The Story of CivilizationBoard

In Spirals
Competition post

The spires of Medila jutted from the desert and into the sky from both sides of the straits. The time when it was but a speck of dust in the sea of sand were history. Now, the city and its satellites occupied the entire shoreline of the Mermer sea, replacing a once dull expanse of dry dirt with a sprawling skyline which shone as though a thousand stars at night, casting long reflections on the surrounding water. It was the capital of the Empire which survived for centuries and held the knowledge and wisdom accumulated through the years.

Of course, wisdom was always a relative term. For some, it meant paranoid avoidance of mobile apps. For others, a wholesale acceptance of the digital era, where everyone was being monitored constantly. The new boogeyman of the age was not the Janissaries in their black uniforms with red armbands, but rather the ruthless algorithms that decided who got loans and who did not. Everyone lived in their shadows and at their mercy.

Göker Darsun was one such man. Unlike many though, he worked for one such corporation. Of course, there were near-constant checks and raids by the aforementioned Janissaries, but otherwise everything was nice in his life. A six figure salary, a large house, the best car, etc. Therefore, he tackled all his assignments with gusto. Perhaps, with too much gusto. In retrospect, he should have probably questioned his latest objectives that had him chase after a man with shady past. Yeah… turned out it was a Janissary agent.

And Janissaries did not take kindly to intruders on their turf. Hence the reason for Göker being shackled to a chair in a tiny poorly lit room. He got the distinct impression that the floor in its grey tiles was frequently dyed a very different and far more vibrant color.

“Why am I here?” he asked when a Janissary finally walked inside the cell.

“Don’t flutter yourself, corporate scum,” the man sneered. “You know why you’re currently in our custody. Before you start with the incessant complaining your kind is so fond of, I don’t care, neither does anyone else. You have no rights here, no freedoms. Be honest and you might enjoy your stay here a tad more…”

“I am an employee of…” Göker tried to speak.

“I know, and I don’t care,” the Janissary gave him a beatific smile. “Now then, you will tell us about how your company security forces operate.”

“We have no-“

“Bad answer,” the man replied cheerfully and gave Göker a sound hit to the stomach, making him double down in pain, as all air was knocked out of him. “We know very much about you… Lieutenant Darsun of Hikõl corporation security force, a force created illegally. Do not try lying to us.”

“That is nothing but speculation,” Göker snorted.

“And that is just a neurotransmitter,” the Janissary procured a small flask of clear liquid. “Given the fact that Hikõl deals in electronics, you are probably unfamiliar with this, but I’ll enlighten you. One shot of this will feel like a very potent electric current running through your body — until I administer an antidote. Better talk.”

Göker remained defiant in his silence.

“Now now, don’t be shy,” the Janissary spoke again. “You might not have a family of your own, but we have enough chemicals to make you experience every single emotion there is and then some… Until your mind deteriorates. Nobody will miss you though. And don’t count on your phone, we’ve had quite some time to play with it.”

“Fine…” Göker spoke, eyeing the flask with apprehension.

He had heard of the revolutionary tech that came out of bioengineering labs. Targeted cure, targeted neurotransmitters, hormones. These days, one could do whatever they wanted with their mind and body. Hell, Hikõl’s closest partner was working on a mind-to-computer interface. Few things were impossible now, and Göker usually paid little attention to that fact. Now, it frightened him.

The imperial throne relaxed its grip on power two centuries ago, letting the Diwan and the Parliament run the country and determine the key policies. Apparently, the Janissaries either did not get the memo, or the imperial throne was less than forthcoming with its intentions. If their attack dogs went this far to gain information, the Sultan probably wanted to regain some of the old powers of the imperial family. A frightening thought for many corporations which spent millions to hold sway over public officials, media outlets, and even the Diwan itself.

The guard procured a tablet from somewhere and set it on the table which slid out of the wall.

“I’m listening,” the Janissary prompted Göker to speak.

“Alright, we use apps to monitor our targets,” he started talking. “It’s easy, they have to give our apps permission to use their camera and mic before the apps start working… Geolocation is trivial enough when we want it.”

“That’s nothing new,” the Janissary shook his head. “I want to know about the structure of your private military. How do all the branches of it coordinate their actions?”

So the Janissaries knew about the best kept secret of Hikõl. Many suspected it of operating its own armed force, but nobody was supposed to hear about different branches. Was the imperial throne this well-informed about all the corporations?

“The council of the chieftains,” Göker replied. “They assemble every couple of days in a video conference to discuss their operations. The cyber force is responsible for keeping the lines of communication running.”

“A video conference,” the Janissary mused. “Curious. Keep going.”

“The Council reports to Director of Security, who seats on the Board of Directors, but he privately reports to the CEO,” Göker said. He knew he was more or less signing his death warrant. The assassination branch will see to it… If the Janissaries did not beat them to it. Sometimes, decades passed by, and everything remained the same. He almost chuckled at the thought. Just yesterday he believed the imperial throne to be a relic of the past. Now, he was their prisoner.

“Very interesting,” the guard mused. “Oh how the time flies. We’ll talk some more, Darsun. I hope you’ll be just as forthcoming. It’s always a pleasure to have a civilized conversation.”

With the last smile, the man left, and the heavy metal door closed on its own. The lights went out.

The Coalition V
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Luitpold, thinking to himself: "I need to conquer Medilanovium now. I need to restore my honor I foolishly lost at the battle just one year prior. How can I be a proud member of the Tur-Order or a proud Venusian, if I just let it be with the results of the last battle? If I just let the shame be with the last battle? No, I will prove everyone my strength and the strength of the Tur-Order!"

The city Medilanovium is now the next goal of Luitpold's troops. Although Luitpold got reinforcements from Alaricstedt, he still has few troops at his disposal. One might even think, that it would be very hard, if not impossible to conquer another of Publectia's major cities with this small amount of troops. But yet he wants to try.

He knows, he can't be as reckless as in the last battle. And he knows he needs a lot more patient to win the next battle. A part of his reinforcements came with ships and he wants now to use this ships.
With the ships the harbor of Medilanovium can be easily blockaded and with the remaining army laying siege to the city, Medilanovium is trapped by the Venusians. After that there are only two options for the Publectians if they don't want to die starving. The first one would be to simply surrender the city to the Venusians, the second one would be to do a breakthrough and attack the venusian siege forces.

There is just one problem with his plan and Luitpold knows it: Medilanovium was the naval base of the old publectian Empire. Medilanovium's navy power may be lower now, as Publectia is not an empire anymore, yet it might still have a well established navy in contrast to the Venusians, who are just building up their navy. Before a siege can happen, Luitpold needs to know how to destroy the medilanovian navy, if they still have one.

After thinking about the navy and how to defeat it for a while, Luitpold orders to build catapults and ballistas on some of the venusian ships to bombard the navy with arrows and stones. It took some time until the ships were redesigned, but eventually it was done. Now these ships only need to get close to the publectian ships and hit their targets. It is a risky maneuver, but eventually it succeeds, atleast according to those who were on the ships, with only 3 of their own ships having sunk. The remaining ships blockade now the port of Medilanovium, while the troops under Luitpold lay siege to the city.

And as expected, after days of waiting, instead of hungering, the Publectians stormed out attacking the Venusians, trying to break trough the siege. This time everything needs to be done right, this time it will be not a disastrous victory, but a glorious one. Luitpold watches carefully to secure that the line holds and that he doesn't get outflanked by the enemy. And then after hours of fighting it is done, the Venusians achieved victory. Luitpold achieved victory. And all what must be done...

...is to march into Medilanovium!

Old Habits Die Hard
Competition Post

"I'm telling you, the man's a lunatic, I told you doing business with him was a bad idea."

"Listen here Antonin, you mixed f*ck, I don't care what you think!"

"Aye! Aye! Keep it civilised, please gentlemen," another called out to both men. "Boryslav, I don't need you causing any more problems, alright? Put down the vodka and get the hell outta here. You're more wasted than the average Grünestadt lowlife in one of our gentlemen's clubs."

The man named Boryslav stood up shakily, obliging his fellow businessman and walked off with the necessary ruckus, stumbling out of the room. A silence befell the room until the man could no longer be heard.

"My thanks Yuri," Antonin sighed a sigh of relief. "One more remark and I would've punched his teeth into the back of his throat."

"Don't speak such nonsense," Yuri waved the remark off with his cigar in hand. Subinski product, good quality too. It was rather amusing seeing all the Voltanese businessmen who came down south to get some, only to run into Rigelian counterfeits. Only those of a more refined taste could tell the difference. Rigelian counterfeits had only gotten better and better as the many decades passed. Some found it to be shameful, others found that it lined their pockets rather well.

"He's just ranting on and on about things in the distant past, the old man's like that."

"Why's that then," the young gun questioned, dipping the end of the cigar into the ashtray. "I am just as Rigelian as he is."

"Not to him," Yuri shook his head. "Anyone with even a hint of Biscayyan blood is filth to him, a depressing relic from a past attitude caused by... well... events."

"The many wars between the two I assume?" Antonin guessed, leaning back into the leather chair, twin plumes of smoke rising from his cigar. He grabbed the glass of bourbon standing on the armrest next to him and threw the glass back.

"You would be correct," Yuri nodded, folding his legs and leaning back in his black leather chair. "His family, even though heavily entrenched in the Rigelian underground for years on end, also used to be of noble status. The comradeists made an end to that era, so now they're just one of the many crime families within the vast stretches of our nation."

"Being a noble family, his ancestors were directly involved with the many wars fought with our lovely neighbors, thus that developed a sturdy attitude of hatred towards them. I wouldn't blame him though, no offense to you, but a part of your ancestors were some really screwed up people."

"It's not like the Rigelian Empire of then was blameless for all the tragedies," Antonin pointed out.

"Oh, of course not. The monarchy caused its own end by the many mistakes it made in the late stages of its existence. Throwing away so many lives just for some petty earth that we had in abundance anyway? Yeah, not with that," Yuri's raspy voice concurred.

"But everyone sees things through different lenses, right? Where others see brothels disgracing the female sex, I see business opportunities and, of course, pretty women," he joked, chuckling.

"Isn't that right?" Antonin joined in, taking a pull from his cigar. "Tell me more, would you? I'm here now and our families don't meet up that often. Think it would be a nice experience to learn from you about our history, eh?"

"When you put it that way, you make me think I'm a relic. You young crime lords and your rush to know and do everything," Yuri shook his head. "But seeing as I don't have anything better to do, why the hell not?"

"The most important thing you need to understand about the Rigelian perspective, is that Biscayyans are meddlesome. Sticking their noses into business that isn't theirs. Their attempts at involvement with the mafia some 200 years ago is an example. They thought they could pressure mafia lords to attack their own country, their own market, our ancestors did something else."

"What did they do, snitch?"

"Oh hell no, they hit a lick on some big shot noble," Yuri laughed heartily. "Ever heard of the Tragedy at the Salvenese Pass? His wife woke up next to him with his head in a place where it shouldn't be and that of his horse on top of his neck."

"So that's why that war was called the "Stallion Wars"?" Antonin smirked.

"Bingo. Though most just use "The Fourth War for Salvano"," Yuri confirmed. "And yes, before you ask, this was the fourth time these two budded heads about some city at the fringes of their complimentary Empires."

"How did it end?"

"With young men dying for a bit of clay, mothers in tears and fathers having to bury their sons," Yuri answered dead serious. "This was luckily the last one that involved Salvano. It ended up with the Biscayyans having to pull back out of Rigelia, a national debt that to this day still has to be paid off, though nobody really remembers its existence thus we stayed afloat, the Medilans in a panic about the state of Heilrhine and the Voltanese rubbing their hands together at the amount of loans they could hand out."

"Did the Crown take these loans?" Antonin leaned forward, dipping his cigar yet again.

"Of course not, their coffers were safe. It was the populace that was experiencing this poverty the most, just another nail in the monarchy's coffin," Yuri elaborated. "Though it would still take a long while before the concept of comradeism had even been born.

"How were the comradeist years?" Antonin asked. "My gramps told me those of Biscayye were bad, but yours different."

"Different is... certainly a word to describe it," Yuri grimaced. "It was the time we mafia had to transition to a suit-and-tie organisation, for if we even showed our faces we'd get gunned down by the state police in an instant. Lost many good men during those years," he lamented. "Family and friends one day there, gone the next. Thus we spread our influence into the business world. Some of the commissars and other state officials were us, who lined their pockets and shared the wealth with the family, spreading down to even the soldiers. We looked after each other more and more, that's why I call you boy when we're not in meetings. You're my great nephew, far removed from me, yet that doesn't make you any lesser of a family member to me."

"And that is how the modern oligarchy was formed?" Antonin presumed, looking outside the window towards the skyline of Morsyvka, the greatest port in all of Rigelis. The bright lights of the many skyscrapers, the lights of car lights flashing as they passed through the many blocks.

"Mhm," Yuri confirmed. "And as one of those oligarchs, the family can enact a lot of favourable terms for us through me. It is a position I have served in for so long, I don't even remember the last time I slept peacefully. Even after some special attention from my wife, I still lay my head down on my pillow worrying about all these details I have to take care of the next day. It is certainly a busy existence."

Yuri put out his cigar and stood up, dusting off his charcoal suit. "It was nice talkin' to you again, boy. Come over to Morsyvka more often, your great aunt sure does like you."

"Thanks for the offer, old man. I'll take you up on it."

"Aye, show some respect to your patriarch," Yuri chuckled, waving the young mobster goodbye as he left the room, flanked by a multitude of guards.

"Still though," Antonin, now all alone in the lounge, spoke to himself. "Why on earth would we go north to mess with some racist Uinnlant?"

Lord Shao and the Cai Clan - II: Arrival at Lanshan
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The Shu clan’s central point was the town of Lánshān, a small gathering of wood homes and cloth yurts. It was hardly grand, but everything wasn’t particularly grand up in the mountains. Murmurs and rumors bounded about as Lord Shao came through the town, his men following behind with stern expressions.

He pulled to a stop at the sight of Lord Xu, who stood with a polite smile on the trodden path. The lord nodded, and Lord Shao dismounted from his horse.

“Ah, Lord Shao, I see your arrival was delayed. May I ask why?”

Lord Shao bowed his head, “Such a late arrival is a shame upon me. We were delayed by the rockier passes near Hai Lake. I didn’t wish to draw unwanted attention to my journey, lest the Zhong clan hear of our discussions and become offended.”

“I see, it’s been rather difficult to travel along the main routes recently because the tribe controlling them all have become tributaries of the Zhong instead. They spy on all who travel along there.”

“I would hardly know such if it weren’t for the advice of Yi Xun – whom you have generously allowed to come into my service.” replied Lord Shao, who bowed his head again. “Now, I believe we should begin our business.”

“Indeed, the outdoors are hardly a place to discuss the matters of lords. As for your men, they may come and discuss as well, I trust them not to be treacherous.”

Lord Shao nodded and followed Lord Xu as the man led the group into a large structure, one able to contain them all comfortably. Lan Jun sat beside Lord Shao, the pair being the main negotiators of the Meng clan’s retinue.

“Now then, it’s a matter known to us all that the Zhong clan grows stronger and more threatening. I fear Lord Huang’s actions may lead to the collapse of the confederation, for his aggressive attitudes have left the Shu clan with far fewer tributaries and antagonize us all.” said Lord Xu, his expression grim. “When you came to me with your offer, it was an excellent opportunity to bring our clans together against this new threat.”

“That’s our reasoning as well.” Lan Jun replied, “We must band together to fight this foe we face. The Zhong clan has upset the family balance of the four brotherly clans, and recklessly seeks the title of eldest – the title held by the Meng clan since the creation of this confederation.”

“As such, I wouldn’t be opposed to the marriage of my daughter to marry Lord Shao, for it would cement our clans together. However, I have concerns about the Cai clan, for they see her as a tool for greater power. They hold great influence, and upsetting them would create a rift.” he paused, looking to Lord Shao. “If they are to refuse the marriage, then I have no choice.”

“We feared that this could be a possibility.” said Lord Shao. “The opinions of your wife and daughter would be core in swinging the other Cais to our side.”

“Indeed, which is why I’ve requested for their presence here. Lady Wen especially holds great knowledge of how to appease the Cais.”

The door swung open, revealing a pair of women, one young and one older.

The Fall of the North - Part II
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Pots shattered, dust flew, glass was broken, and shouts of anger rang out into the night. Alarmed that an assassin had made it into the palace, several guards ran to the Hall of Perpetual Song where the sounds were originating from. The hall served as the primary residence of Yan Chao Gōng, and with the ongoing war with the larger and more powerful Taegong Confederacy, many began to fear that an attempt on the duke’s life would one day become all too real. Tonight was one such night where the guards believed that their fears were to be made manifest.

Upon arrival, the contingent of guards found that there was no assassin, only their duke flying about the residence in a fit of rage. “How dare they betray me like this!” He shouted. “How dare Wei Ming abandon my armies!” He threw another pot, the ceramic container embedding parts of itself into the wooden pillar nearby. “I curse the very day that animal was born!”

The guards slunk out of the hall, their lord failing to notice that they were ever there. Turning to head back to their posts, they were surprised when Sui Xiaoling, queen of the Yan, suddenly appeared before them. “Your Majesty,” one man said before bowing before her. He would be the only one to bow, the others merely tightening the grip on their spears.

The noble woman straightened her back and corrected her posture, a demonstration that even among a pride of hungry lions she was not going to be intimidated. “Is everything alright with Yan Chao Gōng?” She asked, peering over them at the man’s shadow cast on the rice paper windows. Xiaoling could see that Yan was reacting very poorly to whatever news he was recently given. “Is there any danger?” Her voice was stern, her gaze steady as the men began to shift menacingly to her right.

“The gong has just received some bad news from the front, is all,” the soldier that bowed said. “Your Majesty would do well to give him some space.” A quick slap from behind was enough to silence the soldier, his platoon angrily motioning for him to shut up and move on.

“Thank you, guardsman,” Xiaoling said. “You have been most helpful.” She smiled at the guards and began to walk towards the Hall of Perpetual Song; watched closely by men who wanted nothing more than to kill her right then and there. “Yan Chao, my lord?” The queen spoke into the dusty room. “Yan Chao, is everything-“

“I’m fine, Xiaoling,” Yan Chao bit out through his teeth. “Leave me be.”

The woman, brave as lioness, stepped further into the hall, closing the door behind her. “I will not leave until I know that my husband is calm. It is not befitting of a ruler to lose his temper in such a manner.”

Her rebuke caught Yan Chao off guard. He hadn’t expected her to stay amidst his hurricane of fury, but there she was. As the dust settled, his eyes fell upon the most beautiful woman in all of Taegong. She stood as resolute as a deeply rooted tree in the wind, her eyes full of confidence and beauty unmatched by even the bravest of warriors. Marching towards him, the woman never once faltered or shook. It was as if her heart had never known the meaning of fear.

“Again I ask,” Xiaoling said, her arms wrapping around the man, “is everything alright?”

Yan Chao trembled, his own arms failing to return to gesture. “No, my queen.” His eyes drifted off towards a shredded map in the corner. Red flags denoting the fall of his tiny kingdom littered the floor around it. “Is everything so hopeless?”

Xiaoling shook her head. “No, my lord. Hope can be found no matter how dark the night is. All you have to do is search hard enough for it and it will find you.”

The man snorted with contempt. “Hope has abandoned me.” He gently pushed her away, making his way towards the map. Picking up the pieces, he set what remained on the table, sorting it out to resemble the land of Taegong. “Tang Min and the bulk of his army marches toward us as we speak. It won’t be long before Yongdi is under siege.”

The queen’s heart leapt for joy, the hope of being rescued from Yan once more rooting itself in her heart. Hope had indeed found her amid a sea of despair. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, one she quickly covered up by turning away to cough.

“This while Tang Jian, Min’s son and your former fiancée prior to your rescue by my men, marches north towards the Wei capital of Tianshin.” His head slipped down, a defeated whimper taking hold of his once strong voice. “It won’t be long before the Tang and Li control everything.”

Despite her hatred of the Yan Clan for kidnapping her and doing Di knows what with her mother, Xiaoling still regarded it as her duty to serve to the fullest as the clan’s queen. Putting her hand on her captor’s shoulder to comfort him, she turned her gaze towards the map. “Yongdi remains as a heavily fortified city, my lord. If we can get the Shao, Wu, and Chu clans to break the siege while we lie in waiting then victory can yet be assured.”

Yan Chao threw the map scraps off the table, anger taking hold once more. “The Chu won’t come!” He bellowed. “And the Shao remain unresponsive! And the Wu… the Wu…” His former father-in-law was sure to leave him to his fate. Word had gotten out late last year that Chao had ordered his daughter’s execution. No help was to be found from the Wu.

The door to the hall slid open, a pudgy minister kowtowing in the doorway the moment Yan Chao looked at him. “Have mercy on your servant!” The minister cried. “I bring more news from the Wei.”

“Tell me.” Yan Chao barked, his wrath boiling over with the man’s sudden intrusion.

“Tianshin has fallen, my lord.” The minister whimpered. “Tang Jian has taken the city and has directed his army east towards the Wu. Our spies report that the Wu intend to –“

Yan Chao had heard enough. In one swift stroke, the duke decapitated his minister. Blood spewed on the rice paper door and windows as the man’s head hit the floor. Xiaoling gasped in horror, surprised that Chao would resort to killing his own men. “Leave me,” Yan Chao said quietly. “Before I kill you too.”

Xiaoling scrambled for the door, stepping over the minister’s lifeless body. The duke watched as his queen walked calmly off into the night, his rage taking hold once more. By morning, the duke would have practically destroyed the interior of the Hall of Perpetual song.

The Fall of the North - Part III
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It had been the better part of twenty years since the last time a major military force had marched any farther than the city of Tianshin, now located in the northernmost territories of the Taegong Confederacy. The Three Major Clans had ceased to attack the region following the collapse of the Hui Clan in 105 CE; their armies more preoccupied with destroying each other than the three Lesser Clans born from the Hui’s demise. The fall of Tianshin, however, brought with it the renewed sound of marching feet, and clanking armour as the conquering Tang army turned its gaze ever northward towards the most distant of the Taean clans. Realizing that armageddon was now staring him dead in the eye, Wu Guiying, the ruler of Shaanhei County just north of what remained of the Yan Clan, prepared for the worst.

Within a month of Tianshin’s fall to the Tang army, his spies began to report that the force was once more preparing to march out. Though their initial target remained unknown for some time, it was not long before Tang Jian led his host out of the city, taking the Hua Ban Road towards Wu territory. Fearing that attack was imminent, Wu Guiying recalled the bulk of his forces to his capital city, Yu, and hunkered down. After some time, the Tang army arrived.

Staring out at the sea of men and metal, Wu Guiying was half tempted to raise the white flag to surrender there and then. The Tang army no doubt numbered at least 15,000, over double what he could ever dream of mustering in his small county. Raising his hand, the count was about to give his archers the order to attack before an emissary of the Tang force came forward.

“Wu Guiying Bó,” the man exclaimed astride a donkey[1]. “Tang Jian sends his highest regards and most sincerest of apologies in causing you any alarm.”

Taken aback, the count soon found his raised arm to be frozen. Was the man serious? Or was this some elaborate ruse intended to distract him and his men while a smaller force attacked the city from the rear?

“My lord, the honorable Tang Jian, desires an audience with your eminence should you be so willing.” The man on the donkey called out, pointing to a large white tent recently erected along the road leading into the city. “Agreeing would stop needless bloodshed, while refusing would no doubt result in your total annihilation.”

Wu Guiying put his arm down, slowly so as not to trigger the archers, and stepped away from the ramparts. “Do you think that he’s telling the truth?” The count asked his commander. “Do you truly believe that we can spare the people from violence?”

The commander shrugged his shoulders. “We can never be too certain with the Tang, my lord. They have never been the most trustworthy of Clans.” Guiying’s commander could not have been more correct. From attacking the last Meng Emperor’s fleeing caravan, to slaying diplomats for speaking wrong, and to murdering other Clan leaders for the fun of it, the Tang were not to be trusted.

The count sighed, the fate of his people weighing heavy on his heart. “Are you with me?”

_______________________________________________________________________

Tang Jian’s head jerked up from his map of Taegong, the sound of the flap to his tent opening startling him. “Wu Guiying Bó, general,” one of his commanders said before stepping aside to reveal the rather hopeless looking count. A broad smile spread across Jian’s face, his pleasure at the count’s decision to accept his offer all too apparent.

“I am glad that you decided to come, bó. You have no idea how honored I am to finally meet the ‘Jade Serpent of the North’.”

Wu Guiying grimaced at the moniker, a foul reminder of his warrior past. “I did not come to exchange pleasantries, Tang Jian. I answered your summons to prevent the blood of the innocent from filling the streets of my city.”

“Quite so,” Tang Jian said as he came around the table that separated the two men. “I have but one request, Wu Guiying Bó.” The general’s hand fell upon the hilt of his sword, his body slowly moving into attack posture. “Bow to me and accept the dominion of the Tang.”

The count stepped back a couple of feet, his surprise taking him out of the range of the man’s sword. “You what?” He said. “You can’t be serious. The Tang are not in control of Taegong yet. Who are you to ask a bó to bow before him?”

Tang Jian drew his sword. “I’m the man who determines if you and your people live or die.” He pointed the sword at Wu Guiying’s throat. “Now bow and submit your city to me.”

Guiying wanted nothing more than to cut Jian down where he stood, to take the head off the Tang snake protruding into the Lesser Clans, but the count knew better. If he were to kill Jian now then his people would be slaughtered. Revenge for this humiliation would have to wait. “I will bow under one condition,” he began, sweat pouring down his forehead. “That you spare my people, and aid me in wiping away the blight that is the Shao Clan.”

The Tang general thought for a moment, the idea of being the man who conquers the Lesser Clans nagging at his quickly growing ego. Sheathing his sword, Jian agreed.

Wu Guiying knelt before the general, surrendering his city and his services in exchange for the Shao territory. In the morning, the combined armies marched northwest together, their target the capital of the Shao Clan.

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[1] When offering terms in battle, emissaries of attacking armies will often ride to the enemy camp or city on a donkey. Donkeys are often seen as animals of peace while horses are animals of war.

Lord Shao and the Cai Clan - V: Descent
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Progressively, the peaks thinned out, giving way to lush forests that weren’t dusted white. The air felt heavier compared to what he was accustomed to in the mountains. They were in the lands of the Cais now, a land bordered by rivers to the east and west and bordered by mountains to their north and south. The Cais had originally been a poor clan, stranded in the southern mountain chain and pinned by the great empire that had reached across the lowlands. They were a laughingstock compared to the other clans of the mountains, and here they now stood, the wealthiest and most powerful for years and with no feasible opposition within hundreds of miles. Arguably it was only the brothership of clans that had formed which could theoretically oppose them, though that was highly unlikely. Though they weren’t often direct earthshakers in matters of mountain politics, they held a far amount of influence even with their distance.

The lowlands were far less windy than the peaks. Small streams gathered from the mountains and formed the rivers flowing to great seas on either end, though it was a drier land compared to the snowy and rainy highlands.

At least the paths were smoother, Lord Shao thought. When one lived at the ceiling of the world, any and all roads and passages were highly treacherous. Many good men had perished from simply losing their balance and plummeting to the bottom of some gorge. There was a particular legend on the topic, one that spoke of an ancient conqueror of the land. The figure spoken of in the tale was one that most lords aspired to imitate, though the chances of their enemies merely crumbling before them were slim. This lord of legend had supposedly been on his way to devour his final foe, a plucky lord on the very fringes. It was on these fringes that the lord lost his footing and fell into a great ravine, dropping straight into the hellish landscape contained below the world.

Lord Shao sighed as he thought of the legend. That in addition to a number of other general cautionary tales had built a mindset within him – one that despised traveling along the treacherous passages. Despite that, he still found himself on the journey southward to the Cai lands, one through which he feared grave peril. At least he would be safer on the lower ground and foothills.

Above them stretched a canopy of evergreen trees, the familiar scent of pine wafting around. They had encountered only a few settlements so far, with most being partly sedentary hunter communities, though ones that helped provide supplies for their continuing southern travels. Some plumes of burning smoke poked through the trees, indicating the scattered settlements dotting the foothills. Most were technically under the Cais – flying Cai banners and paying tribute – though they hardly felt like Cai territory to Lord Shao. He had expected to see a truly unique land filled with wonders unseen by the mountains. Here he was, observing what would be seen in the highlands, just in an unfamiliar landscape of sky piercing trees and dense underbrush.

Unearthed - V -
Expansion Post

Aadenval, Hugrëchige Bay

"If the saints hadn’t blessed me with such undaunted patience I might have ended up doing something both of us would regret. Have a wonderful day!” the door slammed so hard the whole wall shook with the impact. She sat on a bench and stared at the floor, rethinking what happened in her head over and over again.
The cries of a child echoed from upstairs.
“Great.” she mumbled “Now the kid’s awake…”. She mumbled and swore under her breath, before cleaning the dust off her apron and resetting the loose yarn on the spinning wheel, whilst reminding herself how badly life had been treating her family.

Business had been going badly. Their bedroom was full of winter clothing that hadn’t been sold during the colder months, and now the Reich was deep into springtime, so naturally, acquiring gloves and caps wasn’t in practically anyone’s priorities. The cost of linen cloth had increased dramatically since the previous year; a mix of inflation and a weak harvest; and as such, the workshop couldn’t really afford to produce the light tunics and clothes customers preferred in Spring.

What at first seemed like a blessing quickly turned into a nightmare. Some pompous shipmaster had ordered some fine rugs for his new manor in Aadenval. Expensive materials, complicated techniques, amazing reward.
The materials had arrived late, one whole rug got ruined by an unexpected springtime storm and another had its golden thread ripped in an accident. The man got mad, rightfully so, and threatened to withhold payment, which left the workshop, and its workers, on the anxiety-inducing edge of near bankruptcy.
One of her weavers, a petite ginger girl from beyond the strait, had returned home to her husband after pregnancy made work too excruciating. One fewer expense at the end of the cycle, sure, but also two fewer hands on deck, which wasn’t the best considering the luxury rugs were behind by about three moons.
And to add the miserable pinnacle on this cathedral of misfortune, the rent had been upped significantly, “to not land us both in poverty” the landlord argued.

Bottling up her anger to not trash the room even more, she went upstairs to take care of the bawling infant when the front door slammed open.

“Aida! Aida! Come quick! We’re rich!” her husband screamed from downstairs.
“By Kuśtoszi!” she thundered back “Have you been emptying bottles at the docks’ taverns?!”
“Get down here, woman! I’m utterly lucid.”
She stomped down the stairs, almost cracking each flimsy wooden step the closer she reached the ground floor.
Her husband was ecstatic, cutting open a small pouch and laying its contents onto a table brimming with multicolored threads. From it spilled small clear droplets that gleamed with the midday sun.

“What’s the meaning of this??”
“Are you blind? These are sapphires!! Pure and cut sapphires from the Voltan. Dozens of men were unloading crates of these onto shore and asking ridiculously low sums for them.”
Aida’s eyes widened. “Sapphires?...It...it must be a trick…”
“No tricks, only cold and hard truth. The creator has blessed us with this wonderful gift. The least we can do is enjoy ourselves with it!”

The Fall of the North - Part IV
Expansion Post

The march through Shao territory to the clan’s capital was grueling and long. Herding an army 16,000 strong through the narrow passes of the Xutong Hills was no easy feat, and by the time the march was over nearly 700 corpses, man and animal alike, lay in caverns and crevasses as victims of lengthy falls. Tang Jian and Wu Guiying rode at the front of the marching army, their belief in leading by example shining through as they personally sought after the safest route through the mountains.

Some of the men, as the weeks went by, began to believe that they were lost, the dullness of the rocky cliffs and gorges starting to drive them mad. But just as the army was about to revolt against its leaders, dawn broke on the thirtieth day in the mountains and before them, lit by the first light of the month of Niu[1], the city of Kai-Mei appeared in the valley below them.

Upon seeing the city, Tang Jian ordered his men to encircle it, trapping the citizens and its garrison inside. Fearing an attack from behind, Jian and Guiying ordered about 4,000 men, mostly archers, to find and guard the main paths in and out of the valley. As the siege began, the Shao Clan first showed no signs of attempting to halt it, but on the second day the Shao army sallied out to meet their foes.

Bursting forth from the gates of Kai-Mei like a rushing river, the garrison managed to break the Tang and Wu encirclement near the southern walls. They meant to fight on, but the invading army managed to move a sizable portion of their western flank to counterattack, shutting many of the Shao men out of the city as they slipped between Kai-Mei and its army. In a matter of hours, the Shao soldiers still trapped outside were slaughtered; their adversaries, content in their victory, then hunkered down to wait for the next assault.

“The Shao are more formidable than I first thought.” Tang Jian said, pouring wine into two ceramic cups. “It’s been two weeks since the siege began and we have heard nothing, seen nothing, since the day their army was destroyed.”

“That’s why I say we must mount our final attack soon. The men are growing weary and restless once more. If we wait any longer we will have a rebellion on our hands.” Wu Guiying stood up from where he was seated by a crudely drawn map of the area. He put his hand up to Jian, rejecting the cup of wine offered to him. The older man shrugged his shoulders and hastily downed both cups. “Our spies report that there is a second Shao force on its way here, led by Shao Ai’s brother. If we do not take the city then we will become trapped between two Shao armies and be destroyed.”

Tang Jian shook his head, walking over to the map they were using to plan their attacks. “Choose your battlefield wisely. Mountain passes are to be avoided by the attacker but used with great caution by the defender. With the high ground a single man can hold off an army ten-thousand strong. Such is the wisdom of the Martial Sage.”

Niu passed into Ma[2], and as the snow started to fall the unmistakable sound of an approaching army could be heard. Jian and Guiying ordered their men to lift the siege, ushering them into the hills where they would be invisible to the approaching force. Jian placed a ram’s horn to his lips, preparing himself for battle as the field upon which his army once sat became blanketed with snow.

The new Shao force marched straight into the trap, and when the army began to pour into the valley, Jian blew the horn. Thousands of arrows rained down upon the enemy army all at once, the bulk of it still within the mountain pass. Trapped between a rock and an invisible enemy, the Shao military made a desperate attempt to flee into the city. Once the gates were opened to welcome the fleeing men, Jian blew the horn again, signaling the cavalry to rush at the gates to Kai-Mei. The two-hundred horsemen were met with little resistance as they flooded into the city. With the gate open, Jian blew one final time. At this last blast the infantry began to march out from where they were hiding and stormed the city. By nightfall, the Shao were no more.

“Please, my lord,” Shao Ai begged as Tang Jian took a seat in the man’s throne. “Have mercy!”

Jian rolled his eyes, mercy a fantastical ideal made up by weak men. “Your army has been crushed and your city has fallen. Your abysmal leadership will not be needed in the Confederacy.” He waved his hand, two guards grabbing hold of the count’s arms. Screaming, the man was ushered out into the palace courtyard where he was swiftly executed.

Wu Guiying smiled, his long term goal of exterminating the Shao Clan finally coming to fruition. The count and his brother were both dead, and now it was time to annihilate what remained in the palace. Wu Guiying turned to finish the job begun by his father long ago, but before he could embark upon his deadly mission, Tang Jian called the man forward, beckoning him to come near as he sat victoriously upon the Shao throne. Believing that Jian was going to reward him with the land before departing to aid his father, Tang Min, in the destruction of the Yan, Wu Guiying approached. He envisioned himself as Bei-Wang, or Northern King, and had determined that the moment the Tang army left he would rebel against them.

Smiling with glee once more, Wu Guiying positioned himself only inches from the throne that he deserved. “Yes, Tang Jian?”

Tang Jian got up from the throne and embraced the man. “You have done the Confederacy a great service in aiding us with your troops.” Tang Jian said. “My father would be proud of you.”

Believing that this was his moment, Wu Guiying, his heart still full of malice, pretended to be honored that the Tang would call upon him to aid in bringing peace to Taegong. He was only interested in seizing the recently acquired land, the title of Bei-Wang was almost his.

“But my father no longer has any need of your services.” Tang Jian grunted as he shoved a dagger through Wu Guiying’s rib cage, pushing him off the elevated stage that the throne sat on. With a crash, Guiying hit the floor, gasping for breath. Tang Jian pointed to the man as he lay dying. “Look! Shao Ai has killed Wu Guiyang!” Their eyes met one last time. “How unfortunate.” The court did nothing, each one watching with indifference as the light faded from Wu Guiying’s eyes.

___________________________________________________________________________
[1] Niu is Mid-October to Mid-November
[2] Ma is Mid-November to Late-December

Narrow Veins
Trade Post w/ Rigelis

Silennya, the quiet outpost of the Empire. Well, quiet in relative terms, but still quite the bustling city in its own right. The warmest and most Northern port in all of Rigelis, a city doing everything in its power to grow more populous and popular, especially among the mainland Rigelians.

Luckily for the city, there were those that saw its true worth already. An outpost to do business with those from further realms, but also the perfect way to keep those who form enigmas outside of the mainland.

“I expect them today.”

“As punctual as always, Vasyl. I had expected nothing less from the prodigy son of Gregoronov.”

“You flatter me, truly,” the son of Ovetsia’s Prince, an adult in mind, but not body, waved away the compliment. He was still young, but seemingly fit to rule already. “I only say what I say is because that was what the letter read. The next full moon, that is tonight.”

“And what tells you that they’ll come?”

“I hired you to guard me, not question me, Giuseppe,” Vasyl shook his head. “They’ll come, I am sure of it. They are known as people who propagate trade, they should jump at the opportunity of adding one more contact to their list.”

“If you say so,” the Biscayyan merc shrugged with a smirk. Vasyl, meanwhile, looked outside from the veranda they found themselves on. House Tartal had been an excellent host so far, providing a stay and meals, he would repay their hospitality later on. He looked out over the strait, which Arlowskaya had named after himself.

***

Diubrona Henraiti held her fur coat close to her body. Normally speaking, she’d have to wear a dress as many other Uinnlentna’s had done to foreign realms. However, when she heard she was going, quote, “farther south than Biscayye’s arse”, she shirked normalcy for something actually practical. True, the Voltanese would see it as dreadfully informal — everyone knew the Uinnlantish environment wasn’t conducive to dresses as most saw them — but who cared what those peacock LARPers thought? All they knew was bank, drink red wine, and lie.

Diubrona had to admit though, it wasn’t as cold as she was expecting. She was a bit of a northern lass, having lived up north in Hannuen and having been relentlessly teased or ridiculed on her “oop north” accent for the past twenty years, so she knew her chills. Maybe she’d find herself a worthy chill if she had the galley sail any farther south. That wouldn’t be very conducive to her mission though.

Uinncair sending female representatives had a little bit of precedent, with Essiu Cledhbiad in Ponterife in 86 CE and to “Epōrīā” in the same year, but it was a bit of a spotty record with most nations sending men and the Uinnlant returning the favor. Still, her father had somehow argued her case and succeeded. At the end of the day, it didn’t really matter who was first except for whose quill and style hit parchment after it all.

Or maybe it did matter. After all, Mailgun had done a job worthy of trash with the Viftaelians back in 72 CE — that was still being smoothed over after the League flipped the table on it. Diubrona had no true diplomatic experience, though; she had literacy and Balcadam and Rodre and Uinnbronn’s accounts of other diplomatic ventures.

She looked up. If she squinted real well, she could make out a port in the distance. But she didn’t squint for more than a few seconds, so it wasn’t long before it returned to being a very blurry smudge in the distance. Admittedly, most things were, but that was neither here nor there.

What was the strait called? Whatever spotty Biscayyan records she could secure mentioned an “Alubaskaya”, so maybe it was the Strait of Alubaskaya. That was neither here nor there either.

***

“Milord, there are ships inbound,” one of the guards dutifully reported. Vasyl looked towards the horizon for a little while longer, spotting the same as the scouts had.

“Is the Tartal boy already at the docks?”

“Yes, milord. The heir has been awaiting them since dawn.”

“Some dedication,” Vasyl shrugged, admittedly impressed. Though what did he expect from the heir of a family of diplomats and merchants? He himself was of a different nature, he’d rather leave others to do such mundane tasks, only taking on necessary matters like negotiations - that was how his father had raised him. Vasyl had been much too busy with his interests and lessons to take on such habits, the poor lad must have been baking in the sun if he hadn’t taken shelter at the doge’s.

On the ship, as it neared port, Diubrona was checking over everything. A small dirk hidden in the fur's expanse, a quick recalling of her Biscayyan due to an easy grasp on it — pejoratively known by the Uinncairi as "Blacksand fever" due to how the Biscayyans and the Blacksand were both darkly colored — and a quick skimming over the letter preceded her leaving the galley's cabin. She hurried down the gangplank, a few armed men behind her serving as the guard contingent.

She gave a quick bow, hand over heart, to the man already on the dock. She rose and laced her fingers together, her Biscayyan already failing her. So much for classrooms.

“My liege, it appears our guests have arrived,” one of the soldiers signaled. There was no response. “Milord?”

The soldier peeked around the door opening, finding his liege blissfully asleep inside the doge’s office. The soldier shook his head with a pitiful look on his face. By Rhine this was unprecedented.

“Lord Tartal!”

The young noble sprung awake, “What is it?!”

“Our guests from the North have arrived.”

“They have?” Tartal looked puzzled. “Oh yes, I had forgotten. I had waited so long that sleep caught up to me, jolly well done lad.”

At this the soldier became even more puzzled. Kliment Tartal, as he recalled, was his junior by 4 years. In the meantime, Kliment had rushed outside to welcome the foreigners. A boy with temperamental energy levels, it just depended on the situation how charged he was. He possessed a silver tongue and certainly did not back down from using it.

A group of guards quickly assembled around him, as he led them to greet the foreign delegation.

“I bid you welcome to the Holy Empire of Rigelis,” the young noble greeted. “We have been expecting your arrival,” he greeted in Biscayyan.

Diubrona gave a delayed nod. "[i]Ēē… it is a pleasure." Her Biscayyan was, admittedly, a bit stilted. "I apologize if the wait was longer than it needed to be. I came as quickly as I could." She glanced behind herself, towards the spearmen, then looked back to him. "I am Diubrona Henraiti, representative for the Kingdom of Uinncair, a founding member of the League of Uinnrenn."

“I see,” Kliment nodded. “It was good of you to accept our invitation nonetheless, for that alone we are grateful. Patience is key after all.”

“But I am sidetracking,” Tartal shook his head. “The one you will be discussing terms of trade and relations with awaits you in my family manor, his name is Vasyl Gregoronov, heir to House Gregoronov in Ovetsia. Ah, I almost forgot to introduce myself, Kliment Tartal, heir to House Tartal of Sillenya, rulers of the territories you find yourself in currently.”

“If you would, allow me to guide you to him,” Kliment invited, looking towards the manor atop the giant hill to his east.

Her nod was quicker this time. “Right. Lead away,” she said. She looked over to the guardsmen and told them to follow when she moved. With that done, she looked back to Kliment. “Mr. Tartal, would you mind telling me about the local exports? Specifically the ones under control of house Gregoronov, if you could, but general exports are fine too.”

“Well, our market is rather varied I must say,” Kliment shrugged. “Though Ovetsia is a good place to start. Ovetsia, under the helm of House Gregoronov, mostly exports woolen textiles and is home to the finest animal trainers in all of the world. They can tame anything, from bears to wolves, or so it is said.”

“Next would be Pyshrichka under House Chorvody,” Kliment continued. “They export the finest teas and herbs in all of the south. Finally, Ozeromaye is home to many luxury resources, namely their perfume is famed among all southern nations. Outside of that, Hruyina mostly exports minerals and products around that and Nyzshivka are famed for their fish and extremely rare pearls found along the coast with the Moon-lit Waters.”

“That about covers everything, except here. Silennya, as the name implies, exports mostly salt and limestone that is found along the coast. Our climate allows us to actually use the sun to create it, giving us the most natural mix possible.”

Diubrona nodded along to each name and given resource. She thanked her lucky stars that they had a common language such that the only alien, vaguely Szwonian things she heard were place names. The importance of trade with the Rigelians was clear — with that many goods in their borders, it would be paramount to gain a trade contract of their own with them. The minerals would be pleasant though were minor in comparison with the other items the Uinnlant could make use of.

“That is a fine number of goods,” she said. “May I ask if those cities are closely-connected?” Sure, such a question may be out of the blue depending on the structure of the Holy Empire (where did she hear that before?) but it would prove valuable nonetheless. Especially so if the Rigelians knew how the League was made up or were even made up similarly to the League.

“It is… a little complicated,” Kliment shrugged. “Not in the way that they do not get along, I assure you they do. Moreso that they each are seen as a capital of sorts. For the Empire is a feudal state, made out of smaller fiefdoms. What combines them are a few cultural similarities, most importantly language and religion, as well as the ruling house of Ozeromaye, the richest of us all: House Arlowskaya.”

“The system has been designed in a way that we have all become reliant on one another, whether united under one banner or not, we must remain amicable between another or we collapse.”

Kliment, for a brief moment, wondered to himself why he was explaining such details to a foreigner, but any expert of the political or economical kind would be able to figure such things out on their own anyway. In the grand scheme of things, it didn’t really matter, the links between the fiefdoms were too strong to be so simply broken.

Good, they were similar in some way. Diubrona breathed a sigh of relief. That info wasn't quite pertinent just yet but it proved valuable for the future.

"The League is similar," she said. "Not quite as religiously or culturally similar, though quite similar to the Empire." She paused, thinking of what would be the next most pertinent question or topic to bring up. "Tell me about the Gregoronov family and its head, Vasyl, if you would. How… influential are they in comparison with the other cities' families?"

“Vasyl? Head of the family? He wishes,” Kliment shook his head with a smile. “No, he’s the heir, not too far off, but still significantly different.”

“As for the influence of Gregoronov,” Kliment continued. “Well, their house boasts the busiest seaport of all the Empire, fed by the Sherstyak river leads deeper inland to Zalizomak in Hruyina, which is close to the capital. They are the main exporters and importers of the mainland, so their influence is rather significant so to say.”

On the other, there had been a few peasant rebellions a few years ago. They were silenced, of course, but that might be a recurring problem that would have a significant impact on how they allocate their budget.

“Compared to others is a whole other ballpark, however,” Kliment pointed out. “Compared to the Arlowskaya’s they are mediocre at best, yet compared to families like the Zhinchenko’s and my own, they hold up rather well.”

Well, Zhinchenko couldn’t really be compared to a lot of others. His harbor at sea was far removed from his core, he fed a substantial part of the economy, so he could be seen as influential on other levels. The equation was rather difficult all in all.

“The only two that really rival them as of now are the Chorvodyy’s north of them and the suck-ups in Nyzshivka the Kuval’s, all the way in the south, not even in the Great Sea.”

Diubrona nodded, “Hm. My apologies for my mistake. Still, it appears the Gregoronovs are one of the more noteworthy septs in the Empire, which bodes well for Uinncair.” She began rubbing her hands together, looking for the warmth that friction gave as the chill still nipped at her. It seemed that all she needed was a prolonged time in it to truly feel it.

“Well, since it is also likely important,” she began, “what are the Empire’s relations with neighboring polities? It would be a shame if conflict between the Empire and any other realm broke the flow of trade.”

“Well, every state reacts differently to foreigners, though there are some commonalities,” Kliment answered, putting his hand to his chin as he mauled over his answer. “It is safe to say that the foreign, significant, power we share the best relation with are the Medilans across the Great Sea. Everything from the same religion to their wares strike well with us, and it does please the more xenophobic elements within our society that they remain at a reasonable distance.”

“As for the Biscayyans,” Kliment continued. “While there is no disdain necessarily, it is safe to say that they aren’t as well liked. Maybe due to their proximity, seeing as they are the only ones we have relations with that can be considered a neighbor? However, that is but an assumption about a rather difficult issue. We will do business with them, regardless of private opinions.”

She nodded along. Now she had questions concerning the Medilans, though for now they would have to wait. “That is relieving to hear,” she said. With nothing else to really ask, she opted to stay quiet until the time when they came to the manor.

Eventually, after a little more walking, they would find themselves at the entrance of the Tartal Manor. Built with fine limestone and other regal decorations, the Tartal’s certainly did not seem to shy away from their lands boasting many resources one could consider to be precious or luxurious.

“I bid you welcome to the Residence of my own family, the Tartal’s,” Kliment nodded. “The Empire’s representative awaits you inside, is there anything you require before carrying on with the proceedings?”

Usually, one required things like food and alcohol, rooms, etc. It was always expected of a Rigelian host to ask, for they were the ones expected to provide. Even among the common folk, it was not unusual to be invited for tea or dinner if one visited at those hours. It was common courtesy to tend to the needs of their guests to the utmost in ways possible for the host.

“If not, then Sir Gregoronov awaits you inside on the veranda.”

And as they walked up to the Manor, Diubrona could only purse her lips in what would be similar to fatherly disappointment. The Uinnlant rarely used such precious or expensive materials for their buildings, opting instead for smaller and more practical items such as idols, shrines, or even currency.

Still, she had to be respectful, so she unpursed her lips rather quickly as they entered. When greeted with his question, she paused. She didn’t know what the Rigelian culinary scene looked like — did they serve milk alongside meat, or slice the throat in an area other than between the trachea and pharynx? Did they eat hounds or horses?

She shook her head. “No thanks, though I appreciate it,” she told him with a smile. “Though, could I be pointed to the ‘veranda?’” That word was admittedly alien to not only her but to most Uinnlant, so whatever it could be was up to anyone’s guess.

Well, that was rather rude. She would be viewed as such by almost all Rigelians, except those north in Tuvyn, they were rather self-absorbed. Well, maybe withdrawn was the better word, but such things didn’t really fly in Rigelis.

“Well, if that is what you choose, the veranda is at the end of the main corridor, you will see it as soon as you pass the foyer. Straight ahead you go,” Kliment described, allowing her to pass on.

She gave a quick nod and began on her way. These halls were alien, though she got the rough gist of the layout and that she was in the main corridor. She continued on her way until she was at its end and then followed the rest of the instructions. If the directions were right…

“Hello? Sir?” she asked in Biscayyan as she came into what she assumed to be the ‘veranda.’ “Are you Mr. Gregoronov?”

The young scion’s gaze panned away from the view, eventually landing upon his guest. Just her? Very well, he didn’t enjoy busy meetings anyway, a one-on-one would be just fine for him. Giuseppe, the mercenary guard, faded into the background, neither interested nor required to be there.

“Yes, that would be me,” Vasyl nodded, inviting Diubrona to take a seat. “I am thankful that my letter did not fall on deaf ears.”

He had already assumed that they would come, their reputation almost guaranteed it. Still, he could not be too certain, seeing as the two nations had hundreds, if not thousands of miles in between them. Such journeys, to some, would seem to be not worth the risk nor investment.

“You are from the nation of Uinnrenn, correct?”

She took a seat. “From the Kingdom of Uinnrenn, or Uinncair as most call it, yes,” she said as she nodded. “Your letter was… a surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one.” She paused. What else was there to say? Their meeting was enough of a hassle to bring together yet she had nothing to start the dialogue with. After another moment, she spoke. “Begin, if you would, Mr. Gregoronov.”

“Yes, perhaps I should,” Gregoronov sighed, shifting in his seat to sit more upright. “We seek to establish trade relations between the Empire and the League, that much, I believe, was easy for you to put together as well.”

“There are some nuances here and there, but we can easily discuss them as we go along. Firstly, I believe it is best that we exchange foreign quarters, no? We stand to gain a lot from each other’s knowledge of our own respective parts of the world. More permanent residences for people such as merchants would surely stand to benefit us all.”

She tilted her head from side to side for a moment. “Foreign quarters would be beneficial, yes. Uinncair would be willing to house one as it has for numerous other states both extant and extinct. As for trade concerning the entire League… I suspect it would work, though the Diet bodies will have to vote. Given the distance, I will have to serve as earpiece to tell them what is learnt here, though that will come later.”

She paused once again. “What exports does your family deal in?” she asked. It was better to learn from a primary source - Vasyl - than a secondary source - whoever he paid to bring her to him.

“Of my House specifically?” Vasyl raised his brow. “Well, we’re home to the finest animal trainers in all of Selm, more of a service job than anything, but business is business. Aside from that, we possess the most sought after woolen textiles due to their quality.”

“We also export most other goods found in the Empire. Such as the minerals from Hruyina and the more luxury goods such as perfume from Ozeromaye,” Vasyl continued.

“And what does Uinncair deal in?”

“Well, Uinncair has some nonprecious metals at its disposal. Copper, iron, zinc, all of that. Dyes are an important trade good as well. We also have Borcerican amber.” She paused once again. “I think there should be some theologians' manuscripts which have been copied by druids and sold. They are all in Uinnlantish, though translating them may help with your own religious studies.

“And, er, I think that is it. I think there may be a minor diamond trade though I do not know if that is restricted or not.”

Though the services concerning theology were… less of interest. Their wares certainly were. Their quality would still have to be measured up towards those of Hruyina. Quality did not decide all after all, it was also the ease of transport and the price. Perhaps the more richer elements among the Empire would enjoy these wares, or some of the more specialised craftsmen. The dyes, however.

“I see,” Vasyl nodded. His mind was more distracted by the… exclusive wares that the Kingdom possessed. Dyes, diamonds? Quite the rarities he had to admit. It wasn’t really something that was common in Rigelis, or even all of Rigelia. Perhaps the depths of Lake Rigel would offer more insight on whether there was some marine life that possessed these dyes, for he had heard of the purple dye coming from snails in a lake far from here, in a civilization long gone.

“Well then, your wares intrigue us, even if the level of interest varies, we would love to do business with the Kingdom of Uinncair.”

“Though I would be interested in knowing more of the other realms of the League, I will elaborate on others in exchange.”

“Oh that, that. That is slightly harder though I can tell as much as I know.” She leaned back in her seat and laced her fingers together. “Wensburgh is largely a minor trade partner in terms of goods, though is major for maintaining trade relations with the Voltanese and whatever other powers are in the Shimmering — the sea which the League’s southern coastline bounds along.

“Borceric was once one of the major nations of the League though as of late it has fallen due to much stress. The Amber Road — the trade routes through the land near Borceric which held the amber routes — is under control of a tribal kingdom which is vehemently against trade, so amber would be less common on any routes with your homeland. Derdriu, and by extension Celmuhb, far to the south of Borceric, is mostly a port for actual trade goods. They’re unimportant.

“And that would be all the people who would be most beneficial to trade. The other two — the Pāmeddei and the Tydmor — are either highly xenophobic, as is the former, or too far for any meaningful contact, as is the latter.”

“I take it that the league stretches far and wide then?” Vasyl nodded, grabbing a glass of wine in front of him, swirling it around before taking a sip. It was only natural, to him, that the league possessed that many special wares then, they stretched further than he had thought.

“I suppose it is my turn to return the favor then,” Vasyl announced. “Where to start, perhaps our current location? Silennya, the most northern port of the Empire, an outpost almost. It is the entrance to the Rigelian Sea and almost serves as an introduction to our Empire. It is relatively new to being within the fold of the Empire, thus not many goods from the mainland can be spotted around here. However, there is a huge natural salt industry here, won from the ocean by gathering the water in pans and letting it evaporate in the sun, leaving only the salt behind. Then there are the limestone deposits, mineralogists are still looking into their potential aside from well, building manors like these.”

“Pyshrichka lies just north of my family’s territories. Known for their more lush exterior than most of the Empire, they deal in the finest herbs and teas in the south. I must say, combining the two together makes for an excellent drink. They mostly trade through their capital, Chayrot, located at the mouth of the Chayrichka River.”

“Then there is Hruyina, located inland from Ovetsia, which is the mineral capital of the Empire. Known for their many mines and expert craftsmanship when it comes to those kinds of products.”

“Next is Ozeromaye, the capital region of the Empire. It is quite the elitist place, Novyy Dmytrovosk most of all. It’s where the more refined Rigelian culture bares itself and where the Empire’s finest perfume comes from.”

“To the South, bordering the Moonlit Waters, lies Nyzshivka, they possess the biggest port city in all of the Empire, Morsyvka. Home to the Vodyvorota Do More, a must see if one ever gets the chance. They’re excellent fishers and shipbuilders, known for their trade practices and excellent pearls.”

“Finally, Ovetsia, Gregoronov territory,” Vasyl paused, taking another sip from his wine and taking a deep breath. “As you already know, it is known for its woolen textiles, coming from a territory upriver called the Sino’stavyy. A collection of many, and I mean many, farming communities that produce the wool needed for us to produce the best textiles. Our capital is Shershirsk, the busiest harbor in the Empire internationally speaking.”

“I think that sums it up rather well. Though I neglected to mention extra-territorial contacts. This wine, for example,” he continued, nodding towards his glass, “comes from a place called Tuvyn, known for its vineyards and rolling hills. The wine is kept sweet due to the misty climate, something I certainly don’t mind.”

“There are also the two states which many Rigelians refer to as: ‘The Great Wall of Muscle’. They’re a rough and tough folk, known for producing fine warriors, which has kept them afloat against greater powers such as the Empire.”

“Lastly, the Empire possesses some islands of this large archipelago, which we can leave unmentioned.”

“The Empire is nothing short of diverse, but then again that is its main strength. Bound together by language, religion and a common sense of purpose and loyalty,” Vasyl mused slightly.

Diubrona nodded along, finding it the only thing she could do to stifle a chuckle at the very mention of them being called, ‘the Great Wall of Muscle’. “The League is quite diverse as well, tethered only by a general desire to not want to be turned into the territories of other nations. I imagine the states of the League would be interested in trade if these are the goods which would be coming in.”

She paused for the nth time before asking, “What other polities are around here? It cannot just be your realm this far south.”

“Outside from those I mentioned, we are so far the only ones. We have sent ships to explore and have found some other forms of settlements, but we are not sure about their very nature so to say,” Vasyl answered, looking out towards the sea.

“The waters yet hide many more secrets from us, thus I couldn’t really answer your question in a “yes or no” manner, we simply have yet to find out.”

She nodded. “So then, besides the League or the Biscayyans, the ‘Medilans’ share the land this far south also? Thank you.” She looked past the veranda. “I guess the discussions have been fruitful. Is there anything else we should discuss, or shall our discussion come to an end beneficial for the both of us?”

“If you have nothing more to add, then it seems that we are indeed done with these discussions, the feeling is likewise,” Vasyl nodded. His priorities had been addressed, thus he had no problems calling it a day here. “We have arranged accommodation for you and your men should you require it, it might not be wise to immediately depart again after all.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “And why would that be?” she asked. “The League is likely expecting me back within the next couple months to bring them the news.”

“Stay a night, explore the markets, et cetera,” Vasyl answered, slightly surprised himself that he had to elaborate, but then again he did have a tendency to expect others to immediately understand everything he said.

“I trust you have a report to write? It would do you well to see what this place offers yourself, if you need empirical evidence for my words is all. Purely a suggestion.”

She bounced her head back and forth a couple of times before nodding for the nth+2 time. “That may be best. I do not know the local language, however — Do most marketeers here speak Biscayyan or any other language?”

“The average vender might not, but we do offer the services of a translator if it is necessary,” Vasyl offered. “After all, I’ve heard that Uinnlant are very interested in foreign cultures and geographical aspects? It is always better to learn it from a native speaker than a middleman.”

New Horizons, II

“This is… With all due respect, your imperial majesty, that proposal challenges the very foundations of our society,” one of the pashas spoke, finally breaking the dead silence of the Imperial Diwan. Nobody quite knew what to say when they witnessed the new law Mehmed wanted to implement.

Indeed, the air was stuffy in the chamber, and the red imperial banners with white trees woven into their fabric only seemed to add to that sense of walls that were closing in on the occupants of the room. Mehmed knew his law would provoke a strong reaction from the Imperial Diwan, but he did not expect something like this. Their utter silence spoke much louder than any shouting ever could. It was as though they could not find any appropriate words and were stuck in mid-thought.

“I concur, your imperial majesty,” another pasha spoke carefully, glancing at Mehmed every now and then. “To allow a sultan to retire would open the door to many machinations at the very highest level of our empire. Why, some malcontent could force a sultan to abdicate, and there would be nothing we would be able to do. Just the thought of it…”

“Is enough to make my blood boil,” Mehmed nodded. “But I have faith in my son and my future descendants. Nobody will be capable of forcing them into anything. The empire will endure, and so will our ways. An incapable sultan can be worse than any plague. One only needs to look at Säpkene.”

There were frowns and scowls. Mehmed did not strictly speaking need the approval of the Diwan to pass any laws. He would never implement such a restrictive system. Still, the pashas represented the very top of the imperial bureaucracy, so their cooperation would make things easier in the long run. Still, the nature of the imperial hierarchy ensured that only people of ‘respectable’ age ascended to the Imperial Diwan and got the prestigious title of pasha.

“That is a good point, your imperial majesty,” Nazim-pasha spoke. “If I may be so bold as to ask: what does Bey-çekcä think of the matter?”

“My son is ready, he accepted the news easily enough,” Mehmed responded. “Besides that, I will only step down after Ibrahim’s wife bears him an heir.”

“The imperial line must stretch further than the ruler,” one of the older pashas nodded with obvious satisfaction. “So as to ensure the stability of the empire.”

“Exactly,” Mehmed agreed. “As a rule, the Janissary General will step down with their Sultan. The new ruler may, of course, reappoint them, but the Janissaries must always remain loyal to the Sultan first, then the imperial family, and then the country. Now there is another piece of legislation I want to reveal.”

Mehmed made a pause, where everyone stiffened. Most likely, they expected another bombshell. The Sultan though had no intention of shocking them further. On the contrary, he had a pleasant and useful surprise.

“To ensure stability of imperial policy, I have decided to issue a new law. From now on, if a Sultan wishes to repeal a decree or law issued by their predecessor, they need the support of the Imperial Diwan, a simple majority, to be specific,” Mehmed spoke. “The details will be forwarded to you at a later date. For now, that is all. The next session will have these topics on its agenda as well. The meeting is adjourned.”

New Horizons, IV

"What is it?" Ibrahim asked the aide who brought more papers for him to look through. Reports from beys, letters addressed to the Sultan or, more often recently, to Bey-çekcä — there were a good hundred documents that demanded his immediate attention.

"My bey, it appears that Akdeniz recently flooded our northern provinces…" the man replied with a deep bow. "Caliskan-üyug is seeking help in restoring the irrigation infrastructure."

"Great," Ibrahim shook his head. "Put the papers on the coffee table and fetch me the treasurer."

The imperial throne maintained two treasuries. One belonged strictly to the ruling branch of the imperial family and received it's funding from the regions of the imperial innermost core: Medila, Gökossova, etc. A Sultan could spend it however he wished though traditionally it was used to support the palace and the members of the imperial family. The Greater Imperial Treasury operated likewise under the authority of the Sultan. It drew its funds from various taxes all across the empire. It funded the imperial army and fleets. A Sultan did what he wanted with it, but with the entire Imperial Diwan being privy to all the spendings, incomes, and balances. All in all, a system that worked, if not a perfect one as far as Ibrahim was concerned.

In either case, the aide bowed and left the study, only to appear seemingly moments later (or perhaps time went faster for Ibrahim while he worked) with the treasurer in tow.

"Ibrahim-çekcä, it is an unexpected honor," the man bowed. He managed the treasury imperial family and as such received a lot of trust from the ruling line.

"Honor or not, we have gold to discuss, Yasar-cä," Ibrahim leaned back in his chair and stretched his neck. He never thought he would miss those grueling training sessions of his formative years.

"Of course, my bey, how can I be of service?" Yasar asked.

"Have a seat, Yasar-cä, and look at these," Ibrahim nodded at the pile of papers on the coffee table. "I want your opinion."

"Yes, my bey," the man nodded and took the first document of the pile.

As Yasar-cä worked through the pile of paperwork, his face became more and more grim. At last, he put away the final document and sighed, rubbing his eyes. A man in his fifties, Yasar-cä was no stranger to the convoluted and flowery wording so prevalent in the imperial paperwork. Therefore, Ibrahim expected a thorough evaluation of the situation from the wizened man.

“Well, all things considered, it could have been worse,” Yasar-cä replied. “With the scale Caliskan-üyug claims, the devastation could have spread throughout the coastline. That it is, for the most part, localized is nothing short of Rhine’s blessing. Still, 50,000 pamuks is quite the sum to ask for. Is there no way to have Medila-Altõn take over that matter?”

“He’s asking for aid, as opposed to a loan,” Ibrahim responded wryly. “Is the treasury capable?”

“Well, it is, my bey, if you want to grant Caliskan-üyug’s request,” Yasar replied.

“Not like I have a choice, he is my wife’s father,” Ibrahim shook his head. “Prepare the appropriate paperwork, I’ll sign it as soon as I can.”

“By your leave then, my bey,” the man stood up and bowed.

“Indeed,” Ibrahim dismissed the treasurer.