merciful. As if inspired by the flames of vengeance, the golden-haired boy did not hold his blade back when the young Bruce landed on the ground. He simply continued, bashing and bashing at the poor, helpless child on the ground. Yet, Bruce did not cry for help, shielding his head as he repeatedly attempted to kick his foes leg in. This near helpless struggle continued, until the boy got one, direct shot on his head, and that was all it took, to knock him out cold.. The next memory he had after the incident, he woke up in a bed inside the keep, his father by his side, amongst other maids and knights. His face, and the rest of his body, was a cacophony of different injuries. Bruises, cuts, and scratches of every size and shape were sprayed throughout his body, his face serving as a testament to this. On his bedside stood his father, the late Duke Arvid, and beside him the same boy, with an expression of pity and regret upon his chubby, tear filled features. Arvid placed a hand on the boy, as if guiding him towards Bruce. His fatherly voice, soothing as it is commanding, quietly quivers; “You know what to do, Gnupa.” The regretful boy Gnupa nods, and slowly makes his way closer, standing next to the pillow now, as the young princes gaze follow him. “I’m sorry, Bruce. I didn't mean it, y-you just made me really mad.” He'd say in a rather convincing voice, yet not possessing the dignity to make eye contact with his victim. It was a sorry attempt really. Yet, Bruce was still happy that Gnupa came and apologized, smiling at first at the thought of making up with his friend. All was well, until, like a winter gush of cold air, a memory resurfaced from his deepest stores. He remembered a night, where his father was sharing the story of their Sinissk Ancestors, and their demise. Yet, one line stuck out to him, out of the entire anecdote. “Show no mercy to your enemies, for they will show none to you.” Any happiness the young prince had inside him faded, he'd turn in the bed, facing the opposite direction as Gnupa. A deep sigh could be heard throughout the room, followed by the shuffling of feet growing softer, before the clank of the wooden door results in silence. NATION INFO CITIES: Ulya(Capitol)(Starter) Alost (Port)(Starter) Yakur(Port) Tykirfell Odeilia Rypapa Elirkuta Grimsar Halsar Skalanes Kjolr Krossa TOWNS: Hofsland(income next turn) SETTLEMENTS: POPULATION:7890086+6k x 7%= 8442812 ARMY: (8000)16 units of T3 Medium Infantry (2000)4 units of T3 Medium cavalry (1000) 2 unit of T3 Heavy Infantry (1000) 2 Units of T3 Crowssbowmen (2000) 4 Units of T2 Light Infantry (500)2 Units of T3 Polar Bear Cavalry (1000) 2 Units of T2 Light Archers (1500) 3 Units of T3 Light Cavalry ARMY UPKEEP: 3.5K GOLD NAVY: 10 COGS 5 GALLEYS 4 CARRACKS UPKEEP FOR NAVY:10K GOLD UPKEEP GOLD:3K(BASE)+24K(POP)+8K(TRADE)+27K(MERCHANT GUILD)+8k(PORT)+ 4K(ECON POINTS)+7k(MANUFACTORY)+30K(TOWN BONUS)+500(Bulgar trading thing)=111.5K GOLD GOLD FOR THIS TURN:98K TRADING PARTNERS: Chapel of True Knauledge, Fortress Libraries, Kingdom of Bulgar Trident, Volaruci Princedoms, The Antigonid Dynasty, Kingdom of Icefeld, The Nascent Kingdom BUILDINGS FARMS:32 MERCHANT COMPANY:6 CATHEDRAL:1 CHURCH:1 SHRINE:1 MANUFACTORY:7 PORT:2 TRADING COMPANY:3 SETTLEMENTS:3 TOWNS:1 CITIES:6 SHRINE:1 HERMITAGE:1 BARRACKS:6 BUILDINGS IN PROGRESS: MONASTERY: (20K/90K) TOTAL MAGI:4 TOTAL ADEPT:36 KEY CHARACTERS DUKE BRUCE OF ULYADAR TANCRED, ORACLE OF THE BLOOD FORGE LUDIN, ORACLE OF ASSIRBANAKH DUKE ARVID, DUKE OF ULYADAR(DECEASED) ACTIONS -The cities of Kjolr, Krossa, and Skalanes are all given loicenses for a guild hall for artisans and merchants to sell and display their wares. (-30k) -City charters are given to the town of Hofsland.(-15k) -The Duchy undertakes a bold event of a parley with the glacier tribes. A group of 5 men infiltrate the glaciers, bearing no arms, and sporting a white flag. On the instant that the ambush begins, the party declares that they wish nothing more but dialogue(-1.5k) -Two more fish farms are constructed! (10k) -Ports are built in the cities of Kjolr, Krossa, Skalanes, Rypapa, Grimsar, and Halsar.(-60k) -A group of settlers, tired of the crowding conditions beginning to exist at Skalanes, leave to settle several miles down the river, to found their own city, Hofsland!(-5K) -An Adept goes searching inside the Blood Forge, inside the mountain, suspended above pools of lava, for a miniscule staircase.
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