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Founding Post for the City State of Salvano
The beam of the lighthouse swept across the bay as the sun lay low on the horizon. Ships were not likely to come, simple exploration and fishing vessels but the music of the outside world had not yet blessed the City of Salvano. The lighthouse sat on a large hill overlooking the city and the lands around it; a beautiful hilly landscape soon to be filled with the sounds of music and the iconic vineyards that lie just outside the city walls; it is a peaceful life.
The City of Salvano itself is a jewel of a city nestled in the hills and cradled by the bay in such a way that it is gifted the wonders of life itself. The walls of the City are made of stone and filled with ornate carvings and statues that showcase prominent founders and leaders of the City since its conception, the walls are made to be sturdy against any outside threat but welcoming to anyone else. They were designed out of Stone from the nearby underground excavations happening in the hills quite a way away from the main city. The Stone from that dig allows the City to be made of Marble and stone. The city is currently undergoing refitting for new marble buildings that glisten in the sunlight but for now stone is what befits those who cannot afford or do not care for marble.
The discovery of marble kick started a grand plan many years ago that is being realized today. The addition of a College of Music in the middle of the City near the square. The houses that used to be where the college currently resides were bought off and new land was redistributed to those that were dislocated from that area. They were more than willing to relocate for the expansion of our cultural base in the city. The College itself was the main project of the marble mining process, which helped stimulate the ever growing Salvanese economy. The process of cutting the marble into the shapes we needed to outfit the entire city in marble was an enormous undertaking, many hours of cutting blocks of marble with blades cooled through processes involving olive oil and water. The Marble is pulled out of the dig site using a series of pullies, which are powered through the strength of 15 men pulling on the end rope. The marble is then loaded onto a cart to be pulled to the cutting site which is not far from the dig site. The marble is then cut and carted off to the city to be used however it is needed. It is a marvelous working contraption, made by the working class. I do not fully understand it myself but these workers, they may not have my university education, but they are smart in their own crafts. Engineers, farmers, doctors, chemists, herbalists, etc. The working class are masters of their own trades, the backbone of the city, but Music is the key to the city’s life. Music binds all these souls together into one name, Salvanese. They are a proud people, they take pride in the city, as we all should.
The story of Salvano is told through the story of mouth and soul. Music and Engineering blend to provide much needed unity and expression throughout the province. It takes a collective mind to make the city run, and the voice of that mind is the music of the bard.
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“This council is now in session” The voice of the City Leader rang throughout the small but loud room. “As is customary after a new election cycle, introductions are in order. I hope you don’t mind but this meeting will take longer than usual.”
“Shall you start us off then?” Asked a woman on the far end of the oval table.
“Yes, I shall.” The leader stated as he stood up. “My name is Leejun Pasrion, I am the elected leader of this city and the Chairman of this council. Many of you have seen me before albeit there are also many new faces here. Good that the diversity of the city is being so well represented. I am a bard by trade and a politician by circumstance; I look forward to working closely with all of you.”
The Woman next to Leejun stood up next for introductions. “I am Lia Markus, Leader of the University here. As it is newly built classes will be starting in the autumn months to prepare for the Summer celebrations.”
“I am Hansan Luay, Salvano’s elected chief engineer.” The third leader said as he stood up. “I represent the architectural brains behind our beautiful city. In fact, I helped found her.”
“Thank you esteemed colleagues” Leejun carefully interrupted with a bow. “The rest of you may introduce yourselves at a later date. Currently we have much to discuss.”
Leejun waited for everyone’s attention before continuing. “Currently we have several projects going on around the City. The introduction of bath houses, the making of sewer lines, and attempting to reconstruct the ‘Guardians of Sound’ for defense. While our first and foremost priority is on the expansion of our knowledge of the musical arts and the technological innovations of architecture and engineering, we must not discount the need to protect ourselves from banditry and of farmers that have grown disillusioned to the overall plan. We are a welcoming city, anyone and everyone that does not have heinous crimes pinned to them can come and use out port, enjoy our entertainment, or come join our city’s fair community. Is there anyone here that wishes to speak further of the topics at hand?”
Leejun looked around the room waiting for a response, not even his second and third said anything, not out of the ordinary.
“Perfect, now let us finish this meeting by putting it all to a vote on what we should focus on first. Don’t be shy, be sure to vote. It is what you were elected for after all.” Finished the leader as he sat back down. He wasn’t sure whether or not that this new cycle of leaders was going to be able to cut it but every few years there is yet another election that he has to win and then watch as others fill in empty seats around him. Not the Salvano he pictured when he and Hansan founded the city, but it was what it is now. Still beautiful, everything they had hoped, but they did not like playing politician.
their's" the man known as Inchino said the leader of an elite horsemen archer unit that follows the general "how do we know were their ships even are" Luena asked "the information was granted to us through a series of questions" inchino just walked away Luena called his man and told them the plan they were going to take the enemies ships and go to a small island south if here were the bandits had set up.
Earlier That Morning
"Stormie's gone, the good old man,
To my aye storm a-long!
Oh, Stormie's gone, that good old man;
Aye, aye, aye, Mister Storm a-long.
They dug his grave with a silver spade,
To my aye storm a-long!
The shroud of finest silk was made;
Aye, aye, aye, Mister Storm a-long.
They lowered him with a golden chain,
To my aye storm a-long!
Their eyes all dim with more than rain;
Aye, aye, aye, Mister Storm a-long.
He was a sailor bold and true,
To my aye storm a-long!
A good old skipper to his crew;
Aye, aye, aye, Mister Storm a-long.
Of captain brave, he was the best,
To my aye storm a-long!
But now he's gone and is at rest;
Aye, aye, aye, Mister Storm a-long.
He lies low in an earthen bed,
To my aye storm a-long!
Our hearts are sore our eyes are red;
Aye, aye, aye, Mister Storm a-long Stormie's gone, the good old man,
To my aye storm a-long!
Oh, Stormie's gone, that good old man;
Aye, aye, aye, Mister Storm a-long.
They dug his grave with a silver spade,
To my aye storm a-long!
The shroud of finest silk was made;
Aye, aye, aye, Mister Storm a-long.
They lowered him with a golden chain,
To my aye storm a-long!
Their eyes all dim with more than rain;
Aye, aye, aye, Mister Storm a-long.
He was a sailor bold and true,
To my aye storm a-long!
A good old skipper to his crew;
Aye, aye, aye, Mister Storm a-long.
Of captain brave, he was the best,
To my aye storm a-long!
But now he's gone and is at rest;
Aye, aye, aye, Mister Storm a-long.
He lies low in an earthen bed,
To my aye storm a-long!
Our hearts are sore our eyes are red;
Aye, aye, aye, Mister Storm a-long."
Commander Persa clenched his fist signifying to end the song three quinqueremes harbored on the beach Close by Persa could see smoke rising the ships weren't flying flags he recognized quite or any flags at all "send a patrol to check those ships we will stop here and wait" you could see the island on the horizon Persa had to go check theres been reports of pirates rading that Island maybe these ships are apart if it either way he'd find a solution he sat there and waited till his men would return
Why We Cannot Have Nice Things (Citystate -> Feudal Government Change Post)
Montefuego City, Montefuego
The Doge wasn't fairing terribly well. Between his sparse moldy rations, troubling accounts of the caballeros embezzling and auctioning off the country and bureaucracy piece by piece, and the crushing depression he had become bedridden with, he became more of a husk every day, no less sedentary and wretched than the rancid molds that crept up the sides of the walls. He had brought peace and prosperity to the realm, and yet his compensation was to rot in a dank, musty dungeon. His final breaths drew near, and he was horrified of what would happen to his realm upon his death. The shrewdly administered holdings of the Montefuegan Republic were reduced to feudal holdings, where a petty nobility squabbled over minor border disputes and personal qualms with their levies, leaving much of the realm's road infrastructure and farmland in destitute shambles. As a result of the instability and the subsequent cancellation of the capital bread dole, tens of thousands had fled the previously-glorious capital, seeking refuge in the Voltanese countryside, whilst many more merely settled elsewhere in the Montefuegan countryside, trading a life of a hungry urchin for that of a peckish peasant, tied to his land and liege. The previously lively and vibrant streets of Montefuego took on a sparse and bleak tone these days, a reality the Doge did not even have to peek out of his window to notice. Homes went empty, businesses were abandoned, and merchants began to seek greener pastures in the comparatively infinite market that lay next door.
And yet, the Doge could do nothing. Visitation rights were cut months ago to make it seem as if he had died. His cellmate perished weeks ago, another victim of the accursed Fiebre Pirata[1]. And it was only yesterday that his pet rat, Fidel, was cruelly ripped from him as well, thus stripping the patrician of well and truly everything. All he wanted to do was simply shut his eyes, and wait for the tempestuous storm to depart, and return him to his righteous place at the helm of the ship of state...
...
Somewhere outside Montefuego City, Montefuego
"Mail! Mail, I say, it has arrived!" Said the royal courier, clad in the most gaudy and pompous clothes the caballeros could afford as per their effort to make themselves look every bit as glamorous as their Voltanese de jure overlords to mask said cabellero's ruination and to fulfill their most ostentatious desires, held a piece of paper bearing the wax stamp of the Montefuegan City Guard. The courier's forehead was glistening with sweat as a result of his excessive garb, dripping onto the vellum note as he panted lightly.
"Ah? Did the old fart finally die?" asked Señor Modesto, the most powerful and influential of the Caballeros, a vile smile creeping across his vile face.
The courier's face grimaced a bit at Señor quite ironic use of the term 'old fart'. After all, Modesto was quite grizzled himself. "Well, he's only, like, 30, but-"
"I'll take that as a yes. Thank you courier, you may go now." Señor Modesto said, before sneering, "In fact, I insist, you are going to inflict me with secondhand claminess. Begone, sweaty."
With that, Señor Modesto unfurled the scroll given to him. In many, many long sentences, it described the circumstances and details surrounding the untimely death of the Doge in uncannily gruesome detail. "Wa-ho!" he said, waving over his fellow cabelleros, "The Doge has died! For real this time, of course."
The other caballeros uttered assenting murmurs, toasting to each other over the patrician's untimely demise. However, this was shortlived. As soon as the cheeriness died down, the shortsightedness of the caballeros' policymaking was exposed, merely due to the fact that there were no plans beyond this. There was no plan to fix the deficit, and there was certainly no rush to make such a plan. But the silence was unbearable. A general feeling of what now? settled upon the cabal.
Finally, Modesto broke the silence. "I am going to say something, and I know damn well none of you are going to like it: There aren't enough assets in this city, or indeed this country, that we can liquidate to pay off our debts."
"Then what do you propose we do? We've already sold off Tierra del Malo and the Doge's personal possessions." Francisco, one of the younger caballeros, asked.
"Simple. The mountainfolk of the river valley south of the Gilded were displaced many moons ago, and they lie vulnerable and ripe for pillage in their new homeland just west of here." Modesto explained patiently. "They were once the foremost power of the Upper Voltan. While they may have lost their status, they must surely have retained at least a portion of their fortune."
"Do we even have a military anymore?" Francisco muttered, rolling his eyes at the thought of sacking a bunch of impoverished refugees to save their country from financial ruin.
"Why yes, yes we do. Just a week ago, I saw one of our glorious regiments roughing up an urchin near the palace." Modesto said pridefully. "Besides, we do not need to pay them for a couple of months if we instead wordlessly grant them carte blanch to take whatever they wish from the settled mountaineers." He held his fingers to his mouth and whistled, signalling for his personal courier to come running into the room. "Servant, fetch me the martial. Tell him it is of the utmost importance." As the servant left the room, Modesto raised his voice once more. "Oh! And one more thing. Send for the rest of my colleagues. Tell them that they must be in this room by today next month participate in the new Montefuegan Royal Diet. We will finalize and resolve all of the issues pertaining to the handing out of titles, and discuss the details surrounding how newly conquered territory will be handed out and administered."
"Right away, my liege." The servant responded, bowing deeply and shuffling backwards respectively.
------------------------------
[1] Fiebra Pirate - (literally Pirate Fever), Montefuegan medical term for Scurvy.
OOC:
Map & Catalog Updated - Welcome to 66CE!
Due South expansion post 1/2
"You want to what?" Andarr asked, bewildered at the Petty King's suggestion. "I don't even think ships would be able to get there. I don't understand why you'd want me — I've been moved around already; I've been almost starved to death; I don't want to move any more."
Andarr was lying through his teeth. He wanted to be known for more than a decade after his death. He wanted to have his name set in the history books, even if he were just a footnote, because he knew that then his name would last for even just two decades. And plus, Borceric wanted to expand their influence. Then again, there was always the possibility it'd all crumble. Drunneht II must have seen Andarr's expression, because he took a deep breath before speaking again.
"I know it'd be troublesome," he began, leaning in a bit closer to Andarr, "but it'd be good for Borceric as a whole. We can't be overshadowed by Uinncair. Sure, they've been important, but we must be too. The people here seem to take you as their leader-of-sorts, a de facto leader. You must have some leadership ability to be able to convince several hundred-and-counting people to listen." Drunneht II straightened his back. "Would you be willing to do this?"
"Let me think, sir." he responded. Drunneht II leaned in once more before speaking in a hushed whisper.
"It won't be under my jurisdiction, as Celmuhb barely is under mine and it's much closer. You can be put in charge of this... it's an outpost, more than anything."
Andarr nodded.
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————
"Oie, oie! Land!" called a guardsman. His commanding officer, Andarr, who was recently promoted to commanding officer by Petty King's decision, came over. He nodded, a small smile coming across his face, as he took in the eyeful. There was a settlement, barely anything other than a dot from this distance, on the horizon.
"How soon do you think we will be there?" Andarr asked.
"I can't say, but it should be within a few hours at the most."
"Good."
Andarr didn't pay much attention to how much time passed as he thought about what the distant settlement could be. As the questions piled up, the excitement did also. He was going to have some power and he was beyond excited. It would be difficult, but maybe his charge of a few hundred could stake out a living until more could happen. As the boats came closer, he saw that the settlement was inhabited. Problem was, the people in it were moving quickly — far quicker than calm people normally did.
The ship docked and the people looked even more scared. They grabbed whatever implements could be used as weapons, which was honestly quite a lot. Andarr kept his hands where the natives could see them, hearing how they spoke in their strange language. It sounded nothing like the language the Szwonian missionaries nor the Szwonian soldiers spoke. It sounded like the natives were gnashing their teeth and understanding every sound of it.
"We aren't here to hurt you," Andarr said, but the natives didn't acknowledge it. He expected that. He didn't expect for them to lower their weapons and — by Kuśtoszi, these natives were reminding him of the Szwonians when they first made contact with Celmuhb. "Stand back men. We ought to go down a ways, give them space. Just like Celmuhb." He began his movement away from the natives and across the coastline slow at first so as to not scare them, and once they were a safe distance away he walked normally. Now he had to tame the natives — a feat like that would be troublesome, most certainly. Andarr and his men would have to break through the language barrier.
The Nojuan Campaign - Plans
Expansion Post
The Nojuans had always been weak warriors, their talents more focused on clay sculpting. Though detrimental to their military, the popularity of their ceramics had boomed. The Calamerans had seen such weakness and pounced on the opportunity.
The command tent was mostly empty, save for Ali and Mustafa. The two men had been friends through the military for quite some time, with Mustafa becoming Ali’s second-in-command. Ali was sitting on a floor of carpets and pillows, the standard treatment for Calameran royals. He looked over the Nojuan coastline, on which laid the theoretically united Nojuan Sultanate. However, all knew that the sultanate was deeply divided into a dozen Emirs vying for control.
“The foolish prince that attempted to thwart our consolidation of the Majari must be punished. His father’s domain lays here, near our borders,” Ali pointed to a small drawn emirate on the map, “Punishment must be enacted on this prideful fool.”
“Are you sure such extensive conquests are necessary for a single slight? The Nojuans know about pottery and nothing more, they’re a clueless people that don’t seem to have any other real use.” Mustafa was sitting across from Ali, upon a similar pile of carpets and pillows. “This war would have too many costs compared to any benefits.”
“My friend, you fail to see into the future. Far more prosperous lay just beyond the Nojuans, out of our reach.” Ali unfurled another map, this one detailed the Nazer River, how it flowed between the Almara Sea and the Ramliun Gulf. “Nazerabad, the glimmering jewel of the Bariya Desert. It shall be my greatest conquest, to usher in a golden age for all of Calamera, and it shall be the moment when I hand the role of conquering new lands to you.”
Mustafa’s face flashed with glee, he would be the great leader controlling the powerful and expansive army of Calamera, “Where will you go then, my sultan?”
“To Almanida, I wish to see my wife and son once more, a glorious reunion it shall be. I’ve heard the city’s grown when we left it was a simple tribal settlement.” Ali smiled, “I wonder how old little Khalid has gotten in my absence, when I left he was only this tall.” He gestured with his hand, approximating a height akin to Khalid’s.
“I suppose my wife will have to wait a little longer for my eventual return. The lands beyond the Nazer are ripe for the taking. The immense Tadafa River will finally be tamed, every city will fall under Calamera’s glorious banner.”
“For now, let us focus on Nojud,” Ali replied, “No point in dreams if you cannot fulfill them,”
“Ah, of course. So once we strike down the first emirate, we will push further into the sultanate.” Mustafa suggested, slowly tracing his finger across the map.
“The Nojuans are divided, so it’s not a problem of numbers or experience. Instead, it’s a problem of which emirates to conquer. Our time is not well spent chasing down a dozen different armies across the desert, it’s a waste of time and energy.”
Mustafa looked over the rough map of the Nojuan emirates, carefully seeing possible paths for them to take through Nojud. “We must stick to coastal territories, the emirates deeper in the desert will be far more draining to defeat. The emir on the round peninsula can prove problematic in the future, especially if the inland rulers decide to attack. If we leave him there, it’s easier for a possible revolt to cut our empire in two. It’s best we also conquer him.”
Ali smiled, Mustafa was able to think quickly and reasonably. He would make an excellent general for the Calameran army, “ I agree, tell the subcommanders our plans. We need to bring in large amounts of supplies for this campaign. Not many crops are grown in Nojud and I don’t want my army starving to death on the way there. It would be a good time for our forces to train and repair their armor and weapons. This must last us to Nazerabad, resupply will be rare in the climate of Nojud.”
Mustafa nodded, standing and leaving the tent. The next year would be filled with continuous campaigning. In fact, the past few years had been filled with continuous campaigns. Ali picked up a small cane pen. It had been several months since his last letter to Intisar, the Majari succession had occupied most of his time that year. Ali began writing, he yearned for the sweet words of his wife. The moment Nazerabad fell, Ali would return.
The Nojuan Campaign - Administration
Expansion Post
Intisar received Ali’s letter two weeks after it was sent, the transport was slow in the endless sandy wastes of the Bariya. In the days following, reports flooded the small bureaucracy in Almanida. The rapid streak across Nojud had incorporated significant amounts of territory into the growing Calameran Sultanate.
***
To Intisar Athir Quasim, the Sultanah of the Endless and Glorious Realm of Calamera
The campaigns have gone stupendously. The Nojuans are close to complete collapse, their foolish leadership has led them into defeat after defeat. I hope you are able to integrate the new lands as fast as my army has been conquering them. We storm through the Nojuan cities and farmland. They are weak men, unable to put up significant resistance against my superior numbers and men. In the many years I have been conquering new lands for our country, my men have grown into hardened veterans, able to face any threat. My friend Mustafa has gained much knowledge on the art of war, he will be a fine general for our forces.
That brings me to my second point. I will be returning to see you and Khalid in Almanida, I am excited to see its great growth into the shimmering gem of our empire. An alluring prospect has captured my attention since the very first day I left on my campaigns. The city of Nazarabad lays unconquered, the strongest state along the immense Nazer and Tadafa Rivers. A decisive blow against the city’s sultan will bring Calamera unimaginable glory. From the rich Nazer River comes grain and cotton, ripe for conquest. Perhaps we shall see a Calameran Sultanate stretching as from Muquanar to Janub, though that is a dream for the future. Perhaps Khalid will bring such an age to Calamera, of gold and cotton, of peace and prosperity. We shall see. My plans are clear for now, Mustafa will continue along the campaign trail while I retake my rightful position. Your time as regent has been greatly prosperous for us all, but I feel it is time for me to take my responsibilities as sultan off your hands. I hope you miss your conquering husband,
Sultan Ali Badri al-Majid, the Conquerer
***
Intisar had planned a meeting with her trusted advisor, Fayyaad al-Moradi. Moradi had risen from a simple bureaucrat in Almanida to one of Intisar’s top advisors. His shrewd and ruthless methods led to his quick rise in Calamera. The man was quick with his words and his pen, slashing down his opponents.
She sat on a bench in the center of her extensive courtyard. She had always preferred the colorful trees that surrounded her to the cramped and dingy halls tucked away in her palace. She was humming a simple tune as she waited, elegantly resting herself on the cloths that had been lined upon the bench’s hardwood.
Moradi came into the secluded center quickly, his arms clutching a large bundle of papers and documents. A flood of reports had come in from Nojud, every small skirmish and piece of conquered territory coming with a million questions.
Moradi sat on a neighboring bench, looking across at the sultana. A glaring look drilled into the man’s soul, for he was nearly an hour late to their scheduled meeting. He bowed his head, beginning a rambling excuse, “I apologize, my sultana, for there was a sudden influx of new reports to file through, and-”
Intisar silently waved her hand, cutting his sentence short. She looked toward the man, “I do not care about excuses, do you have what I’ve requested from you?”
“Yes, I’ve prepared a way to divide up the lands currently owned by the Nojuan Sultanate. However, unlike the Majari territories, I was hardpressed to find any chiefs who wanted to rule over such terrible lands. The soil's quality is middling, with few rivers going through the region.” He rolled open a map, handing it to Intisar. “However, I managed to force a few nobles doing nothing else to rule as chiefs over the lands.”
Intisar nodded, smiling at the clever man. His skills had shone through once again, “Excellent. If you aren’t late for any more of these meetings I might have plans for you to assume Ebrahim’s previous position.”
“I thought Ali wished to keep Ebrahim as his vizier.” Moradi raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, but Ebrahim’s a prideful fool. He hasn’t been seen for several days, something unacceptable for a vizier of the sultan.”
Moradi grinned, “Very well, I expect you to follow through on your offer.” He stood, leaving Intisar alone in the courtyard once again.
The Southlands - I
"Please, sire, I beg you to reconsider," the High General pleaded with his liege. The two had been in quite the heated debate on what action the Kingdom should take next. A topic of major importance was where the Kingdom would expand its reach to next. There were quite the few candidates, some an immediate concern for the Kingdom, some others of lesser importance. One thing was certain, the King and High General did not see eye-to-eye at the moment.
"I have heard out your pleas for long enough, Blokhuizen, that is quite enough from you," King Fraldarius stared him down with a fierce gaze. "Raise your voice at me again and I shall have to reconsider your seat at this table," he warned, referring to the table where the representatives of each branch of government were seated.
"It is by my decree that we shall conquer the southern end of this very peninsula as soon as we are able and I shall not be deterred from that goal, never mind be slandered by the general I handpicked myself."
"Of course, your majesty. Forgive my dreadful manners," the High General slightly slumped down into his seat.
"Though I do not question your authority, nor objectivity, why are we to invade the dreaded southlands? There's nothing but pirates and brigands in that area, absolutely despicable, it is a wonder that they are considered "civilized"," Van Lunteren asked.
"That's the exact reason we are conquering them. The High Admiral has informed me that they been quite the hassle to deal, thus I will be sending in our troops to crush them into the ground and, upon their corpses, build a civilization pious to the Holy Realm and only the Holy Realm or may Ephrahim forsake me," the King elaborately explained. He spoke with more conviction then he usually did, perhaps it was the Publectians looming in the west, the warmongers.
"It shall be done, sire," Blokhuizen nodded.
"That's all I wanted to hear, you are dismissed Blokhuizen," the king ordered, sending the High General on his way. "Nassau," the king began once more after Blokhuizen had left, "how is the naval order I made coming along?"
"It will be completed soon sire, ships for 20,000 new sailors shall greet you next time you visit Frederiksstadt," the Sealord answered.
"Very good," the king nodded in relief. "How is the rebuilding of Frederiksstadt coming along? It is important that the south of this very peninsula is strong enough to conquer it, for you shall be in charge of the restructuring of those provinces as well."
"You have my word, sire, that the conquest and restoration of the south shall be done quickly, we shall be prepared to the upmost should the Publectian onslaught come." Nassau dutifully pledged. "The navy has also fitted into their the vassals granted to them two year prior, they are trained to defend against pirates in our beloved waters."
"I appreciate your report, Jorge. You are free to go, I have urgent preparations to make, for our financial situation might suddenly change should the Publectians choose to strike at us. Something I do not expect, but a monarch must always be prepared."
The Sealord left the hall, leaving the king to himself. He was in deep contemplation, though the conquest of the south had yet to happen, the young king was already planning ahead. One could never remain idle in his position.
The Southlands - II
The sunlight beamed through the windows of Treasurer Dijkstra's office, certainly made it easier to read and write on his paper. The Treasurer had been busy managing the coffers of the Royal Treasury, but also of the national banks. Certainly, the situation in the west didn't make his job any easier. To add onto that, the declaration of war against pirate country in the southern tip of the peninsula also added onto that. The man worked from sunrise to sunset, from dawn till dusk one would say should they want to sugarcoat it.
The man sighed. He laid down his feather, making sure not to let any ink leak onto his spruce bureau, would be a waste to stain it.
"Treasurer Dijkstra, sir, the High General wants to speak with you," his steward, who had carefully and quietly entered his study as to not abruptly distract his superior. "It is concerning the funding of the offense in the south."
The Treasurer awoke from his trans, induced upon him by his dedication to his work. "Ah yes... Do see him in," Dijkstra nodded.
"It will be done, sir," the steward bowed and promptly left the study to see in the High General. Dijkstra looked around his study. He looked at the towering bookshelves, the light coming through the windows illuminating the titles of the books. Dijkstra was rather fond of literature, from fables, to encyclopedias and factbooks on other nations. One would do well to study foreign nations, for different political systems offered different insights. If he were to suggest a good read, he'd say: "You'll have to pay to read even of em."
He was once again awoken from a trance, by the clanking of armor coming from the halls just outside of his study. 'The man of the hour,' the treasurer thought to himself. And surely, in the entrance to his study stood the ever vigilant High General Blokhuizen.
"Lars, to what do I owe this visit?" the Treasurer asked, fully aware of the purpose of the High General's visit, but it made for an easier way to start a conversation.
"You know why I am here, Nikolai, but I will tell you, just to quench your thirst for certainty," Blokhuizen chuckled. "I am here to get the seal of approval his majesty ordered you to make."
"Of course, however, it has been a very long time since we have last spoken. If you would indulge me, sit. I shall have the pages bring in some wine," he requested. The High General did as he was asked, and sat down opposite of the Treasurer. The Treasurer turned to his steward.
"Please, Daan, see to it that you bring us the finest dry-aged biltong we have in the manor. And I want the Guadalaran from 37CE."
"The 37CE?" the steward asked in slight awe.
"The occasion calls for it," Dijkstra curtly reassured.
"It will be done," the steward nodded. As soon as he left the room, clapping echoed in the halls, the Treasurer assumed his loyal steward was gathering the pages. He looked back at the High General, who had - in the process of Dijkstra ordering his finest wine to be served - made himself quite comfortable.
"How have you been the past few years friend?" Dijkstra asked with interest.
"I have been rather splendid. The lofty new position of High General has treated me well, the status, the bravado and most importantly.... the pay," he answered, chuckling at the last part. Both men shared a brief laughter.
"Ah yes, the wonders of money. It seems that these days there isn't a lot that you can't attain with it," the Treasurer nodded in turn to his opposite. "I too have come a long way since being the overshadowed Treasurer of Frederiksstadt, never would i have imagined that I would now manage the Royal Treasury of the Kingdom."
"If there was any single person within the Empire I trust to do it, it would be you Nikolai," the High General complimented.
"Ah yes, you came here for the seal," the Treasurer changed topics. He reached into one of the shelves of the bookshelf closest to his desk. He grabbed a rolled up piece of parchment, neatly packaged in a bow.
"This is it, it will guarantee you financial support for the coming attack in the south."
"Thank you, good friend," the High General nodded with glee, "Now where is that wine?"
Campaign to the east - VI
In front of them lied the Herbus river, which flowed towards the Shimmering Sea. A few days earlier, Decimus had went on a journey towards Derdriu from this exact place. Though it lacked a port, they got him onto a ship and he could start his journey. With the flow of the river being in favour of them, it hadn’t taken long to get to Derdriu, however, getting upriver was much harder. This is why it had taken them a few days, the flow was against them.
But, at last, they had reached the fort. They were just a few hundred steps[1] from the fort, slowly but surely making their way over. As they went nearer, they also steered more towards the coast. Once sufficiently close enough to both the coast and the fort, the soldiers on land threw a rope towards them. It fell into the water a couple of times and it had to be pulled back and thrown again, but eventually the ship’s crew managed to grab onto the rope. Soldiers on the coast tied it to a heavy rock and the crew started pulling it, so that they would go towards the coast.
After some time, they had finally pulled themselves to the coast. The crew climbed off, helping the first Consul himself get off the ship. Many of the crew members went inside the fort, while some waited for two other ships, which carried soldiers, to arrive. Decimus, however, went inside the fort, together with his personal bodyguards. They were greeted by the legionaries and the guards of the fort. It was very lively with soldiers milling around all over the fort. Decimus went into the keep, the main building in the fort.
He went through the winding corridors of the keep, occasionally going through a few rooms. Some had soldiers in them, some did not. It was quite hard to actually find the topmost room, where Publius was waiting for him. He had been here once but did not remember all the nooks and crannies of the keep. It was quite a daunting task, since he was afraid to ask directions from the soldiers he saw while on his way. He was a brave, sometimes even an arrogant man, using his position of first Consul as a defense or a show of superiority. Yet, he was afraid to ask a minor question from normal Publectian legionaries, who he was surely above in the unofficial hierarchical ladder.
At last he found the right staircase, a spiral staircase going to the top floor. It was a very narrow one, barely a single person could fit into it. Decimus’ first personal bodyguard went first, followed by Decimus himself and then the second bodyguard. Once they had gone up two floors, they reached the top floor and opened the wooden door. In front of them was yet another corridor, heading to a dining room. Decimus, however, entered another room before reaching the dining room.
That room was Publius’ office, largely reserved for Publius to write letters and read books and other such activities. Publius sat in front of his desk, being in a trance-like situation. In front of him, on the desk, there was a book that he was supposed to read.
“Hello, Publius!” Decimus greeted.
Publius nodded his head slightly. “Hello!” Publius said, once having snapped out of his trance. “So, how did your meeting go?” He asked as he sighed and leaned back, at the same time closing the book in front of him.
“Honestly, not well.” Decimus answered as he sat down on a chair in front of the desk. “At first it was heated, largely because I just stepped in and was...rather aggressive.”
“That’s not good, is it?” Publius commented. “You probably left a very rude first impression.”
“That could be a reason why it failed.” Decimus realised. “Anyway, we started to get along and I started to read out the terms.” Decimus sighed.
“And that’s where things went wrong?” Publius asked.
“Yes.” Decimus answered. “They agreed to the first term, but when I read out the second term…” Decimus shook his head. “It was very controversial, and after almost a day of negotiating, I gave him a chance to either accept or not. I, by that point, had multiple times told that we were not afraid to go to war. And then I officially denounced the king and walked out of the room.”
“That guy deserved it!” Publius smiled. “He got two choices, he chose war.”
“That’s what I thought after coming out of there. The king of Hyldebrandt will pay, and he will pay hard.” Decimus swore. “Publius, once you have beaten the nomads, make sure you do that for certain, start going down the Herbus river. At the delta, there will be a city, and that city we must take over. I will start an official proposal towards declaration of war. But do not start raiding or undertaking hostile actions against the Hyldebrandtians without my or the emperor’s permission. And then, we declare war.”
“I can start a mobilization, correct?” Publius asked.
“Yes.” Decimus nodded. “You can ask me for confirmation.”
“Good.” Publius responded. He walked over to a cabinet, which he opened and took out a bottle of wine. He took two glasses from a table beside it and brought them to the desk. “Want wine?”
“Yes.”
Publius poured wine for both him and Decimus. The two drank wine till the sun set.
[1] - 1 step is approximately 1.56 metres.
The Southlands - III
The pirate lands in the south of the Hyldebrandtian peninsula had always been an eyesore. Trashed and abandoned buildings, its foundations left to catch dust and rot. Either barren fields, overgrown hedges or dead trees, it was surely an undesirable spot to conquer let alone live. Yet the Kingdom still held high hopes for the wastelands of the south, for the resources there would be of great benefit to the Kingdom's ascension to power within the social climate of Selm. Soldiers, their armor mirroring the grand blue of the flag of their proud nation, marched down towards the pirate lands, crossing the border of Hyldebrandt, something they had not done in a few years, for past conquests had always been in charted territories within the sovereign realms of the Holy Kingdom.
Under the command of general Gouderegen, they passed through the dreary landscapes of the pirate realm to little resistance - something they had not expected, but was certainly welcome. Their objective was the pirate base at the tip of the peninsula, a port full with pirate ships, basically a mob run town. The port was nameless, it might have an actual name, but said name changed along with the person in charge and in a swashbuckling town like that it was often. Eventually, the mapmakers refused to bother and left it as a blank spot in the maps, only word of its existence spread through the peninsula, however unimportant it may be.
"Sir, official request to set up our base here," one of Gouderegen's accomplices asked, a redacted tone in his voice.
"One is free to curate as much," the general alluded, he was rather of fond of such games, however petty they might be, though he was famed for his strategic successes when under service of the city-state of Almyra. It was probably one of the only reasons he that the King let him retain his position, for he was not as fond of his japes as Gouderegen himself was.
"Sir... We require your official consent," the commander sighed. It seemed he too shared the sentiment of his majesty, not that fond of Gouderegen's tomfoolery.
"Of course boy, if the soldiers en masse request that we rest," the general let out a hearty laugh. "Inform the men that we shall set out again at dawn, should the night treat us right."
"It will be done, sir," the officer nodded to his superior and made haste rushing to his compatriots.
"No sense of humor at all," the general sighed to himself. Frankly, he believed that the collective of Hyldebrandtian officers had little to no wits about them, they were emotionless, swayed by an order of a superior alone. They were too caught up in the idea of ranks, the general believed as much.
Setting up base took shorter than expected. At dusk it was completed and the soldiers took their sweet time filling their stomachs with poor quality food, it would do, for it wasn't garbage, just low rate. As the crackling sounds of the burning wood stacked on the campfire echoed throughout the small field, not another sound accompanied it, for the camp had fallen asleep, silenced by the rest they so desperately required.
Yet one remained awake, the general planned to work into the night to assure the success of his army in conquering the filthy southlands. It had been a fairly effortless undertaking up till then, though the general had planned ahead. His scouting party had informed him of the rough terrain and other challenges the army was yet to face. The general aspired to gain a total and complete victory over his adversaries, though he did not aim to waste the lives of many men in the process.
Better Without II expansion post 2/2
Gaining Support
The coinpurse jingled as Tunus tucked it away. Over the span of a year he had embezzled enough money to be able to pay off one or two mercenary bands handsomely and to bribe any guardsmen to come to his aid. Over his time as Baron Uerec's assistant, Tunus had recorded a number of people who expressed anti-Uerec sentiments. He kept these names under wraps and hidden in case he had to do something like... transition power in a slightly violent way, yeah, that's how he'd describe it. It wasn't a coup per say because Tunus wasn't in it for his own gain but for the gain of Cairuen as a whole. His coinpurse jingled a little more, screaming to him that this was immoral, but was for moral reasons.
Tunus stepped into an inn -- the Boar's Head inn -- that he knew often had and accommodated military officers. He kept a few names in mind. Der Adiostarr, der Rehtgen Louat[2], and der Uencar. Tunus asked around for a few moments and found that Adiostarr was sipping his drink at a table off to the side. His job made easier, he walked to his table and sat down at it.
"Hello, der Adiostarr. Do not be alarmed, but may we talk about..." Tunus lowered his voice. "...your allegiance to the Baron?"
Adiostarr stopped for a moment before shrugging. "Not like you got any dirt on me."
"Oh, no, this isn't about who's got dirt on whom. No, I'm here because your disallegiance may very well bring a new government in order."
"Hmm?"
"Oh yes. I've had plenty of time to draft the framework: we have two hundred seats and a system of voting on legislation and actions. With many people, the citizens of not only the city of Cairuen but of the entire Cairuenic realm will be represented. Criminal courts will be placed below the government and we'll set up provinces and elect people to control them. We will do what our Baron has failed to."
"And you're sure it'll work?"
"Well, why would I suggest it if it wouldn't work?"
Adiostarr lightly nodded before sipping on his mead once more. "I have maybe 250 under my command, if not less. I'll make sure to weed out the ones who follow our same goals."
"Very well. May I ask, where's der Rethgen Louat?" Adiostarr pointed Tunus in Rethgen's direction. Thanking him, Tunus walked over to Rethgen Louat. After reciting the same explanation, he did the same with Uencar. With 400 at most troops, they had a good foundation to work off of. A way they would show their allegiance to one another would be saying to another member, "a necessary evil is enough for liberty." A bit on the dramatic side, but Tunus hadn't made it. He left the Boar's Head and took a deep breath of the outside hair. Pushing himself back to movement, he left for where that mercenary company would be. Speaking with their head was easy enough — just hand them the gold, tell them how to keep in touch, and thank them.
Tunus had several more coinpurses filled to the brim, and so hired two more mercenary companies. He made sure to be discrete. After telling them much of the same as with the first, he had secured two more mercenary companies. An army of 1,900 was small yet was good. Another mercenary company brought that up to 2,200. The rest of the coinpurses were to be used for bribing guardsman. That reminded him — he ought to bribe the brochsmen sometime soon, before the "transition of power in a slightly violent way" could go through.
After Tunus dealt with the mercenary companies, he had to deal with Baron Uerec's desire for Cairuen to take colonies of its own. He justified it by telling Tunus how the Borcericans were taking land in large handfuls. Tunus wasn't a fan of the Borcerican approach, but knew that Uerec would try to push further into Sakeli land. He just barely convinced Uerec to not take more land for Cairuen and to instead focus on making sure another tribal or nomadic power couldn't push through Cairuen like the Sakeli did. Uerec felt this was a good idea.
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————
[1] - a military officer or head of a city guard. Masculine noun, o-stem.
[2] - "Rethgen the Quick"
Learning how to Write; Continuing a Legacy. competition post
Pecir map Uru sat, fidgeting and not-at-all calm. His father was a well-respected noble in Ehtoldd who wanted his son to become well-versed in the art of the scholar. Scholar Denbecan was happy to oblige the noble's wishes. As Uru left, Denbecan turned to Pecir and greeted him. Uru gave his son three choices — become a scholar, become a merchant, or become a military officer. The idea of going to war worried Pecir relentlessly and so did the thought of being pulled over by a band of pirates and either getting killed or being left stranded. Being a scholar sounded great to him not only because he'd have less likelihood of being hurt but also because he'd be able to write and have people in the future read his words. And so he told his father he wanted to be a scholar, and nearly a week later a suitable tutor was found.
"Hello, Pecir. I am Denbecan, a scholar your father hired to tutor you today. Come, we have much to do." Denbecan led his charge to another room, where a wax tablet and a stylus sat next to one another on a table with two chairs near it. Today's lesson would be writing. Pecir was seven, a good age to learn the basics of scholardom. Denbecan grabbed the stylus, sat Pecir down into the chair next to the table, and put the stylus in Pecir's hand and began guiding the his hand. Denbecan showed him the first aicme[1]: beiht, lus, uern, salics, and nun, or B, L, W, S, and N. One stroke down, to two, to three, to four, and to five. Five letters were written: the first with one line, the second with two, and so on. In each letter, each line was connected to the other with a loop at their top until the end.
Pecir began from the bottom and made a horizontal stroke at the top. He then moved his hand slightly to make room for the second letter. Here, he made a line and looped it over, ending the other line near where the first began without them touching. The third with three lines and two loops, the fourth with four lines and three loops, and the fifth with five lines and four loops. Denbecan smiled.
"Good, good. Now, let me show you the second aicme." Denbecan gently took the stylus and wrote the next set — osat, darecs, tinn, col, and perht, or Y, D, T, C, and P — and watched as Pecir copied. The strokes were from the top this time, looping at the bottom, and positioned above the first aicme as if there were a line between the two as there usually were. Denbecan was joyed at how easily Denbecan caught on. Denbecan commandeered the quill once more and showed Pecir the third aicme: mun, gort, edel, and rud, or M, G, H, and R.
The boy caught on once again. His letters were the same as the second aicme, except a diagonal line came from the final stroke. The one-stroke letter was a simple diagonal line. The fourth aicme was easy, too: al, onn, ur, edad, and idad, or A, O, U, E, and I. These letters followed the same strokes as the last two aicme, but instead a vertical line came from the final stroke, extending as far down as the end of a first aicme letter. These nineteen (19) letters, or four (4) aicme were repeated numerous times. By the time they stopped it had begun nearing night and Uru was approaching. Uru came into the small house and greeted Denbecan with both a smile and a small bag of coins. The two agreed on bringing Pecir around the same time tomorrow before Uru left with Pecir.
Pecir came the next day and interrupted Denbecan as he wrote something he had coined the Uinnlantish Chronicle. Using several sources, primary and secondary, Voltanese to Polarean to Harlumic to Uinnlantish, Denbecan had been compiling a complete record of the history of the Uinnlantish people. Uinnlantish folktales were important for the beginning, but as the record came closer to the present, more sources came into play and painted different pictures. Harlum were largely unaware of Uinnrenn and the Uinnlant until around 57 CE when Baron Arenn of Uinncair negotiated trade with the northerly empire of Bjornsburg: Bjornsburg was much the same. Scant records were found about the Uinnlantish in Arinan, Wence, Voltanese and Polarean, though the majority of the sources by far were Uinnlantish in origin. Denbecan personally thought this was best. Who else could know Uinnlantish better than the Uinnlant?
Denbecan finished the sentence he was writing and set the ink to dry on the parchment — the parchment wasn't cheap, having come to Uinnrenn through Voltan from a mysterious place called Montefuego. Denbecan then turned to Pecir, greeted him, and set him to work repeating the letters once more. As Pecir wrote the letters over and over again, erasing them after writing them, his letters became much more fluid and refined. Shaky lines became smooth, elegant. Denbecan smiled brightly at how quick Pecir caught on and soon set him to connecting his third aicme and fourth aicme to each other at the bottom of their vertical and diagonal lines respectively. Soon after that, Denbecan put Pecir to writing his own name: perht-edad-col-idad-rud (Pecir). After that, the Scholarly Uinnlantish form: cuerhctā-edados-coslas-idadostus-rudstis-osnos-salics (Cuecīros). After Pecir's writing was as elegant as a 7-year old's handwriting could be, Denbecan set him to trying to read.
Reading was harder, it seemed, as the boy struggled to sound out the letters written by quill-on-parchment. Pecir kept through with it, his troubles only making him work harder. And work harder Pecir did. As this same routine repeated for days, turning to weeks and then to months, and the beginning hurdles were passed, Pecir was able to read and write further past his age. Denbecan knew this boy was a prodigy the moment that Pecir had penned, in extremely elegant writing, the relations of Uinncair with the other cities of the League, as well as the cities of Cerenn and with overseas powers such as Polarii, Voltan, and Bjornsburg. Even after Uru had stopped bringing his son to Denbecan for tutorage two years after the first time Pecir and Denbecan met, the two kept in touch for nearly two decade after. The letters and meetings came to a stop when Denbecan quietly died in his sleep. Pecir came by the next day and was horrified. After burying Denbecan, Pecir went through his former tutor's writing equipment like he had done for years before. He came across the Uinnlantish Chronicle and was interested at how Denbecan tried to write the history of the Uinnlant. With a sad look upon his face, Pecir began moving the items to his home and began reading through the sources Denbecan had to finish the book in his name.
The Bazaar Brawl
Expansion Post
Sehlura was a recently conquered city, now under Calameran rule. The crowded bazaar of the city held the many goods Nojud had to offer. Most stalls were lined with clay ceramics, a Nojuan specialty. The markets were patrolled by Calameran soldiers, who maintained a watchful eye over the merchants. A loud ruckus created by a drunken man drew the soldiers’ attention.
One man, known as Raadi to his fellow guards, stepped toward the man, who at this point was yelling loudly and rambling on about nonsense. The drunk took a wild swing at Raadi, egged on by the merchants surrounding him. One merchant left the small space of his stand, holding a small clay pot. In a quick motion, he smashed the pot onto the Calameran’s head. Raadi’s skull was unprotected, having taken off his helmet due to the ever-increasing heat of the desert winds. He collapsed onto the crowded market street, his fellow soldiers quickly ran to help him.
The next few moments were a true flurry of motions. The Calamerans drew their swords, the Nojuan merchants gripping sticks and heavy ceramics. The two groups lunged at each other, chaos spilling across the marketplace. The event attracted even more Calameran guards, who were stationed as a garrison in the city. Immediately, the garrison commander requested reinforcements from the Calameran army, which had been making their way up the Nojuan coast in a long string of conquests. The devolving situation descended ever further into full revolt. More troops rushed into the bazaar, becoming entrapped by wave after wave of merchants wearing colorful robes and throwing painted pots. The few neutral citizens of the city attempted to flee the utter chaos that had taken over the bazaar but were stopped by Calameran steel and the fluttering yells of merchants.
Slashes of swords and stabs of spears injured or killed the revolting merchants. However, the insurrection spread. It engulfed the city’s streets, with rioters attacking the garrison troops with brooms, ceramics, and their bare fists. The Calamerans shot a rain of arrows through the thin streets, naively believing that such a move would deter the Nojuans. However, only a few were injured, only giving the riot an opportunity to surround the small group of archers that had shot said arrows. They were soon ruthlessly beaten and dragged away.
Nearly the entire city had risen in open revolt by evening, now brandishing torches and swords stolen from the Calameran soldiers. The remaining men fled the city, sending a constant stream of messages to the main Calameran force.
***
In the few days following the incident, a small detachment of soldiers had come to put down the rebellion. Attempts to force the detachment away from the city were unsuccessful, the city falling back into Calameran hands. The hasty Nojuan conquest was to blame, no formal government had been established. Though Moradi’s plans worked in theory, they failed completely in reality. Ali soon slowed his conquests of the region, methodically conquering states instead of the mad rush the army found itself in
The Long Game, Interlude I
The wind was fresh and carried a scent of the sea. It played in the silk curtains that looked more like wisps of fumes as the delicate fabric shimmered in the sunlight. Yoshida Ōda's study was by no means bare, but there were few decorations. At least, those that stood on their own. Reliefs and murals that covered all the walls and the ceiling really did not count. Aside from those, a set of carved furniture stood out.
On a low table for guests stood two glasses of Voltanese wine and a platter with fresh fruit. The decanter rested in the hands of the attending servant. Yoshida picked that one and allowed the young man into all the meetings because the youth was deaf. Thus, no secrets would ever travel beyond him, aside from the obvious ones.
"How was your little meeting?" Yoshida asked his guest when Ryūken entered, shocking the other man for a moment.
"Quite well, all things considered," Ryūken replied, taking his seat. "Is it the reason for your summons, cousin?"
"Very perceptive," Yoshida's voice was dry. "So what role did you play in the rise of these thugs on Meridia? Did you finance them or lead them, perhaps?"
"Why would you offend me so, cousin, I would never get involved with someone as unsavory as them," Ryūken managed to look properly affronted at the mere idea."
"And yet, now these idiots rampage throughout western Kyojin, well-armed if not well-trained," Yoshida observed, enjoying the look of annoyance on Ryūken's face. "Have you already considered hiring mercenary armies? Though that particular point is rather redundant now, isn't it? Oh don't look so surprised. How long did you intend to keep me in the dark?"
"I managed for the past two years," Ryūken took a sip of his wine, trying not to let his surprise and, dare he say it, fear out.
"Did you now?" Yoshida's voice was quiet like a predator stalking its prey. "Or did I allow you to do it? Has it ever occurred to you that I wanted all those laws you lobbied to pass the Kaigō?"
"You defeated the Kyojin military support bill," Ryūken argued.
"Exactly, and I could just as easily have defeated all the others," Yoshida nodded with a thin humorless smile. "Now though — I have no more need for you. Therefore, you will not leave this mansion without my express permission. And even then, one of my guards will always accompany you at all times. A single instance you losing them will mean… Well, let's leave that for when you get caught."
Yoshida looked at his small, pitiful cousin without bothering to conceal his triumph or condescension. The boy was hopelessly out of his depths. It would be decades before this pup could ever challenge a politician of Yoshida's caliber.
"And don't you worry about your little friends, I will make sure their fathers hear about your club," he informed Ryūken with the same thin smile.
Unaware he remained of the sparks of fury within his cousin or the vengeful thoughts inside the 'young' head.
"I dare say though, those Uinnrenn brats messed up all of my plans. It likely won't even matter to their fathers what their children did," Yoshida mused, twirling the glass of wine in his hand. "In fact, you all are likely to be praised for your — little club."
"It was inevitable," Ryūken regained some of his composure. "The Senators may not have supported the expansion officially, but they had already deemed Kyojin theirs. They will be furious now, and entirely on our side."
"And yet any further expansion would be impossible. We will not be able to supply colonies that distant without roads. The pirates in the region are strong, and we cannot, at the moment, deal with them as we usually do. That drought on Taihai is hurting our supply lines already."
"We can exercise-"
"You cannot and will not exercise anything," Yoshida cut Ryūken off. "Spontaneous reactions to plans going awry is a mark of an amateur. Unlike the lot of you brats, I have a contingency."
"Care to enlighten me then, cousin?" Ryūken looked at the older man with helpless anger. Yoshida was right. Under present circumstances, Ryūken could not do anything but wait. He was, however, a very patient man.
"We will expand elsewhere, in the Reach to be specific," Yoshida replied. "The Wence were not particularly rich as far as fields and crops were concerned, but their mountains hold many natural deposits of metals, all of them. Besides, it will serve as an ample incentive for Uinnrenn to start negotiations with us, if they are smart that is."
"Is that all you are going to do?!" Ryūken exclaimed in outrage.
"Do, tone it down, I am by no means deaf," was Yoshida's dry response. "I sanctioned two full-fledged genocides, do you believe I will let what amounts to an arrogant minnow insult me like that? I am a Polarean you know."
"Then what?" Ryūken snapped, hiding his surprise behind a facade of indignation.
"Wait and see. I dare say, what happened to the usual way we do politics?" Yoshida grumbled. "No patience whatsoever."
"Complacency more like it," Ryūken challenged.
"Oh?" Yoshida raised an eyebrow. "Unlike you, who spent the last week talking to your friends, I used it to prepare a fleet and send it off. There will be a colony in the Reach in no time."
"Wensburgh?" Ryūken looked at the older man, taken off-guard by the statement.
"Indeed," Yoshida nodded with a smile. "It is not only a symbol, however tarnished by a multitude of foreign invaders, but more importantly, the river it is on provides a convenient gateway to the mountains."
"There is probably slave trade still going on there…" Ryūken probed and received an amuses glance in response.
"How convenient that we have colonies on Kyojin then, isn't it?" the older man gave Ryūken a thin smile. "Nothing makes a more fierce opposition to slave-traders than a group of disgruntled slaves. Now, if there is nothing else, the guards will escort you to your room."
"Am I prisoner then?" Ryūken scowled.
"A very precious and honored guest, whose safety we simply cannot risk," Yoshida's smile turned genial. Ryuken was unnerved the most by how natural it seemed, or was. "What would your father say if something happened to you on the streets of Exanorum, dear cousin."
Ryuken stoop up and left with his new 'bodyguards' without another word, drawing a chuckle from Yoshida as he savored the wine.
The Long Game, Interlude II: The Glory of Wensburgh
"Admiral Kotone, the marines have made it to the shore and are securing the harbor," his assistant distracted Shinso from his musings. "Commander Ensei's group are patrolling the waters."
"Any local resistance?" he asked, looking at the town in the distance.
Of course, it was not Wensburgh proper, as the city itself was located further up the river, but this would serve as the starting point, from which the Republic would assert control over the Wence former capital. The colonists would also be settling here for the time being. The second wave would of course proceed further inland, but for now control over the only exit from the Wens river would suffice.
"Nothing noticeable, merely a few brawls. I would not call it resistance," the young man shook his head. "To think that land used to command the strongest army on Selm."
"Over forty years ago," Shinso added. "Quite a waste, quite a waste… Hopefully, we will be able to bring Wensburgh and other former cities of the League, or whatever remains of them at any rage, to their former glory."
The two fell into comfortable silence where the older man simply observed the cogs of the Polarean military machine at work while the younger one kept looking at the ships of other commanding officers awaiting any other signals from them. Gestures exchanged this was were far less informative than full reports, but what they lacked in details they made up for in speed.
"The third group is docking sir," the young man said as he saw the appropriate signal from the group commander's ship.
"So the town is secure?" Kotone asked.
"Apparently so, sir," his assistant replied. The third group was only supposed to unload the I second wave of soldiers after the marines make sure of the safety of the harbor."
Kotone's fleet brought two legions with all the standard support forces to the Reach. Those men would be the backbone of the continental force. The marines would render assistance to them whenever necessary. Indeed, General Kaneko arrived with them, a formidable officer who exterminated all resistance, and all of the petty kings, on Taihai with just fifteen thousand men.
“Very well, let us proceed with the plan, inform the General that the field is his to play with,” Shinso looked at Polarean banners rising above the modest settlement. It was but a prelude to the future. The phoenix of the Republic would look rather impressive on those colossi of Wensburgh.
***
The day everyone expected had arrived at last. Shinso had never been to the former Wence capital, he had never seen its grand entrance. The chained statues of slaves… It was like seeing Salidus all over again. This time, though, they were no mere silent observers, testaments to glory long lost. Those towering giants embodied submission, they were memorials of power the Wence used to wield. What a symbol to greet a traveler.
Especially if said traveler was a slave.
Luckily, a slave will never again walk the Reach, not after the Republic was done here. In Shinso’s mind, the colonization of this region should have happened long ago, when the Wence league fell. Of course, none listened to green commanders back then. Well, it was better late than never he supposed. A war-torn land needed a steady hand to enforce peace.
The ship sailed under the heavy chains that rusted from age and lack of care, wind rattling them. It caused an ominous echo to run wild between the rocks. It was the perfect position to defend really. One had to sail between the statues, that Shinso knew, were actually guard towers with quite a few bowmen patrolling them. Had the Wence been around to defend their marvel, the city would have been impregnable. Alas, they were not, and everything was ripe for the taking.
When Shinso stepped on the pier, it was a sight of a line of guards that greeted him with General Kaneko in the front. Then man wore a satisfied smile. Shinso could understand the sentiment: it was not every day that one got to rule a city as ancient as Wensburgh. A hollow honor, considering the state of the place, but an honor nonetheless.
“I say, you haven’t smiled as much the entire way here,” he let out a chuckle.
“There was no reason to," the general explained amicably as he beckoned Shinso to follow. They walked along the paved streets of the old city under guard. The remnants of the old faith were still strong, and religious militias have not been hunted down yet. "Though having arrived here and looked the city over, I can say I am glad we managed to get it before someone else did, time included."
"Was there much resistance?" Shinso inquired as they crossed a large square where a market used to be. Now, it was more or less abandoned, and the atmosphere of gloom descended upon it.
"Close to none," Kaneko chuckled. "The state of despair is more dire than we anticipated."
"Good, I hope we can deal with all the remaining problems before the second wave arrives," Shinso nodded.
"We are fortifying our side of the Wens, it should offer ample protection in the future," Kaneko agreed.
"Let's hope it will…" Shinso looked to the east.
The Nojuan Campaign - Completion
Expansion Post
The great Nazer stood ahead of him. Ali’s extensive line of conquest had decimated the Nojuan countryside, but he had reached his destination. The fertile soil of the Nazer River bloomed into widespread crop cultivation. Its distinct flood seasons allowing such intensive agriculture. His armies resupplied by conquering several cities along the river banks. The intense climates of Nojud had been lessened to a temperate climate of the Nazer River valley.
Ali had set up camp for his army near the river. He would wait for next year, his army would need rest after their rapid march across Nojud. However useless Nojud’s terrain was for most activities, it brought more of the Ramliun Gulf into Calameran hands. Power was fully consolidated in Calamera, the Majari River was safe from raids or invasions by Nojud.
Nazerabad was on the horizon, at the point where the sea became a river, at the end of the Almara Sea. He began the construction of ships, for the river was wide and deep. No bridge could span its immense length, only a boat could cross the flowing river water.
His men ate and drank in the camp, celebrating the end of the campaigning season. The rough and dirty march across hostile Nojuan territory wasn’t a fun one. They loudly cheered as they rolled dice and drank heavily. The Great Rains were coming, the men might as well enjoy their time before a hail of rain came upon them.
***
The men cheered as one soldier continued rolling high. The dice thudded on the grassy floors, bouncing to the other end of the tent. The soldiers were drunk, slurring their words and slumping over one another. Wild singing filled the large tent, the soldiers drinking deep into the night.
The moon illuminated the camp, providing dim visibility for the inebriated soldiers. Ali observed as they pranced around in circles in the center of camp, beating drums and singing off-key. Much of his army had devolved into such a state. However, their enjoyment was evident, with a boisterous mood filling the area.
Ali was silently planning his trek to Nazerabad. Many small cities dotted the region, a continual state of war commonplace on both the Nazer and Tadafa Rivers. Most cities along the Nazer were aligned with Nazerabad, making his conquest much harder. He would have to quickly conquer each city, a prolonged siege could spell an end to his forces.
The heavy agriculture of the river valley would be useful. His armies wouldn’t starve on this campaign, the grains grown on the river would sustain them. The Nazer would be a profitable addition to Calamera’s holdings, the expansive cotton fields were famous for their fine textiles. Their merchants were competent, a key part of the Ramliun trade networks. It would soon be his finest accomplishment, a gift to the sultanate. The past years had been wildly successful for Calamera’s growth, from an unimportant tribe on the Ahmar Peninsula to the power in the desert. A glorious empire had arisen through Ali, one that he hoped would last to the end of time.
Meeting with the emperor
Decimus boarded another ship, this time in the military fort of Fluvia. It would take 6-7 days to get to Farasa from here. It was very late in the day, the sun was already behind the horizon. He entered the ship and went down to the middle deck, where he entered an office-like room. There was a desk in the middle and a bed on the side, with a few cupboards on the side filled with food and wine. He set his things down on the ground, taking a few letters out of his bag. He took a feather, a pot of ink and a few pieces of paper from the cupboard and brought them to the desk. He opened one of his letters and started to read it, writing down notes on a piece of paper beside him. These letters were largely from his agents, who were managing his business or political affairs.
He worked until he felt tired. At that point, the skies were completely dark, with the sun having set far behind the horizon. The moon didn't give much light either, it largely just hid behind the clouds. The ship continued to slowly float on the waters of the Flumna, its flow carrying the boat forward. A few crew members were still awake, most were asleep, including Decimus. The journey was very calm, there were no problems. A few ships went by, many were merchant ships, some were military ships.
Though Decimus was sleeping, that sleep was quite light. When the ship hit a rock, Decimus was woken up. He climbed out of the bed and put on his toga. He went to the upper deck and looked at the coast. When he saw that a crew member wanted to approach him, he gestured him off. He instead remained looking at the river and the coast. He looked to his left, and darkness stared back at him. Everything around him was calm. The only thing that was making sound was the river itself, the sounds of which were actually quite calming.
It had been 9 days. The ship had gone past all the major cities on the Flumna, except Farasa, which was just a few miles away. The river had expanded quite a bit, being now almost five times bigger than it was near Fluvia. The amount of ships had expanded as well, with tens of ships now going in both directions. The port of Farasa was very busy and finding a spot was very hard. Almost all spots were taken , though they finally found one after a long time.
Decimus stepped out of the ship and paid the docking fee to the port guard. He turned back to the ship and gestured to his bodyguards to follow him. He then started walking towards the gate. His bodyguards caught up to him and Decimus started walking faster. They walked down the streets, taking a few turns as they went. After some walking, they reached the imperial palace. It was on an island separated by a small channel, the only connection being a small bridge. The palace itself was surrounded by a high and thick wall. There were guards everywhere, and those guards were the imperial guard, the most experienced, trained and disciplined soldiers in the country.
Decimus walked over the bridge, being checked and recognised by the imperial guard, and being let through. He was escorted by 4 members of the imperial guard all the way to the emperor’s living quarters. His personal bodyguards had to stay behind. 3 of the members of the imperial guard stayed behind to guard them, while one escorted Decimus to the emperor himself. The guard opened the door and let Decimus in. Marcus was sitting on chair, looking outside the window.
Marcus turned to Decimus. “How did it go?” He quickly asked.
Decimus had no words, he only shook his head. He walked to the end of the room and sat on a chair opposite of Marcus.
Marcus shook his head while smiling. “See? Those barbarians do not like to negotiate. They stole our rightful lands and we have the right to take them back. We gave them a chance for forgiveness, but they did not listen.”
“I tried my best to avoid war.” Decimus said. “I am usually not in favour of war, but that guy was very rude to me. I want to personally execute that guy.”
“We aren’t going there to execute him, we are going there to take back our rightful lands.” Marcus said.
“Damn.” Decimus responded. “Anyway, I will propose a motion to summon the war council tomorrow. You should start picking representatives to it.” Decimus suggested. “Oh, and also I told Publius to finish the nomads and then start marching his army towards the Hyldebrandtian border.”
“I hope you told him to not march his armies into their land without justification.”
“I told him that he should not raid or attack without our permission.” Decimus said. “We do need to work out a justification with the war council to not be seen as the aggressors.”
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