Alfonso X el Sabio

KINGDOM OF AUBERON The Banner of Auberon, with the Irimonid Dragonlord, Vorseax, in red. RACE: MEN MAGIC: The men of Auberon bow to the Scaled-Gods, the Dragon-Cult. LORE: THE BIRTH The history of Auberon starts before the Shearing, in the homeland of Man. The aristocracy of Auberon all trace their roots back to Lords and Counts of the Dragonhavens, where in the beginning, Dragons, the Gods themselves, guided Men in erecting great cities. The Dragon Kings ruled over Men in the havens for hundreds if not thousands of years, and before their passing, bestowed governance to Stewards, which later became Princes, and later became Kings. In the early days, Men would sow barley and rye onto long rolling hills, and worry about the coming harvest, entrusting the responsibility of commencing a civilization to their Gods. In those ancient times, the Dragons were said to be sages, and were benevolent, treating Men as a mother treats a babe. With the raging flames in their throats, the Gods etched long promenades and boulevards directly into the bedrock, for their children to sell their wares and their grain. The Dragons were not idle rulers, and Men did not hold fear, or hatred in their heart for their rulers. They adorned their lairs in gold, silver, dyes, and grains. In those days, Men would consult the Dragons, utilising the great wisdom of their early Wardens to extend their cities, construct new roads, and distribute crops. Men, outstretched their feeble arms to the warmth of the Dragons hearth, and the Dragons took them in, swaddling the race of Men. This period of harmony lasted for thousands of years, until the God-Kings began to grow weary of their thrones. They grew restless, anxious by an insatiable hunger which came to plague their race. THE AGE OF MEN Simurgh the Manreaper, Despot of Andaram “ In the time before your forefathers first harvest, I remember my flames washing over a family of deer. If it is quiet enough, the fawns squeals still echo through my mind, as I singed the fur off of its skin. When I delivered their cooked corpses to your starving kin, was the day I became a God. Bread has made your race fat and happy, and most unfortunately for you, forgetful and ungracious.” -Simurgh the Manreaper to a group of councilmen, before roasting them alive. Men prostrated before their God-Kings before their Liars for thousands of years, as the Dragons oversaw the construction and expansion of the cities of Men. Eventually, those beings who had ruled over Men for millennia matured. Their hides grew strong, their voices hoarse, their wisdom rotted, and Greed overtook their minds. Greed, and lust caused the Dragons to envy the wealth of other cities, of their own followers, and of other dragons. The Gods placed men against men, and men bled. Hosts of men clashed against each other, in order to satiate the infinite lust of their masters. Many times, the Dragons would fight alongside Men, and the battlefield would transform to a hellscape of fire, mud, blood, and melted rock. During this time, many of the Progenitors, Saint-Like figures who were the founders of the Dragon Havens, were extinguished. The legends of this era have been chronicled courtesy of a later Dragon, into the Igneous Tome, a collection of 145 plaques of Obsidian, which recount various events of this chaotic era in the perspective of the reluctant, perfect Dragons, attempting to fix the childish err’s of man. From this time forward, the Dragons, one by one were ousted from the thrones, and Men began to take their place, spawning an array of lineage and houses, Kings and Princes. Legend has it that the early Dragon’s, saturated with magic, many times spawned a Man, with the purpose of becoming King. There are few noble houses with the blood of one of the Progenitors who completed the exodus; these Lineages are referred to as ‘hatched’ lines, as their patriarch is said to have hatched out of an egg. THE SHEARING/THE GREAT FLIGHT When the Stewards first began to spread word of the Shearing, the Dragonhavens immediately began making preparations. In the midst of calamity over the destruction of their native lands, the neighbouring domains began to pack onto ships. The Dragon-Havens followed suit, selling tickets for childs-worth cargo space for as high as 200 gold pieces. The nobility mounted their Wyverns and their Wyrms, and took to the skies, flying above the commoners. A hastily made council convened prior to the Shearing, elected Irimon, a mediocre Steward, to lead the Great Flight, mainly because he was sworn to a Wyrm, a massive Wyvern, and it would be easily identifiable from the ships who were sailing. Irimon, in his Wyrm, carried the Igneous Tomes over the sea, and was the beacon for the diaspora from the Dragon Havens. Upon landing, he was in awe with the potential of the great land, and immediately declared himself, the Wyrm-King. In exchange for assisting Kras Botin in conquering the Bay of Botin, Ralek himself bestowed nobility to Irimon, one of the first men he did so to. Irimon established the Kingdom of Auberon in the newly-conquered Bay of Botin, naming his Kingdom after the Dragonhaven he was Steward of in the homeland. NOTABLE CHARACTERS Queen Diana of Auberon, the Burned Lady The first Queen of Auberon, Diana took control after a recent succession crisis in the Kingdom, where the nobles settled the issue of succession at the Battle of the Charred Throne. Diana, and her host, met Mykhailo’s Knights at a field several leagues southwest of the capitol. Diana, led an army of what was essentially slaves, farmers and commoners she pressed into service by arriving on her Wyrm, Malagon, to countryside hamlets. Mykhailo appeared riding at the behest of his host consisting of levies, and his infamous Pikes. Diana’s strategy consisted of fire. He ordered her Peasant-Army to charge, serving only as flesh for Mykhailo’s skewers. She ascended atop of Malagon, her Wyrm, and first burned any deserters, and stragglers in her own army, before directing Malagon’s wrath on Mykhailo’s host, indiscriminately burning thousands of her own soldiers as well. Many farmers recounted that the smell of burnt flesh could be noted 10 leagues away. Mykhailo surrendered, and swore to Diana, who sat atop a Charred Stump, which continues to stand to this day, inside an inn called the same name. Tenets can visit, and the section with the Charred Stump doubles as a brothel, a testament to their perspective on Queen Diana. Pavel Irimon, the Wisp Pavel is Diana's brother, with whom they share a son, in an ill-thought effort to quell any discussion about the succession of the throne following the death of Diana. Pavel is described to be mentally slow, and is confined to a wheelchair, as a result of an accident he had when he was younger. Mykhailo Irimon, Marshall of Auberon Mykhailo is a Duke in the Kingdom, and a man of few words. He is noted for his military expertise, having served in 3 different armies in his youth. Before anything else, he places his immediate family, and many in his realm look up to him for that. In his youth, he was ambitious, willing to go to war for what he perceived as right, as seen by the succession crisis. Now, he has grown stale. POINT OF INTEREST: The Garden of the High Men Prior to the Shearing, there was a King by the name of Melethor who held dominion over several dragonhavens. He was unbothered with the issues of the realm, mainly because he preferred botany over ruling. He curated Royal Gardens, where he kept many different species of exotic plants and trees native to the land of Men. Before the Great Flight left the havens during the shearing, the curators of the garden, loaded Wyverns with saplings, seeds, and documents, sacrificing their own lives for the preservation of the flora of the Land of Men. Irimon, founded the Garden of the High Men, the largest collection of flora from the homeland of Men, and the only one of its kind. It includes hundreds of different flowers, and trees, including some plants which can be used for a variety of purposes….. (Going to have 3-5 Specific plants that have various purposes, will PM it to you) Unique Unit: Wyrms Malagon, the Plagued, Queen Diana’s Wyrm. An old Wyrm, in his old age succumbing to Wingrot, and Eskanders Blight. Legend has it that Wyrms were created by an old Progenitor, Ralexor, when he dropped an egg, forcing it to hatch prematurely. They lack the sentience and wisdom of a Dragon, but are 3-4 times larger than a standard Wyvern, and are much stronger, with a breath that burns much hotter. Amongst the Dragonhavens, they were very popular, until they superseded Wyverns all together. Usually, the trademark of hatched houses is the possession of an entire lineage of Wyrm’s, and riders are sworn to their mounts for life. LOCATION The spot on Wills application

THE CACIQUEDOM OF CANEY Been busy studying! MOD ACTIONS -As a result of the new Baknari patrols, the Cayen way of life has been attacked. As such, Chief Cayey leads his armies to subjugate the two northernmost villages circled. (1000 lights) Economic Actions -None!

THE CACIQUEDOM OF CANEY Cacimar leaps out from the ship, the soles of his bare feet slapping against the shallow water as he does so. His eyes scanning the beach, he eyes down the large congregation welcoming the return of the warriors. He kneels down into the water, cupping water into his hands and washing the war paint off of his lean arms. Another Caney, stops behind him, also admiring the crowd. “In many moons have I seen a crowd like this,” the man says, remarking. Cacimars eyes narrow, his eyelids shielding his pupils from the glaring coastal sun. “There will probably be more Mamey’s,” Cacimar replies, dryly. The man playfully nudges him in the shoulder, “Xico told me you didn't mount a single Amazonian.” The man chuckles. “Your reed alright, Cacimar? Those southerners didnt manage to prick it, did they?” Cacimar chuckles lightly, nudging him back. “Save me a seat at the Guatu, Jumacao.” He begins to walk away, small waves breaking against his calves. “Your ancestors are watching you, you know!” Jumacao yells back, to which Cacimar only replies with a grin, and a nod. Cacimar stands up, the war paint off his entire body now, as he begins to approach the beach. By now, he was the last to reach the greeting party. As he approaches a large table, with an assortment of different fruits, he grabs a couple mamey fruits, before he strolls over to a palm tree, taking a seat against its trunk, facing the reception. His teeth sink into the fruit, before he rips off a chunk, exposing a bright orange flesh. His eyes, following the Great Cacique. He watches, as he exchanges formalities with several Caciques, and his wives, who pay homage to him in the fashion of a warrior. He laughs at this, mid bite, as he rips a piece of flesh off. In his mind, jealously brewed. It irked Cacimar, to see his brother go through the royal formalities. It will always make him laugh, how his brother avoids his gaze, how his brothers eyes gloss over him as if he were a nobody. It will always tempt him, however, the fantasy of the Turtle-Shell crown being adorned on his head. MOD ACTIONS -1 cog, 8 War-canoes, with 380 Warriors (140 light spearmen, 240 light onehanded), depart, with the dream conch, to raid whatever the green nation is on the mouth of the river. -This time, General Cayey marches with his host to meet this new Cacique that had risen to fame in the South, Chief Big Shitta. 770 Light Warriors march to meet the Chief. When they arrive, Cayey offers to settle the ordeal by 1 on 1 combat. If Cayey loses, or the Chief rejects, the army will attack anyways. ECONOMIC ACTIONS -1 Harbour is built

THE CACIQUEDOM OF CANEY The thunderous claps of a symphony of drums reverberate on the peaks that ornament the Sacred Valley of the Caney. An upbeat, ominous rhythm causes many of the critters, usually fast asleep in their nests and dens, to be stirred by the booms. Near the beach, a dozen elongated rafts line the coast, dimly illuminated by a thin veil of warm light from nearby torches. Before them, amassed are hundreds of warriors, knee deep in the water, some with clubs, others with ornate spears decorated with feathers, shells, with a shiny, sharpened tip at the end. Many of these weapons have been in these warriors' families for generations, passed down from father to son. At the behest of the warriors, a lean individual, with long flowing dreadlocks, and a white crown atop of head. He carries, at his right hip, a long sword, of some form of white metal. On his left side, a large conch, polished and waxed, with many beads and strings decorating it, the dream conch. Behind him, several older men, amongst them Cayey, standing unnerved, to the right of the young Chief. Resting upon his bare shoulders is his signature weapon, his mace, with its handle, according to legend, made from the Femur of his family's patriarch, Gauca, who was the firstborn son of Atabey, also the firstborn of the Seven-Faced Turtle. Placed before the Great Cacique, on a large wooden table, is colossal sized Swordfish, the Jicotea, or the Warrior-Fish. On the other side of the fish, a priest, with a massive headdress, larger than he is, and a painted reed dress. As the drums beat in the background the priest raises his hands to sky, trembling. “KUIRIXIA JAN KATU, CIMU-CIMU HUKA TANOMA, HU TAN TIRIEIRO, INARU CAONA MABRIKA ANAKENO!” The Priest, begins to twitch, as his hands lower, and he points towards the ocean. “ARABOKU CIMU-CIMU HUKA NANCHI WAKA, SENEKO KAKONA! KAKONA! JARABACOA, NANA D’ITU TUKA-TUKA ANI!” The Priest’s entire body begins to tremble and shake now, as he looks to the sky, white foam beginning to seep from the corners of his mouth, dripping onto the sand below. The Warriors, amassed behind the Cacique, fall into the water, their eyes just above the water line. The Drums, begin to beat faster. The priest, begins again. “WA SAKA WA, BUKA SIBA ABALI OKO ANAKENO, CIMU-CIMU KATU, HUKA AHIAHUDE! HUKA AHIADUE! JARABACOA, HUKA AHIAHUDE!” The Priests eyes, roll to the back of his head, his eyes now pearly white. On the table, he dips his fingers into a bowl with some gray oil, and begins to draw spirals on his face. His fingers shake every time they dip into the bowl. “WA , WA CIMU, OKO SIBA, CANEY!” The Priest says, shouting. The warriors, shout back. “CANEY!” The Drums, beat faster yet again. The Great Cacique, as if on cue, unfastens his sword, and slices the belly of the Sword-fish, cleanly. His hand slips past the slice, and he rips out a small sack-like organ, with millions of little orbs. He opens his mouth, and the orbs begin to fall into his mouth, and he casts the sack to the side, on the beach. The Priest, before him, slices his forearms open, blood dripping on the sand, and begins chanting, as he starts to dance in the sand. The Cacique turns around, and he addresses his warriors gathered before him. “The Sea-Slugs to the south, the thrice cursed Bak-Nari, have slaughtered our ma’ana and taken our kani. Because of this slight, Atabey will sail with us, on his seal, Maci, when we exact judgement. Their ma’ana, will be slaughtered, as they did to us. The dieties above have told me the punishment they wish to deliver on their kani. Guabacanex orders the kani defiled, and drowned. May the deities above grant the warriors of the Caney a long breath.” “WA KOKO WA, CANEY” Shrieks the priest, as the Warriors rise from the ocean, now canvassed in a grey colour. As they rise from the beach, many of the warriors have been transformed, from a tame human, to flesh construct possessed by some form of otherworldly savage creature, as many begin to let out unnatural sounds, and guttural screams. One by one they all walk up to the altar, take a bite out of the swordfish, and board their canoes. Before long, all that was left of the fish was the long spine. The Priest delivers a final blessing upon the warriors, and the canoes push off of shore, into the abyss of the twilight. MOD ACTIONS -1 cog, 8 War-canoes, with 380 Warriors (380 light one-handed), depart, with the dream conch, to the northern enclave of the Bakari, to enact the Spirit of the Wave, Guabacanex, the Arbiter, judgement on the Bak-nari. They raid a village, slaughtering the men, and defiling all the women. They also take whatever their canoes can store from the village. The men on the canoes, invade from the sea, while the warriors on the cog, invade from land. -500 light warriors, subjugate two villages to the south of the Sacred Valley. Economic Actions -1 One mine is built.

THE GREAT CACIQUEDOM OF CANEY The Caneyans, as are what the inhabitants of the Jabacoa, or, ‘Promised Valley’, are called, are distinct from many of their cloud-faced neighbours in the north. The cloud-faces, clad in hide, like to cower in their great carved stones and houses made of strewn branches. The Caney do not grow fur on their cheeks, nor does their skin turn the color of the Mamey pulp when out for too long. The Caney live in bohios, huts made of tightly packed reed, and palm fronds, fastened with rope made from the husk of the coconut. The abodes of the Warriors, priests, and Yacaciques, minor Chiefs, are made of earth sourced from the River Jaba, set out on a cliff on the north facing side of the Guajaibon, the highest peak in the valley, cooked by the sun. The most elderly shamans, the flesh on their faces and arms made rough from the small grooves etched by the sands of time, hold that the Caney were not from these lands, instead having sailed across the Big Sea, at the beginning of the Age. The shamans hold that the first Great Cacique, Hatuey, in a vision, was given a Star in the night sky by the Jarabacoa, by the Seven-Faced Turtle whom the Caney all worship. The day after the Great Hatuey had the vision, the Star appeared, bright, its white light shining off the water. Hatuey followed the star for 19 days, and 19 nights, until the Caney disembarked in the Sacred Valley where they reside to this day. It is said on the night the Caney arrived on the shores of the Jarabacoa, there was a turtle laying eggs on the beach, which the Caney took as a message from the Jarabacoa. The Headpiece of the Great Cacique, to this day, is adorned by the crushed shells laid by the turtle on that night, many years ago. Today, the Caney live, beholden to their promised valley, and to their Great Cacique. Upon the banks of the River Guama, the women grow their fruits, and tend to their crops, the mani, and the ceiba. The multitude of fruits grown by the Caney, grown at the foot of the mountains protecting the Caney, like a mother swaddling her child, drink water from waterfalls born higher than the clouds. The Warriors of the Caney, the Cibuco, continue to leave on the First Thursday of the Month, to foreign shores and beaches, reaving the coasts and rivers of the cloud-faces, as they have done for thousands of years before. Notable Characters GREAT CACIQUE HABAGUANEX, SAINT OF THE GREAT TURTLE, THE MIGHTIEST OF THE CIBUCO, WIELDER OF THE BRIGHT STAR, YACACIQUE OF CIBONEY, REAPER OF COUNTLESS BEACHES, HE WHO GROWS ON GOOD EARTH, 413 MAMEY TREES TO HIS FATHER’S NAME. The current Cacique of the Caney, and to whom the Yacacique’s pay homage to. He has decided to take 3 different wives, one from Ciboney, one from Baracoa, and another, a priestess. A young Cacique, the 143rd son of Hatuey, only 4 years into his rule. An ambitious, rakish young man, it will take time, and trial, to mould him into a chieftain of note. A distinguished Cibuco, one thing that can be said certain, is that he is the Mighty One, an experienced War Captain, who has led many raids to the lands of the cloud-faced. Yet, he lacks the knowledge, and temperance, of an experienced, gallant commander. As the River Guama moulded the Promised Valley, so will time mould the young Great Cacique. CAYEY, YACACIQUE OF BARACOA The oldest Yacacique in Jabacoa, and someone with the Great Caciques Ear. He has seen the Great Cacique grow from a small boy, to a feared warrior. Having been on 180 raids himself, he is a respected commander, and when the meetings on the big rock happen, or the Auyama, the yearly gathering of all the lesser chiefs of the Caney, his word is one of the most respected, and heeded. He has 93 Mamey Trees to his name, also making him one of the richest amongst the Caney, beside from the Great Cacique. CACIMAR, WARRIOR Cacimar, is a regular old Warrior. Nothing special about him! UNIQUE UNIT The Jurakan: A militant sect of warrior priests, whose defining feature is that they hold the secret to a form of infinite fire. Made ritualistically, in secret high in the mountains, the liquid these priests wield can spawn an exceptionally hot bright blue flame which continues raging even on water. The priests' skin is all an unnatural grey colour, different from the usual brown. In battle, and raids, they wear skulls, and are some of the only Caneyans who care enough to collect the shiny rocks and colourful strings many of the cloud-faces are also associated with. NATIONAL IDEA Reapers of the Northern Coasts- The Caney are, by nature, raiders, and pillagers. They have been boarding barges, razing villages, and stealing the riches of the northern coasts for generations. The Caneyan Warrior has been deep down all the major arteries of the region. During raids, the Caney are particularly ferocious, and excel in combat. POI The Dreaming Conch: A small clay whistle, in the shape of a small, ornate conch. When blown through the tip, a soft frequency emanates, which in close quarters causes groups of 4 or less to fall into a deep slumber, and when used on entire towns, allow the raiders to better sneak up on unsuspecting towns and villages.

GENERAL TSO’S CLIQUE “Some asked me how many women I have, Always I told them I didn't know, A boy called me his dad, Who I also didn't even know.” -General Tso’s Classics, p. 781. General Tso, was born to a janitor, and a food stand operator on the streets of Orteau. He lived a completely indistinguishable life from the billions of other Imperial Citizens living below the poverty line. A malnourished boy, he was eventually forced into crime, operating with the other boys in his sector in large, roving, packs of pickpocketers. Eventually, his parents separated, and he went to live with his mother, in the house of her new lover, who was a prestigious, and well known plumber, a drastic step up from her previous partner. As time progressed, he ascended the ranks within his street gang, and led them into the stars, where they became hyperlane bandits, raiding cargo ships whose captains were foolish enough to traverse the stars alone, defenseless. Eventually, he returned to Orteau, albeit only for a layover, where he was conscripted into the Imperial Army. He was due to go to Buath, however, missed his transport off of Orteau, because of, what he later described as, “deliberating bowel movements.” He did however, distinguish himself in combat against the Irerachy in another world, so much so that he was rewarded with the second in command position of his unit, and successor to his commander. Following the collapse of the Empire, and the Republic had still not consolidated its rule over the eastern stretch of the galaxy, Tso remained loyal to his commander, who was promoted by Pepe to Governor, over a stretch of space not yet conquered. Tso became good friends with the Commander's son, of which he would regularly engage in extremely public narcotics usage. He would be openly intoxicated through the streets of whatever town or city he was stationed in, and was seen many times completely naked, through which he earned one of his many sobriquets, “So-so Tso”, because of his painfully mediocre fertility. Now, second in command over a large sector of planets, he was the paradigm of loyalty. On one such occasion, he arrived by his preferred mode of transportation, litter, to the Governor's Palace. Upon seeing the Governor bore cane, thrusted himself off his litter, and joined the porters, yet did not make it far, due to his very lanky nature, earning himself another appendage, “Piccolo Tso”, because his arms are nearly the width of a piccolo. His dog-like loyalty inspired many of his subservients, and kept him in the favor of the Governor to be appointed his successor, upon his passing due to an illness. After a lengthy state funeral, progressing over 17 days, he assumed command of the stellarchy. In the capital world of Mookini, he has established what is reminiscent of a medieval court, complete with a harem, court fools, eunuchs, butlers, etc. He is known to hand out honorable titles to his companions, bestowing upon Lieutenant Mein, the title of “Groom of the Stool,” a position he reserved for someone in extremely close confidence to him, however, it is not truly known whether the title is merely honorary, as some conflicting reports say otherwise. It has been proven that he is a completely terrible administrator, however, is propped up only by Mein’s genius. UNIQUE IDEAS TBD CHARACTERS: Lieutenant Lokulani “Lo” Mein A young, loyal servant to Tso, with exceptionally dashing characteristics. He was forced to take a vow of celibacy, by Tso, because he described needing someone “indistractable” as his second, although many believe it is to eliminate the possibility of Mein stealing one of Tso’s many concubines. An intelligent, capable young man, he is the one who attends to the day-to-day management affairs of the stellarch. Captain Eckheart “Eck” Wol A lowly cruiser commander, he is a refugee from Kuamai, who sought to escape the endless war engulfing the planet. Nothing special about him! Commander Dimitri “Dim” Som An old friend of Tso from his days as an imperial conscript, he is the commander of the _________ Legion, Tso’s most capable and effective fighting unit. He is described as the third in command, following Mein. A Letter: R

THE COMMONWEALTH The ancient oak of the door in the entrance to Joseph's office, when knocked produces a beautiful melodic chord which reverts throughout his office. It was meticulously chosen for this very characteristic, as promised, three consecutive chords emanated from the doorway. Joseph puts down his monocle, reclining back in his char. “Come in,” he states plainly. The gears the in lock grind, and the door opens, revealing an aged man, with short, silver hair, a stately demeanor on his face, and dressed in a fine suit. “Henry,” Joseph chimes, an enlightened look on his face. “Do come in, take a seat, and shut the door behind you,” he commands, and he rises, and strolls over to a small table with a finely carved cinnabar bottle, foreign in origin. He produces two separate glasses from a cupboard before him, and pops the bottle, filling the cups with a bronze stained solution. As he returns to his seat, he leans over the table, distributing one of the glasses to his guest, before leaning back and playfully swirling the liquid in his cup. “The finest from the west, Henry,” Joseph retorted, allowing a small sample of the refreshment in between his lips. “Tell me Henry, what news do you bring,” A grin manifests on Henry's slim, cracked lips. “From the capitol, ser,” he pronounces, handing over a manila envelope with a green wax seal, bearing the insignia of the Office of the Prime Minister. Joseph sets down his glass, prying away the wax from the seal, and producing a folded letter from within. “A promotion to Secretary of the Treasury,” he beamed, a clear smile forming under the shade of his lips. “Good, Henry,” he says, flipping the page over momentarily, before setting it on the table. “What else, Henry tell me,” He commands. “Ser, newly appointed Foreign Minister has expressed he will be amicable towards our interests, following the generous donation you made to his mistress’ charity. The Defense Secretary, the House Speaker, the Interior Minister, and 3 of the Justices in the Supreme Court, have expressed like minded thoughts. There are countless others in lower positions in the bureaucracy, who fall in the same school of thought.” Joseph nods, in approval. “Excellent work, Henry, beyond acceptable. What of the Infantry?” Henry, chuckles, leaning forward. “I’ve saved the best for last, ser. Goodrich, in his own words, expressed sincere gratitude for the scholarship from the Winthrop Fund to the Officer Academy,” He informs. Joseph nods, eagerly leaning forward in his seat. “And?” he inquires. “Trumbull…. Has this to say, after your generous contributions to his estate.” He produces a letter from his suit, handing it over. He tears the manila letter open, pulling the letter out from within. He grabs his monocle, holding it up to his right eye, as his gaze over the words. He sets the paper down, reclining back in his chair. “You have quite outdone yourself, Henry,” he says rising, and walking over a window which gazes out towards the quaint street of New Prospect. “Alexander will be ecstatic to hear of his promotion to General, you have done this family well.” He says, folding his arms behind his back, facing Henry once more. “Go into the cellar, and grab any bottle you’d like, Henry, be careful, some of those that are in there are worth more than entire houses.” He says, smiling. “But, you know I dont drink,” he says, a jolly smile forming on his face. “Ill leave you, if theres nothing else you need,” he concludes, rising up from his chair, bowing. “You should, Henry, you very much should.” He says, as the door to his office closes shut. SPRING TURN: -50,000 conscripts are raised. (5K C) -1 Iron clad, 1 Ship of the line are laid down. (17,500) -6 New Shipyards are laid down.(12 M, 12k) -30k stockpiled. SUMMER TURN: -10,000 Federal Foot Guard are raised. (25,000, 30 AP, 30S) -2,000 Heavy Cavalry is raised.(16,000, 20 AP, 12S) -1 Armored Frigate, 1 Ironclad, and 1 Ship of the Line is laid down. (35,000, 15SP, 11 S) -1 Foundry(5,500k, 2M) -5 Gunsmiths are produced. (10,000, 5M) -2 Manufactories are built. (4,000, 2 M)

APPLICATION Discord name (PM if you wish): already in Nation Type (County/Marcher Lord/Free City): March Nation Flag (optional): COUNTY OF KARANCANAY Nation Culture (Brief description): The March has been the backdrop to a synergy of two completely alien, and conflicting cultures, the indigenous Kiralski population, those which are native to the land, and the Karani, which have arrived in the last 100 years. The Karani, come from the Karani Clan of Northern Trazmir, one of the many clans which roved the vast oceans of grass in northern Trazmir, ruled by a Warlord. The Karani, however, were the most renowned clan of the nomads, solely because of their remarkable breed of horse, which they have perfected over millennia. While nimble in size,, it is stocky, and dense, allowing it to support armor, a concept introduced by the native poles. The culture of the Karani now revolves around the horse, with every Karani-born boy being given a steed at the onset of puberty, in an elaborate and very celebrated ritual. They will remain loyal to this horse for the rest of their life, as a Karani never takes a second, as it is believed that the ceremony creates a soul-tie between the horse and its rider, and a mount is necessary to traverse the afterlife, which is where they will be reunited with their partner. Famously, in Trazmir, the Karan were renowned for their beautiful glass artwork they procured, famously providing a remarkably ornate piece of glasswork for the marriage ceremony of an infamous sultan. Yet, with the loss of the steppes came the loss to the high quality sand they used to forge their glass. While the quality has degraded significantly, pottery, and the little glass work that can be done, still remain very important culturally to the Karani. The March, now, is one of the poorest in the Empire. Wartorn, the Trazmiri army advanced through this section of the Empire, salting a large portion of the southern part of the province, and in the first sight of herbicidal warfare seen, introduced a weed native which is native to Trazmir’s eastern border, which has devastated the local flora, and makes agriculture extremely difficult. For the native Kiralski, it meant famine, yet when the Karani settled, the demanding diets of their livestock tamed the spread of the weed, and many of the Kiralski adopted the way of the Karani, looking after cattle, and goats. While the Kiralski have adopted the Karani way of life, the Karan, have clinged to their ways, earning the ostracization of many of their provincial natives. The Karan continue to dress like Trazmir, speak the Trazmir tongue, in their slurred Northern accent, and celebrate their festivals and rituals on the same day as their neighbors do. Now however, some, encouraged by the Kiralski natives, do celebrate the Vaseric Idols, much to the displeasure of the elders. Kiralski cognates have permeated into the Karan tongue, and some use Kiralski alternatives in their cuisine. Nation History: The previous inhabitants of the March were the House of Struzik, a particularly ordinary Kiralski family. It was a prosperous March, a breadbasket for the Empire, and provided much of the grain used in the Imperial Capital. It was nearly exclusively Kiralski, with some of the imperial minorities present in small enclaves dotted throughout the land. However, a Trazmiri blitz across the region led to the end of an era. The charge completely took the Struzik by surprise. The storm of the Trazmiri descended too quickly, and Castle Struzik fell with no resistance. They slaughtered every individual within the Castle, and placed them on pikes, horizontally, with their guts clinging out off their gaping backs. Many similar scenes were not uncommon throughout the frontier regions of the Empire, where the rampage of the Trazmiri on entire villages and towns were showcased. Acts of such heinosity were committed by Clan Roura, a ferocious clan of cannibals, who adorned their horses with the vertebrates of their victims. When they galloped across the field, the sound of bone clanking together and the rumble of the horses created an infamous song, heralding death. Many of the northern clans felt snubbed, and disgusted, when they had heard the Emperor selected such savages for the honored position of the spearhead of an attack, yet they would not raise such qualms in the midst of a war. The Trazmiri banners pierced deep within the heart of the nation, the Northern clans, and their cavalry, paving the way for the infantry which followed, until coherent defenses were established. Yet the Northern Clans continued to raid the villages and farms often hundreds of miles behind the frontlines, with Clan Roura leaving behind many decadent displays of atrocities. Clan Roura continued to recieve preferential treatment from the soveriegn, and the Karanis continued to endure slight after slight to their clans honor, and pride. That was until Arislan Karan, and 3 other clansmen, formally petitioned the Emperor, to which he was publicly humiliated for insubordination, and was forced to roll on heated horse feces, a punishment saved for only the worst offenders. To make matters worse, Clan Roura, in the midst of the night, stormed the Karani camp, massacreing many, before the clan could muster the sufficient defenses to fend them off. Arislan, suffering humiliation and now having the blood of many of his clansmen on his hands, formally seceeded from the Empire, an act no other clan has undertaken, yet many of his counterparts understood. The Karani left their war camp quickly, leaving behind carcasses of sick horses with arrows piercing their ankles, an ancient declaration of war. Clan Roura was personally given the task by the sovereign to ensure the complete destruction of the Clan Karani, and when the Roura’s arrived at their ancestral territory, they too found it abandoned, the fields salted. The Karanis became nomads not confined to any political entity. Yet they were emboldened to seek revenge on their former lords. In one of the largest battles in the war, when the Trazmir were on the brink of routing Imperial Soldiers, from the western hills, the entire Karani Clan came, and smashed into the Trazmiri flank, breaking through their ranks, and causing destruction, and the tide of the battle was completely switched. In one to one combat, Arislan single handedly defeated the Roura’s Chieftain, slicing his back open, and pulling his lungs out from behind his ribcage, an old Northern pagan blood-curse upon all of the Roura’s sons. At the end of the battle, it was reported that all male heirs of the Rouras were left lifeless on the battlefield. In return for their service in saving potentially thousands of Imperial Soldiers, the Emperor, astounded by the ferocity of the Karani in battle, awarded the Karani with the position of Margrave, and gave them land along the eastern frontier, with the sole condition that they will use their infamous cavalry to fend off any Trazmiri incursions. To this day, the Karanis are the most effective forces the Empire bears in response to mounted Trazmirr threats, and no one has been successful in beating a Karani rider in an open field thus far. Religion (Jozsefite, Vaseric): Joszefite publicly, yet the majority still adhere to the Old faith. Special Characters (Up to 3, generals/agents may be added or included if purchased with starting funds): Renata, Margravess of Karancany: A headstrong, ripe woman who is the Chief of the Karanis. She is renowned for her fierce loyalty to the Empire, whilst many in her immediate circle do not bear the same allegiance. Çiñğiz Bhorhan: The Marshall of the Karanis, and by nature, the best rider out of all of the Karanis. Caszimir Yarulin: A Kiralski through and through, he is a very trusted and loyal advisor to Renata, and she listens to him, sometimes taking his word over anyone else's. Some say that it is he who is the true father of Renatas children, yet no one can say for sure, for fear of losing their tongue by the Straw Council, the advisory body consisting of elders and leaders who swore, by blood, to protect the Margravess.

THE PRINCEDOMS OF NYRE ------------------------- YEAR OF THE FOOL: 1048 ACP ---------------------------- In Susandars District, inside the Conch Palace. The suns penetrating rays are what pries Amran’s eyes open, stirring him from his slumber. Evidently, he has some sort of intoxicating substance in his body still remaining from the previous night, as do those who lay strewn in very similar chaotic positions as he was. Semi-broken glasses lay in their hands, half and quarters of porcelain plates on the tables, the place reeks of a putrid stench of wine, sweat, and incense. Curiously, there seem to be very lax rules on clothing in the scene, as even Amran’s olive-toned skin is void of his garments. He rises from his slumber, stumbling and releasing an exhausted groan as he foolishly uses a glass table to break his fall, his hand going straight through it, casting a blanket of glass shards on three women who lay on the ground in close proximity of the table. Finally, he rises to his feet, and carefully steps over slumbering bodies, glass shards, and an assortment of exotic powders which spilled in the heat of the night, towards the balcony, which presents him with an astonishing view of the Nyrene Sound. From his vantage point, he can see the crew members unloading crates of goods originating from workhouses thousands of miles away, the tiny sticks of rows rhythmically dipping in and out of the ocean. On this early morning, he was particularly fortunate enough to see the rare pod of whales breaching the tranquility of the surface. The fortunate ones to have escaped the predatory Imperial whalers, he thought. Not by luck, but he was also able to spectate the gradual mobilization of the hospitality industry. Housekeepers, cooks, maids, servants, climbing the steps, distancing themselves from the shared misery of their coworkers, and entering a world of opulence, bliss, and luxury. Amran gaze catches the eye of his favorite maid, an aged lady who been serving him since he was reared. “Gemekka!” He shouts, as the lady fumbles through her leather satchel for the key to the gate to enter the complex. The old woman looks up, squinting her eyes, and manifesting a warm smile on her face as she realizes who it is. “Amran! I hope your dreams have been more than pleasant! Ill rise in just a minute, let me just….” She continues talking, yet Amran, too exhausted to hear rambling, interrupts her. “Yes yes, you awaken the rest now.” He turns around, looking behind him. “A majority of the guests have decided to lodge in my complex tonight, and many of them from less-than mentionable backgrounds.” “Oh no! Do not worry, we will get them up soon, wonder why they decided too…” “Gemekka, today Adrahasis’ is coming in the evening. I will not be embarrassed.” He looks down upon her, sternly, scratching his bare scrotum. Gemekka, holding her dress up as she stumbles across the garden, nods, continuing on a tangent, too herself, as Amran has left his post, retreating back into his palace. He bends down, taking a half drunken glass from atop a table, and letting it fall on the ground, the shards causing several to startle of his guests, who quickly let their head fall on the mosaic on the ground once more, returning to their sleep. Amran enters his own room, finding his bed occupied by a very fair woman and her companion. Amrans brow furrows, and he claps twice. From within the shadows, two men stand forward. “Get those two wastrels out of my bed. They nod, and grab the leg of the couple on the bed and yank them out from the sheets. The woman lets out a frigid yell and slaps the arm of the servant. The man frantically looks around, fazed, and realizes where he is after his gaze meets that of naked Amran’s, his eyes fixating on him over the cusp of his wine glass, as he takes a drink from it. The woman frantically leans over before Amran, and begins begging, before his feet, in almost pure desperation. Amrans feet do not move, as he lifts his empty glass up in the air, and a servant quickly takes it away from him, his liberated arm dropping to his side. “Rise, who do you take me for, Aristun across the way?” He says, chuckling. “Both of you may go in peace.” He says, fumbling around his closet, and dropping a silk robe on the woman’s head, and he tosses another one to the man, halfway on the bed, halfway on the bed, halfway on the granite tiles on the floor. “Petition Gemekka on your way out if you would like any food or drink, I express gratitude to both of you for coming. By the way, the robe is from a mountain province in the northern realms, made by a Druidic monk, if it is of any importance” He says, leaning back against the wall, waiting for the two to vacate. The man briskly runs out, and the woman rises slowly, meeting his eyes, “You, I will expect to see soon.” He says, winking, as he enters his wardrobe, forsaking her, and flipping through the fabric after fabric, attempting to find something that can impress his visitor today. “Luoyang silk? Tacky”, he thinks. “This, with Antekroian gems, perhaps? No, this is no brunch…Ah, this! A refurbished tunic made from silk found in the Avosian bathhouse, this will do.” He smiles, satisfied with his choice. He exits his room dressed, perfumed, and ready to conduct transactions. The palace is swarming with servants, scrubbing walls, collecting glass shards, refilling wine containers, etc. “Is the jade still scheduled to arrive today, Gemekka?” He asks, entering the lobby, adjusting his garments. “Amran! Yes, it is being unloaded from the ship as we stand here idle. I am very excited- “ “Good, Gemekka, I trust you to make the place look exquisite!” He says, leaving her presence, going out the gates to waiting steed, dressed in a purple and gold saddle. “If you impress me, Gemekka, Ill pay you an extra day’s wages!” He shouts, from within the chariot, smiling. She begins her response, yet Amran already nudged his horse, and it lurches forward, trotting away. Today, was a day where money was to be made. --------------------------------------------- -The Trade Fleet sets sail southwards, carrying nearly 50 craftworks to sell in the southern markets. (Mod) -30 magic goods are sold to the western markets, on overland trade routes. (Mod) - Adrahasis, of Adrahasis’ Laborial and Agircultural Goods LLC., has negotiated a deal with the neighboring nation of Etesh: in exchange for 80,000 Nyrene Gerahs, the company shall receive 40 Lumber and 10 stone.(-80k) -15 Lumber is purchased from the Kingdom of Anteroika(-60k) -Amran sends a finely written letter to the Imperial Viceroy of Guramkos, requesting a business meeting regarding trade prices. -Money begins to missing, inexplicably, from the receipts and checkbooks. (-20,000) (Mod)

Application: Discord name (PM if you wish): Nation Type: (Kingdom/City State/Tribal) City State The Princedoms of Nyre Nation Culture (Brief description): The average Nyrene, or 85% of them, lead an utterly miserable life. Not having been conferred citizenship as a result of that prestigious title only being conferred to those with 50,000 Gerahs in liquid assets, they are nothing but employees, cogs in the international enterprise which their parents were also employees of. Yet there is always the surrounding hope of being raised in status, the “Nyrene Dream”, of achieving a management position in your company, which keeps the employees motivated. Productivity and ensuring quotas are met are the priorities of any Nyrene. For the rest of the 9%, they live in luxury apartments, above the sweatshops and workhouses, where they supervise and live life better off than those below them. The remaining 1%, the owners, who have an exorbitant amount of wealth, live at ease with everything, and in ecstasy, many times literally as well as figuratively. Nation History: Nyre, has its beginnings nearly 2,000 years prior to the current date, making it one of the oldest, if not the oldest city in this portion of the world. In some areas of the city, the mere bricks on the roads are older than entire civilizations. The city, its lifeblood, revolves around the exchange of capital occurring at the various ports and wharves of the city, which create a cocoon of sorts around the Sur-tuda’s Circle, which is the area immediately after the ports and wharves, where the artisans reside, and traders in their market stalls sell their wares. On any given day in the year, roughly 30% of the current population in Nyre are foreigners, visiting to purchase, sell, or exchange goods. Nyre serves as a magnet for global maritime trade because of its starkly low port duties and sales taxes. This has created a conducive environment for visitors, artisans, and merchants from far-off corners of the world to utilize Nyre as a marketplace for their wares. However, this sort of system has fostered the development of a class of ruling aristocrats, that govern the nation, the Princes of Nyre. The city of Nyre is governed on the basis of 9 individuals, 8 princes, and the General Exchequer, the manager of the Bank of Nyre. These individuals form the White Council, which very rarely meets, and only for important decisions, mostly involving foreign policy or disagreements between districts. This institution has roots in the reign of King Asardin the Yellow, and his 8 sons. Upon his death, he gave his sons 8, different neighborhoods within the city, at the time, several blocks, with no more than a couple thousand residents living inside them. His sons, collectively, became known as the Princes of Nyre, and while individually they ruled over their respective neighborhoods when they united, they were the rulers of the isle. All other public land was managed by the Bank of Nyre, which represented the only, publicly owned land present in the isle. The Princes governed their respective neighborhoods differently. Some were brutal autocrats. Others, generous, and righteous individuals. These Princes were in charge of managing the roads, collecting levies, etc. Many neighborhoods, to this day, have walls built surrounding them, as city-wide sieges, many times would break out, and the Princes of different blocks would war each other, most famously occurring in the War of the Conch, wherein the Battle of Lemuel Way, 2 districts were razed to the ground, and 30,000 residents died, 30% of the city at the time. These wars and personal grudges were financed by the Princes of Nyre, who based their income off of two main streams: in the beginning, their respective districts, however, later on, each district developed its own company/guild, and this guild became the arm of the state, with the Prince as its director. Most companies employ 96% of each district, some districts providing welfare, and subsidized housing to their employees. The 8 companies: Nyrene Shipping and Packing Co. Oyster and Fish Co. Tuda’s Luxury Co Stone and Gem Co Susandar’s Properties and Estates Slavers Guild Co Adrahasis Tools and Laborial Goods Each of these companies is responsible for maintaining its own district. Each district has its own laws, courts, taxes, etc. The company owns all the land within its district and is responsible for providing shelter, upkeep of roads, sewage, and plumbing, etc for their employees, all of which reside within their employer’s district. While mobility is allowed and many times necessary to conduct business deals etc, many of the commoner class do not, simply because they are too busy working, and they have no need to. Sellers from other companies come to them to sell their wares, or many times have already arranged wholesale deals with the company so there is no reason to barter or haggle for goods. The owners of each of these companies are the royalty of the island, residing in massive palace complexes employing hundreds of people, where oftentimes they are seen having lucrative parties, orgies, and anything else the elite pleases. Ownership of the businesses is not hereditary, and when an executive dies, the position must be purchased in an auction, where the starting bid is 500,000 Nyrene Gerah’s. This is a highly selective event, as you must have 250,000 liquid Gerahs to even spectate the event from within the Bank, which is where it is held. Oftentimes, it is known beforehand which are the most interested individuals, and they are usually in executive positions in other companies. It is a highly regulated event, organized by the Bank. No family member or relative of another executive may bid, and if the Bank suspects any form of background deal made with the intention to absorb a company, purposely make it fail, etc, the Bank will ban a person from bidding, or if already bought, seize ownership of the property. The singular, collective interest of the nation as a whole, is the accumulation of capital. Profits are the national interest of the nation, and all the companies, including their owners, will do anything in their power to become the most profitable, no matter the exploitation. The only institution to check this sentiment is the Bank, and its arm the Navy, which many times in history, has curbed the intents of the companies, in the interest of the people, and the nation as a whole. An important, example of this is an event called, “The Drowning,” which is an event where the princes, and their militias, drove a band of angry employees into the water, drowning thousands of them, only to be stopped by the intervention of the Bank, and the Navy. A highly shunned event, bloodshed incurred by the Navy on the militias, in pure vengeance for the bloodshed caused, has been enough to spur any of the more radical methods of worker exploitation by the Princes, to this day. Nation Race: (Human, Dusii, Dawekii):Human Special Characters (Up to 3, generals/mages/agents may be added or included if purchased with starting funds): General Exchequer Naditabirus: An aged, ripen man who spends hours a day engrossed in his office, surrounded by numbers and digits representing large quantities of foreign currencies being injected into the bank. Owner of Nyrene Shipping and Packing Co, Amran: The Nyrene Shipping Company is one of the most far-reaching companies, operating and servicing to many far-off ports and nations. As such, many times, it can be one of the most consistently profitable companies of Nyre. Amran, a young bachelor who recently became the owner of the company, lives a lucrative life traveling overseas, negotiating port rights, and docking spaces with nations and foreign cities. Admiral of the Navy: Gemelqart. Son of Sasandar, many have said he resents his position as Admiral, calling himself, and the entire institution which he is a part of, “ a bankers *****.” Nonetheless, the compound Sasandars district is more than enough compensation for the constant stain on his conscience. Primary Magic: Lunar Secondary Magic: Meteormancy Unique Point of Interest (Unique "wonder" building/location/artifact, natural or otherwise, that will confer a small bonus TBD): The Bank of Nyre, is a massive institution. It is the goal of many of the owners to send their second or third-born children to become accountants or analysts of the Bank. The bank, services companies, foreigners, and many times have entire nations on their checkbooks. They offer loans, investment accounts, etc. Any loan a nation seeks to pull out is enforced by the Navy of Nyre, which is maintained and financed by the bank, and should a nation or a foreign dignitary seek to make a deposit within an investment account, the Navy will transport the funds, and suffer no liability on their accounts should anything happen during transport, etc. A nearly 1,000-year-old institution, the Bank markets itself as a safe and reliable destination for anyone’s assets or money and is a very important attractor for people to the isle.

GRAHAM’S HUNTERS Year:2270 The Hunters are busy this year, as the nation knows what is coming, and is thus preparing for war….. A C T I O N S Turn 1 -T2 Rifles are produced.(-3M) -Molotovs are produced.( -2M, 1F) -Expansion(-10K,-5B) -5R into T1 Heavy Firearms -1 Dev point into Salvaged Minds Turn 2 -2 Molotovs are produced(-4 M, 2 F) -2 Scrapyards(-15K, 4B) -1 Market(-5k, 1B) -5R T1 Heavy Firearms -1 Dev point into Salvaged Minds Turn 3 -3 Molotovs are produced(-6 M, -3F) -1 Fuel Refinery(-5K, 1B) -Upgrading fortification 2 levels (-1k, -2B) -5R into T3 Military Grade. -1 Dev point into Salvaged Minds. -THIS turn -3 Molotovs are produced. (-6 M, -3F)) -1 Construction Yards. (-7500C) -Upgrading the fortifications 3 levels. (-1500C, 3B) -5R T3 Military Grade -1 Dev point into Salvaged Minds. -Graham, as a part of the usual accuracy training, decides to hold a marksmanship competition, anywho desires to participate, within the Hunters, can participate. May the best, win!

GRAHAM’S HUNTERS Year:2270 ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Graham stares out from the loft of a former skyscraper, a relic to a different reality. His vision wanders, finding the parasitic tall canopy, that now has taken a massive chunk of the Chicago skyline hostage. A little south of it was his beloved History Museum. He could almost hear their incessant and vexatious shrills if he closed his eyes long enough. “Colonel” a voice interrupts, as Graham snaps. “Yes… er-what is it.” He says, turning to meet the brown, clean-shaven individual. “Callum just left.” Graham nods, his gaze returning to the canopy afar. “Make the preparations. The men know what to do. You’re dismissed.” The soldier stands at attention, then evacuates the vicinity. Graham looks at a row of 5 or so hastily constructed pipe guns, with tape bits and other salvaged materials sticking out. “Christ almighty.” He says, disappointed, as he retreats into the crumbling infrastructure of the building. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- A C T I O N S -Scrapyards (-15k, -4M) -Construction Yard(-7.5K C,) -Markets(-5k) -5 Molotovs are produced(-2M,1F) -T2 Rifles are produced. (-3M) -5R towards Military Grade Rifles(15 total) -Callum has some tender alone time with his beloved Jenny. Jenny and Callum usually have a fond relationship, however many of those who were in the vicinity of them have reported that their usual intimacy was not the case this time. (Callum practices Perception.)

GRAHAM’S HUNTERS Year:2270 The Hunters are quiet, their block completely desolate. Save for the odd out of place shadow, which quickly dissipates into the natural landscape. A C T I O N S -1 Market [-5000, 1B] -Salvage Yard [7500, -2B] -50 Molotovs are manufactured. -5R towards Military Grade rifles.(10 total) -Callum gets some target practice in with a sling shot and a stone, trying to break a glass a good 25 meters away.(Trying to increase perception.)

GRAHAM’S HUNTERS Year:2270 The Hunters are quiet, their block completely desolate. Save for the odd out of place shadow, which quickly dissipates into the natural landscape. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A C T I O N S -1 Fuel Refinery is constructed [-7500, 2B] -3 Construction yards are built.[22,500] -5 RP into Molotov Cocktails -5 RP into Military Grade weapons -[T2] Weapons are manufactured. -3M -A group of Hunters scavenge for materials on Goose Island.

GRAHAM’S HUNTERS Year:2270 Callum walks, in the middle of the road, on an unkept median. The road is desolate, the only sound audible being the harsh sound of an aluminum can scraping the cracked concrete. He walks with his head facing down, his worn and battered cowboy hat piercing the wind. He twiddles around with the piece of a straw lodged between his yellowed teeth, removing it momentarily to launch a projectile of a spit into the ground. He approaches the intersection, with a set of traffic lights on the ground, and the rusted top frames of cars acting as a nostalgic testament to when this city was a bastion of industry, and where the ground where the soles of his feet stood upon was constantly been trampled by the rubber treads of cars. Once he reaches thecenter point of the intersection, he leaps up on top of a car, emulating and mimicking the triumphant and proud Napoleon, in a famous painting they have no knowledge of. He cups his hands around his mouth, releasing a powerful holler, his shrill voice interrupting the apparent tranquility of the intersection. “YEEEE!” He shouts the piece of grass flying out of the comfort of his mouth, rocking calmly to the ground, as he looks around towards the void window frames of the buildings and urban installations which encapsulate him. He audibly smiles, displaying his cracked and stained teeth in a careless and crazed smile. He sighs, laying down on the hood of the car, crossing his legs, and shielding his eyes from the piercing sunlight with his hat. “I’ll wait here all day for y’all! Them chimps can pick me right up!”Come on now! Jenny will miss us!” A distinct voice responds, significantly deeper than his. “Jenny won’t be able to do to **** about it if she’s with the ******* chimps!” He shouts back, the only visible part of his face is his beaming smile. He lifts up his hat, to peer from underneath the brim, the hat creating a shadow perfectly underneath his nostrils. Before him stands an entire mass of grey cloaked individuals, staring at him. At the behest of the group, a gruff-looking, bearded individual with a hint of intellect surrounding his persona. He looks at Callum, seriously, who returns to character. “Didn’t miss me?” Callum says, bringing his arms up, to rest the back of his head on his palms. “Unfortunately,” he says, smiling, his tide-water accent oozing out of his every syllable. “Good to see ya too, Graham,” he says, smuggishly. Graham grabs his hand, pulling him off the hood, on the ground. He lightly taps his shoulder, affectionately, brushing off some dust. “It’s good to see you whole, Cal.” “Them chimps ain’t neva getting me an my sweet Jenny!” He says, whipping Jenny out of his holster, cradling it as if it were a baby. “Come on Cal.” he says, looking down at Jenny, then back up at the crazed Callum. “We gotta get out of the streets, lets get on, you know the deal.” “Jenny don’t forget, Graham.” “I know she doesn’t.” Graham responds, pausing, before continuing; “And neither do I.” He says, spitting on the ground in front of them, looking in the direction of their former home. “Wonder if chimps like the taste of lead as much as bananas.” chimes in another man, older than the few gathered, with a long beard. “Damn right, Arthur,” affirms Graham, his blue eyes looking back at the hobbling individual that is Arthur. “Come on, men!” shouts a stern Graham, leading the group down the block. “Ive mapped out our next home, albeit for the time being. Don’t forget these streets.” Graham shouts, his voice ricocheting off the concrete walls of the skyscrapers that surround them. “Well be back, once we do a lil pest control.” He says, outspreading his arms, facing his troop who walks silently, as they’ve been trained to do. “Get out of the streets now, lets go,” Graham calls out, unenthusiastically, yet they all obey, because they all know better. And the Hunters dissipate into the crumbling and deteriorating urban landscape around them, moving in unison with the dark recesses of the shadows. A C T I O N S -The Hunters spend the turn expanding to their new block and setting up camp. -50 T2 Firearms are salvaged. [-6 M] -The Hunters scavenge their current block for anything of use for them.

GRAHAMS HUNTERS Or, “The 83rd Light Infantry Regiment” Civ type: Advanced Starting points: 5 Development points, 3 Research tiers, 1 Basic Material, 1 stack of 5 Faction backstory: Mountain men from the luscious paradise of Appalachia, these men had not had it easy. A flashpoint between the mega-corporations who sought to exploit the lands and its people for capital and resources, as soon as mushroom clouds began to spawn by the dozens along the American landscape, Appalachia was spared for nuclear devastation and a transformation into a desolate wasteland, inhabited by all types of mutated amalgamations of life. Albeit not untouched by the invisible effect of the bombs, Appalachia was still relatively untouched by the hellish impacts of them, only certain areas becoming irradiated and uninhabited wastelands. The hunters' originated from inhabitants of Appalachia from even before the American Civil War, a distant memory for many new Americans. The majority of the hunters were rural bootleggers and moonshiners since this fabled age, and whose families’ history of service for the Confederates is well documented and recorded. Tied to their indigenous lands, since their inception, the Hunters were one of the most fanatical participants of the United States government plan to recolonize Appalachia when the rumbling Vault-tec doors ground open and the sunlight peered through the cracks. They were ecstatic to be spectators of the new light shining on America, as patriotic members of the Enclave. Their dreams, however, were quickly put down. The crimes and injustices of the Enclave against their own people were soon outed and civil war began, rattling much of Appalachia and causing the transformation of the pristine landscape, perfect and suitable for human development, to be corrupted. The Hunters fought alongside General Allen Santiago in the Civil War, known as then “83rd Light Infantry Regiment.” They were dubbed, Freddies’ Hunters, after the First Colonel, Freddie Anderson. They were sharpshooters and placed almost exclusively in scouting and reconnaissance missions, and they were renowned for it, due to their natural disposition to the demands of the tasks, and their knowledge and even affection to the terrain. Once the Enclave was defeated in the war, the Colonel decided to codify his regiment goals, tactics, and mission. called, the Hunters, who after the war ended, continued to the prow the mountains and creeks of the paradise, destroying the spawn of their enemy; scorch beasts and other irradiated and robotic manifestations. Soon, the purpose of the Hunters gradually evolved as Colonel Adam ‘Brightboy’ Banks, wrote a revolutionary thesis in his manuscript, vilifying any organized effort to establish a large, spanning government, which will eventually lead to the resurgence of the military-industrial-complex that will inevitably seize control and have unrestricted control to create mayhem on the human race. Thus the prime targets of the Hunters morphed, from the mutant creatures born out of radiation, to the mark of the beast, the robotic formations brought about by the defense contractors and military companies. CHICAGO The Huntsmen are now a nomadic group many hundreds of years old, traversing the wasteland through the shadows, still operating as scouts and adhering to their old deceptive tactics derived from the dawn of the Enclave, remembered through their main text, “A Handbook to the Appalachian Hunter”. This manual has been created with the goal of preserving the mission and goals of the regiment, the history, and hierarchy, and preaches skepticism of any piece of autonomous robotic hardware, as a threat to society that must be eliminated. The formal motto of the Hunters is INRI, which no one truly knows the significance of it but can found on any piece of Hunter memorabilia, however, the informal motto of the hunters, and the one used much frequently, is “Scrappers…” which, when standing in the Main Quarters, can be heard uttered dozens of times in one sitting. An old idiom, inscribed in the handbook under the Hunter Culture, and other Gabldegook’s Chapter states: “Take a shot of shine for every time you hear a Hunter say ‘Scrapper.’” They have taken refuge in the Chicago History Museum, which they have transformed into a giant fortress in the middle of Downtown Chicago. They are stationed secretly in small nests throughout their zone of control, yet the streets seem to be void of any life, the only evidence of sentient life being the remnants of the occasional robot shot and stomped to smithereens on the side of the road. Graham Corners: Graham, a grizzly faced, and rough individual in nature is the leader and patriarch of the Hunters. Elected by the Round Table nearly 30 years ago, he has been an effective administrator of the Hunters, yet nothing out of the ordinary. Speaking with a thick country accent, as with many of the Hunter Rangers, his is particularly rich, stumping even a handful of rangers. A quiet, soft-spoken, and reserved, fella, yet quick on the draw and very steady hands, he is the model Hunter. He is a man of literature, and culture, taking great pride in having several additions of himself to the Regimental Library. Robert “Robby” Martins Robby is a new recruit, a freshly dug out from a small band of survivors living in the wasteland that was absorbed into the Hunters. Youngblood is always welcome within the ranks of the Hunters, yet this one is especially jubilant, wreckless, and explorative, seeing the Rangers stealth as futile, opting much rather to enter, “guns-blazing-blaring”, as he puts it. Callum Rivers Callum was picked up from Appalachia, he was a Regulator in a small town from what used to be Pennsylvania. Never leaving without his trusty hat, a token to his days as a Regulator, he is Graham’s right-hand man, and thus has gained privileges to sleep on guard as a result. He carries an old Colt Revolver on his side at all times, which he calls, “Jenny”, and constantly refers to it, some Hunters noticing an odd affection to it.

KOSMOSTAN The beginnings of the colony on Lyudigrad. “Orders from the Motherland.” Yegor states to a group of 10-12 elected representatives sitting on a round, steel table, at the helm of the ship, now used as an Administrative center for the colony. He projects a transmission from the Russian President on the desk before them, a cold faced blonde-haired individual with the same mesmerizing eyes as Yegor. “50,000?” One individual of African descent states, gazing at his compatriots surrounding him. Two seats down from him, a squinty-eyed individual responds ecstatically. “This is amazing! More workers! How the hell are we going to accommodate them? We barely have enough room for ourselves!” An olive tinged woman, with hair a deep twilight black, wearing a different uniform than the rest, chimes into the conversation. “The **** is wrong with you all! Have you forgotten the mandated books you all read? Adler, Gramsci, Trosky, Marx even?” He says, smacking the Asian fellow upside on the head. Yegor bellows a hearty laugh, much to the disappointment of the victim of the very physical scolding. “Comrade Nina, there are ways to discuss with our Comrades, other than violence. However, Comrade Xi, her words are true. If we are to succeed in creating our Paradise, this is an obstacle that has the potential to reap bountiful rewards for our society. Planning, planning is all that it takes.” He says, finicking around with the touch screen embedded into the table, a camera view from above the colony manifests on the screen, capturing several orchestrated groups of 10 or so individuals performing all sorts of tasks around the colony. “By 2095 or before, we must have completed the expansion of our society.” He taps a few options, and the vibrant sea of orange sand and geographic formations is quickly washed over by a sea of blue, as the screen now turns into a blueprint or design mode. “Before we begin, Captain Ghollam.” He says, turning around towards an individual not participating in the affairs of the group, instead of looking out through the window at the topography of the planet, where the land ends, and the sky, stained a yellowish color, begins. “Ghollam, you must lead a group of 100 or so individuals, out to the expanse, find if anything is out there, brother.” Ghollam turns, a lightly bearded individual with a turban on his head, with brown eyes, his skin very dark, his wrinkles displaying evidence of experience. Ghollam nods, looking towards the group seated at the table. “Do you all agree?” he says, casting a rather distasteful gaze towards Yegor, who ignores him and looks towards the table as well for answers. The members seated all give their affirmations at Yegors task. He nods, and immediately leaves the room, his footsteps echoing throughout the chamber. A moment of silence is then interrupted by Nina, who begins to lead the group in discussions about the placement of housing, of factories, roads, etc etc. Yegor, turns towards a second smaller screen, switching on the camera to the hallway directly outside the helm of the ship, watching Ghollam stride through the halls, determined, and motivated. STATS -The message from the motherland is received, and the colony shall begin work to do such. -1 more Extractor is constructed. -6 More Construction yards are constructed. -7 Civilian Districts are constructed. -A group of Colonists, led by Capitan Gerald, decide to explore the newly settled planet, to see if they find anything of importance. (-1,820)

KOSMOSTAN The Planet of Lyudigrad, or ‘the Peoples City.’ Yegor is a grizzly shaped individual. His beaten and veteran military uniform he wears at ll times spells out veteran, his beard, with several strains of gray accentuating it, gives him the look of a middle eastern Sheik, his skin color tanned from the hours his ancestors spent guardian his flock of goats along the slopes of the Hindu Kush, and his eyes blue like the ice in the Northsea. Yet, his followers did not seek to join him because of his looks, yet his tongue, which moved skillfully, orating poetry with every verse he speaks, captivating many lost and misguided beggars, shepherds, sheiks, librarians, soldiers, and more. A peek into the main holding area of the Frontier Class ship revealed a diverse lot of people, yet assembled for the same goal. As the ship approached the beautiful blue and green swirl of an orb, levitating beautifully in the abyss of the space, every single person face is plastered against the glass, peering outwards, onto their beautiful planet. Many are hypnotized with its majesty, others cautiously examining the statistics and numbers lining up on the TV screens, relaying information on atmospheric composition, gravitational levels, the whole works. “Well within the Goldilocks zone we are.” remarks one tall, broad-shouldered comrade to another. Yegor was on the helm still, his icey blue eyes gripping onto the image of the planet. In his minds, visualizations of the Utopia he was placed under the administrative command of. “There are no bankers here,” he says, out loud to another one, in a similar circumstance as here. “There are no bankers, no lawyers, no doctors, no royals. The person with the most money in assets with us today had a mere 5,000 rubles, pocket change in comparison to the stores of gold the Westerners have. Yet, whilst they revel in their paintings and orygies on silk-laden bedsheets, feasting off of caviar stolen from the hands of a poor boy. We shall be the fathers of a new society.” He declares, rising from his post. “Abdul, send out the satellite with the transmission to Mama.” Abdul, a stereotypical Paki, hurriedly nods, finicking with buttons and switches on the interface of the ship. The light jitter of the ship entering the Atmosphere of the planet results in the ecstatic celebration of the entire ship, yet not for long, as the Proletariat disembarked on their new Paradise. STATS -A satellite is sent back to Earth, as the rest of the colonies do, reporting the success of the mission, ready to accept further orders. (Mod) -2.5K [я́нный] -8 Construction yards are built(16C) -The rest is placed into the Storehouse.(40C,4G)

--- Name (colony): Kosmonistan Archetype (choose one): NCM Mother Nation: Russia Sponsoring Space Agency (you may choose one): Roskosmos Colonial Leadership: Autocracy Led by Admiral Yegor Al- Nuri Mission classification: Exploration Add. starting equipment: 2C, 3 Extra settlers Background: The static of a radio frequency is interrupted by a short broadcast. “Dva, syem, adin, shest, devyet, syem, tri, piat, adin, dva- vosyem.” A figure scribbles down the string of letters down quickly, in Cyrillic hurriedly, going over to a chart taped down to the table, where he begins to inscribe a new set of characters. The man hurriedly turns on the radio, from the 20’s at least, and looking down at the gibberish written in cyrillic, he responds. “Adin, piat, shest, syem, shest, syem, vosyem.” The man ends his transmission on the radio, followed by a short period of radio silence. The voice comes on the radio again. “U neye litso angela.” (“She has an angels face.”) The man responds, eyeing a small strip of paper taped to the radio. “Bilety Prodany?” (“Have the tickets been sold yet?”) Silence ensues once more, for longer this time, before the other line returns. “Harasho, tovarish. - Perun dayet razresheniye, ty mozsheh leshat. ” (“Thank you, comrade. Perun grants authorization, you may fly.”) The man, smiling, responds back. “Harasho, tovarish. Lyublyu zhit’ proletariatom.” (“Thank you, comrade. Long live the proletariat.”) “Lyublyu zhit’ proletariatom.” “Allahu Akbar.” The static returns, uninterrupted this time. The man steps outside, greeted by thousands of men from all swathes of life, many with turbans, some with crosses, most eastern or central Asian in origin, however some are white, some dark, and others a beautiful olive tinge. Behind them, stands their mothership for interstellar travel.

Name: Jonathan Dayvon Anderson Age: 19 Gender: Male Description: Jonathan sports a, lean, very muscular frame, his head reaching a modest 6’, on the dot. He wears his heads collected in short dreads, barely falling upon his forehead. He has deep brown eyes, which create a stark contrast between the pristine white which surrounds it. His usual, most frequently worn clothes are his white, traveled wife beater, with a pair of black jeans that look as if they are strangling his skinny legs. His facial features are very well defined, void of nearly any major noticeable blemish, even when examined closely. He has a very light mustache that surrounds his upper lip, simply attributed to laziness regarding his self-care. He is reserved, well mannered young man, very athletic, and excelling at nearly any sport he was placed in, notably basketball, football, and baseball. However, due to his unfortunate circumstances due to his environment, he was not nearly as successful in the classroom, choosing to skip homework to practice rapping, or playing outside with the kids in his neighborhood. Backstory : Jonathan was born in the heart of East Bronx, in a less-than endowed neighborhood. His mother, left his household at a very young age, choosing a less-than-desirable life instead of a life raising her son. His father, a respectable, well-spoken man, was placed at the helm of making sure his son grew up to be a courteous young man. However, not many could escape from the temptations of the perpetual cycle of crime the streets offered. Whilst his father was a good man, not the same could be said for the fathers of many of the kids on the streets young Jonathan regularly interacted with. This life manifested before young Jonathan, and its “street” appeal was very difficult to refuse. To detach his son from being entrapped in a life of petty crime, he took a second job simply to finance an esteemed basketball academy, to serve as an escape from the jungle of the streets. In a fortunate stroke of serendipity, he was taken in by a benevolent coach who related to the struggles shared by Johnathan and his father. His coach became a second father figure to Johnathan, and Jonathan lionized him. His biological father was not present most of the time at home, so he spent much of his time with his coach, Jeremy, whom he lovingly called, “uncle”. To Jeremy, Jonathan was a second son, his biological son falling into the trap of gangbanging and being shamelessly gunned down on the streets at the ripe age of 20, him too an aspiring basketball prodigy. He was thus committed to, in his eyes, “saving” Jonathan. He spent a lot of time in his house, helped him with homework whenever he needed, and drove him home whenever necessary, to avoid soliciting the danger the darkness laid upon the empty streets. When Jeremy, too, after Jonathan was merely 12 years old, succumbed to the bite of the gaping jaws of crime, he treated it terribly. He was the victim of a confused hitman, who mistook him for his real target. Jonathan missed the opportunity to even bid his farewells and received the grim news while he was draining 3’s at his coaches court, where he broke down in wallows and tears. It was this heartfelt pain that fueled his never-ending desire, shared by many of his friends and neighbors down the streets, to “make it out the hood”, something which Jeremy instilled in Jonathan since he was merely a small boy who used to roll dice off the cracked concrete walls of a nearby corner store with the other boys on the block. At 15, he was always the first picked kid when they made teams to play street sports, no matter the sport, football, basketball, baseball. He was strong, muscular, he had started working at the same corner store he would roll dice off of in order to afford a gym membership. Fitness, and athletics took up the most of his time and occupied the majority of his time, his father, a former boxer, would give him pointers and serve as his personal fitness coach, when he could. At 16, he had already been contacted by reputable and august universities regarding his skills, including Syracuse, Siena, and Cornell. At 16, however, his father was growing old and grey, and could not physically support a second job anymore. He couldn't afford the basketball academy any longer, which was his only salvation that kept him away from home, from gazing out of his old stained window while he was laying in his room and seeing the patrolling groups of kids his age through the streets. After so much time and so many bands that passed by his window, he eventually, decided to open the door, and join them. At 17, he had become affiliated with the Bloodz, a notable street gang operating in the streets of East Harlem, of which his father was a member of in his youth; they were days which soiled his memory. At 18, he was approached by 3 men, in their mid 20’s, and handed a bundle of sheets, and when he fondled through them, he felt the cold metallic hilt of a Glock pistol. He was no stranger to the customs, he knew, the significance of this gift. He was to carry out a hit. Reluctant at first, he was always made fun of by other kids for being too “soft”, yet he never lost a fight when challenged. The insults angered him and insulted his aerated ego. He was supposed to waste a kid down the block, who stole a couple ounces of weed and refused to give it back. They had told him, that he frequents a certain court late at night, and to do it there, make it quick and easy. He understood and went back home in the dead of night, gun tucked in his pants, his black hoodie covering the holster of the gun, his hand gripping it tightly, his eyes darting from corner to corner, eyeing every idle group of boys, some smoking, some dealing drugs, some simply eying Jonathan, as he walked by them, his hoodie shielding prying eyes from the vibrations face, which was infected with anxiety on his task. Whilst he was entrapped in arguments with the voices and versions of him who consoled and tormented him in his mind, the rev of a an engine grew closer and closer, the headlights increasingly illuminating more of the brick walls of the row houses that lined the street. He paid no mind, but when the the loud sound of skid marks sounded, and the hail of shots directed at him emanating from a dark figure ensued, he whipped out the pistol and shot back his own fleet of bullets. When the encounter was over, the blaring sound of a car horn filled the silence of the night, accompanied by the slow chorus of blaring sirens in the distance. He, however, did not escape untouched. He knew he had been struck, yet he did not have time to examine his wounds. He heard the sirens blaring at a distance, he knew he had to flee. Navigating and making his way through the maze of alleyways, backyards, and streets. He finally made it to the waterfront, where he quickly tossed his artifact of murder into the abyss of forget, the hudson river. There he was sufficiently out of the range of the scene, where he sat down on the wall, his shoes dangling above the brown water, which still reflected the white light of the moon. There, he lifted his black hoodie up, and examined his wounds. . The bullet had grazed his side, taking a chunk of of skin with it. He was terrified, imagining the onslaught of whips his father will release upon him, so he went to the next ideal place- Jeremy’s house, his wife will care for him, she works at a WIC clinic a couple streets down. He cradled his wound using his right hand, and kept sprinting through the labyrinth of streets, watching police car after police car zoom right before his eyes, towards the scene, and those same idle spectators flee in the other direction, at the sight of the menacing right and blue lights. He finally made it to the WIC clinic, and caught Jeremy’s wife leaving, fumbling with the lock of the double glass doors to the interior of the clinic. There, after much protest, she opened the doors, and illuminated the dark clinic. She tended to his wounds, gave him antibiotics, and sent him on his way home. The walk home, was a long one. Regret, confusion, trauma plagued his every thought. The next morning, the story was on the news, and his Jeremy broke the news to his father. Jeremy’s face was lifeless, numb in every single muscle fiber. His father, was disappointed, yet he did not punish, oddly enough. He could see the sadness, and torment in his son’s face, and he brought him in close for an embrace, and they stood there, the tears accumulating into wet spots on each others clothes. At 19, Jonathan was never charged nor caught for his crime, yet he remains distinct, a husk of the jovial persona he was called himself. He has committed to Syracuse with a full ride scholarship, and spends an exorbitant amount of time in the gym, lifting heavy stones which muffle the sadness and the weight of his transgressions. Discord: tell harry someone else to give it to you, its raul

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

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.)

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)

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