by Max Barry

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Wine and Tradition
City post
Rarshäswa

The sky had already turned shades of copper, announcing the end of the day’s labour and ushering in the nocturnal activities, be it the lawful ones or those reserved for the underbelly of urban centres.

But it had been anything but a work day around those parts. Colourful ribbons climbed up towers and rooftops, reaching places no human would even dream of placing them, yet they were still there. The floor tiles were submerged under waves of that crimson nectar, so coveted by all the civilised people in the world, in such quantities that the place could’ve been mistaken as the site of a great massacre rather than the joyous occasion it truly was.
Men and women donned long white sheets on their arms and legs, soaked in wine, moving their limbs erratically, while laughing and singing drunken verses, crude wooden masks covering their features and displaying the same emotion they hid behind the effigy: excitement.
Occasionally, some fell face first into the hard floor, either by tripping on their garnements, slipping their feet on the great puddles or merely trusting their inebriated senses to guide their bodies.

An overgrown balcony towered over the soaked patio, it’s tangled vines forming an impenetrable wall over the marble railing. The few guests that were still sober rested above the patio, as to not disturb the practically unconscious choreography of those below. A man climbed up the stairs and made his way through the thin crowd, removing the mask and revealing a grizzly grey beard.

“Wilhelm, Wilhelm! I’ve been looking for you since the sun faded.”
The Öbererschutz of Alvërion turned, startled. He had been sitting on a bench overlooking the ground floor, his carved mask by his right side and an empty goblet by his left.
“Is something the matter?”
“Not really, I just haven’t gotten the opportunity to talk to you. You’re either avoiding me or being as sly as a fox!”
“Oh, you know how these things go. One inevitably ends up talking about business or politics, perhaps even both, and time just flies by.”
“How I understand you. Anyways, what’s with the theme? It strikes me as...ritualistic for some odd reason.”
“Your assumption isn’t incorrect. The festivities are based on some old wroszian pagan traditions. It’s about the ritual of the harvest, where townsfolk would gather and commemorate that year’s crops, much like the Autumn festival, but of course, amplified to suit our pleasure.”

“A bit heretical, I’d say. Aren’t you wary of any word getting out and the inquisition pestering your head?”
“Not at all. It shows more inclusivity towards the assimilated szwonian aristocracy, who, might I add, are quite a pious bunch, the inquisitorial courts don’t even close in terms of bureaucratic entanglement to the pre-collapse imperial institutions.”
“I see. Well there’s still the possibility of someone casually mentioning it and making its way towards the capital.”
“Doubt that. Even if it happens I don’t believe it will have much impact anyways. High Priest Lüdwig is downstairs, out of his senses and indulging on the alcohol.”
“Haha. The old boar came after all! Then I’ll be much more at ease…”

Unearthed - I -
Expansion Post

Aadenval, Hugrëchige Bay

Following legislation and winning with an overwhelming majority, a new urban center, Aadenval, was created in the heart of the bay south of the capital to attend to the growing viftaelian population.
The Hierophacy had eagerly partnered up with some sympathetic gierigs to grant debtors a lighter tax on the loans for resettlement, and many had jumped in the opportunity to escape the crowded and overly competitive markets of Viftaelia and surrounding cities.
One such man, Carolus Interhoven, popular jeweler of the Vierecken square and personal craftsmen for the Herzogi of Sajiëris, had left his workshop on the square, with the rent on his three-story workplace soaring to heights that would drive even a gierig to abject poverty. In Aadenval, he had already joined the local branch of the Jewellers’ Guild, and being one of its first invited members, along with having amassed considerable prestige in the capital’s guild and even the Tripartite, he had already scored some contracts with the city’s aristocracy, along with a prestigious workshop, always busy carving the precious gems and assembling the finished

A carved iron oculus on his right eye and a small pair of pincers in his left hand, he carefully examined the dark amethyst. A teenage boy peeped over his shoulders, listening to everything the craftsman said.
“There’s too much blemish on this one. You can notice the color shift from the indigo purple to this purple-ish grey right next to that curve. The lapidary job is sloppy, there was no real touch to it and this is a very intricate cut for a beginner.”
The door creaked open and another teenager walked into the workshop.
“I’m back, Master Carolus!” the apprentice shouted. “All the molds you ordered have arrived, the platinum seven-faced necklace is looking a bit dim but it can be polished. Oh, a letter came with the package. It has no wax seal so I doubt it’s from a client.
I’ve also managed to score some deals with some sailors from Cartango!”
he exclaimed, laying a leather pouch on the table. “Fair dark sapphires. They asked a bit too much for them, but I managed to wiggle the price down. I’ve brought you your lunch. Carrot soup, bread, dry cheese and wine, just like you asked.”

“Thank you Fred. Go eat something and get back to work, Von Ülthrict’s ring set isn’t going to prepare itself!” Carolus joked.
“Sure thing, master!”
The apprentice quickly made his way up the creaky wooden stairs to go enjoy his meal. Carolus put down the instruments and unwrapped the package. Some platinum, silver and gold necklaces, rings, bracelets and powder boxes, all supporting those iconic gaping holes that adorn every piece of jewelry without a soul. Some were pure metal, others gilded or mixed (not everyone could afford the luxury of paying for flawless platinum or gold, so they resorted to cheaper solutions). The pouch contained many uncut and crude sapphires. The color wasn’t the most appealing, the fairer blues never had been the favorite amongst buyers, but the jeweler would need to know their cost first before making any assumptions on the quality of the trade.
“I never understood what these were for.” the apprentice behind him said, fiddling with a golden ring that had a mobile lid, flipping up and down with his index.
“Oh, those ones have an interesting story. That compartment is used to stash powder. Normally, it’s used for storing black powder, free from having to carry a powder box to social events and risk it being lost or stolen. Moreover, some, more cruel individuals, use it to store poisonous substances, perhaps pouring it on a foe’s goblet discreetly or as a last resort to escape this cruel reality.”
“How dramatic…”
the teen sarcastically mumbled.
Carolus grabbed the letter opener and slit the envelope, taking out the manuscript and reading it. A puzzled look crossed his wrinkled face.
“What is it, master?”
“Nothing. Just some personal matters. I’ll be leaving early tomorrow, tell Fred to close up shop for me.”

Expansion Post IV - Einora

Whilst the divided forces of General Vestas Taloumenēs of Rhōvenaieon ran rampant over the countryside, the Serbads and the Peshemgari had not simply sat idle in this triangular struggle for dominance over the rolling plains of the Vaes Peshem. Einora, seized by the Serbads in the decades prior, had been beset by the encirclement by the horse masters on several occasions for their audacity to openly strike against C̄ixaan Yaazjuk Bōgyym. Little more than a month had passed since the ailing city had been all but razed by the vengeful Peshemgar.

Now, amidst ruins only haphazardly re-fortified, the throngs of the C̄ixaan now made merry. Bōgyym himself now lorded over the city from the still smoking keep. Drunken revelry was to be found aplenty amongst those victorious, although only misery was begotten by the ill-fated Serbads and unfortunate ethnic Vezant population that had now endured two cruel masters. A fact which Dena Ecloussa and her band sought to swiftly rectify. Dena had been sent ahead of the wing of Taloumenēs’ force aimed at relieving Einora. Adorned in shoddy peasant’s garb, she had arrived perhaps four days prior, blending in with those poor, anguished waifs that haunted the cellars of the city, ever watchful for the lustful, wandering eyes of the conquering Peshem. Hungry, exhausted and stretched of the soul to beyond the rightful limit of any children of the Sun, she had developed a strange kinship for these non-military folk, who wished only to survive the trials thrown there way. Better times lay ahead. The Sun ever shines. The heavens shall deliver us. Their small murmurs of quiet hope for the future emboldened her with the act of cloying, burgeoning courage to commit the task ahead.

After a quiet final exchange with her fellow infiltrators, who deftly dispersed across the city to their positions, Dena took a heaving, heartfelt breath, clutching to her resolve as she took each lead-weighted step towards the main gate. In their drunken stupor, the Peshemgari had been able to spare but a few watchmen, for all others could scarcely resist the call of their loins. Wandering along the scorch-marked red stone walls, her own target looked somewhat glum, his torch held up only by force of habit. Likely, he was missing the chance to quaff ale with the rest of the pigs. Her knuckles whitened as they furled about the hilt of her dagger, her arm bracing with a dizzying rush of pouncing adrenaline that puled upwards into her head, filling it and blurring out all else but her quarry. Hearing her footsteps, he turned, expecting his relief, before his narrow eyes widened in horror at the flash of cold steel encroaching with a lion’s pounce upon his person. A sickening thunk as the blade found its mark and the spirit of this barbarian seeped slowly out of his corporeal form and into the aether.

She let herself not pause a moment, before plucking up his torch, waving it with reckless abandon over the wall and into the night. A heart-skipping moment passed, before, in the distance, she saw her gesture returned. Commander Menios Saleclēs had arrived. Now, she and her companions need only open but one of the gates and the serpent’s head of Peshemgar could be struck off before their rabble had even time to rouse from their inebriated bedclothes.

Prismea and The venusians

Unearthed - II -
Expansion Post

Southern shores of Hugrëchige Bay

The keel of the rowboat finally hit the sand. It had been quite a journey, a few crimson carps the size of dogs had threatened to turn the vessel upside down and a merchant vessel had nearly spotted them leaving Aadenval. Overall, too much of a hassle to merely cross the bay and reach the scattered settlement of the southern peninsula, yet to be assigned a provincial governor and given little priority before the conquest of Swiegród.
Carolus saw the golden lights of Aadenval off in the distance, the unfinished Basilica rising from the center like a sore thumb. He was quite excited to hear mass in it, gaze at the decoration and perhaps craft some hallowed memorabilia for the wealthier clerics.
In contrast to the stunning unfinished provincial capital, the opposite bank of Hugrëchige was deserted and offered little in the way of eye candy. The boat had run aground next to a village. Most of the buildings were made out of stone and the roofs topped with orange clay roof tiles. The church’s steeple offered some light, giving a comforting gleam to its bronze bells. It was clearly an above average settlement, but nothing too spectacular.
The odd thing was how busy the locals were. Crates being handled by sailors, larger containers being lifted with makeshift cranes, barrels rolling on the pier and wagons brimming with various round and rectangular boxes.
“Understandable,” he thought “Perhaps this lost corner of the Reich had a sudden spike in activity on account of being near Aadenval.” That still didn’t explain all this work being made in the dead of night.
The boatman stepped onto the sand. Carolus went to follow when he was stopped. “No. You stay here.” The jeweler sat back down and watched as two figures approached the boatman. The traded some words in viftaelian, but with a very thick accent he did not recognise, which made the conversation practically imperceptible.
“Coast is clear follow them.” the boatman motioned to the two newcomers. Carolus obliged, stepping out the small raft and following them into the crowd. Their faces were illuminated by fire and he could finally distinguish their features. Their fairer skin, darker eyes and ear accessories quickly proved the assumption that they weren’t viftaelian -there were darker skinned viftaelian, sure, but theirs was much more similar to those of the natives tribes that dwelled amongst the exotic flora and fauna residing on the tropical jungles of the eastern Gemsamegh, a popular location for exile, where most enemies of the Reich would eventually starve or get killed by the aggressive wildlife-
The two men lead Carolus away from the shore and deeper into the heart of the village, through flooded streets and dark alleys.
The group’s destination was a house with barely any windows and a discreet facade. The interior was saturated with an uncomfortable stench, so much in fact that Carolus started tearing up from nausea. The discreet facade and hidden location were made crystal clear, it was a den where commoners enjoyed that powder from the southern bälvanian, that substance that had begun intensive cultivation a few years before, opium. Carolus despised the drug, it made the addicted no better than drunks and, in his line of work, something that hurt an individual’s perception and abilities was a death sentence.
The townsfolk laid strewn across crude wooden klinais, some giggling, others blowing on the pipes, but most had already fallen into their drug-induced coma. Carolus was relieved when his company opened the door to a smokeless room.

The old jeweler inhaled the clean hair and examined his surroundings. The room had crates mounted on every corner. A couple had been topped with a flat board, creating a makeshift table. Sitting behind that table was a woman. His eyes met hers and she motioned for him to sit. He scanned her face and upper torso, noticing some curious details. The faint scar cutting through her left cheekbone and a much more deformed left ear to go along with it, a silver brooch that held her tunic in place, carved into a shape that he recognized but couldn’t remember the meaning of.
“Carolus Interhoven?”
He nodded “Aye. Who do I owe the pleasure?”
“My name is irrelevant to the conversation. I’ll cut right to why you were summoned tonight, as I’m well aware of how much time is important to the both of us.”
“Very well. Enlighten me.”
“If you’ve come this far, you must know what failure to cooperate entails, correct?”
“Most likely, yes. The letter has been burned and all my apprentices and colleagues believe I’m visiting a relative stricken by a terrible ailment.”
“Wunderbar. Let’s go ahead and lay my offer down, shall we? I represent some people who are very interested in talented craftsmen like you, specifically in the lapidary business. You are hereby summoned to Orësbruck as soon as all your affairs in Aadenval are in order.”
“Come again? I've only arrived at the city four moons ago and I’m already being asked to leave? What for?”

The woman rolled her eyes and went over to one of the crates. She effortlessly opened the lid and took out a small tightly wrapped bag. She drew her dagger and slit the knot, placing it in front of Carolus. His gaze was met by several big sized blue gems. He examined one, even without his oculus he knew the stone was some unknown jewel with little value.
“What is this supposed to be?” he inquired.
“I see you have a good eye, I expected nothing less. That, my dear guest, is the reason for your departure. They’ll tell you more as soon as you arrive in Orësbruck, ask for Helga. In the meantime, this is to cover your travel expenses and part of your entire workshop’s relocation cost. The geist of Aadenval has already been persuaded and he’ll deal with any questions your customers might have.” she carefully slid a leather backpack across the wooden board.

“Why not just tell me everything now?” Carolus indignantly asked.
“This is a delicate affair. You’re still only knees deep in the operation. As soon as you arrive In Orësbruck, everything will be made clearer. Run along and start packing, you still have a lot to do.”

Carolus grabbed the bag and braced for the smoke between him and the exit. He had seen those gems before, he remembered how Fred had brought that pouch of crude sapphires on his way from the docks. Could it be? No, that was ridiculous...unless…

Unearthed - III -
Expansion Post

Orësbruck, Northern Bälvania

The door creaked open, allowing the cold nocturnal breeze to rush inside and disturb the crackling flames. The room was practically empty, save for two women who scrubbed the stained tables with wet towels. Bulky stone arches obstructed most of the space, with only some tables, long benches and a wooden counter in front of some wine kegs neatly stacked into a triangular stack being visible from the main entrance.
“I’ll be right there!” one of the women shouted. She threw the piece of soaked cloth over her shoulder and went to meet the newcomer. She turned the corner and Carolus’ tired eyes stared back at her. “I’m looking for Helga.” he informed.
“I’m Helga. How may I help you.” she was a petite girl, couldn’t have been old enough to have celebrated her seventeenth name day. Her light blonde hair was tied into a long braid, common with bälvanian female attires. Her apron had seen a fair bit of damage that night, full of dark crimson stains in different degrees of discoloration.
“I’m from Aadenval. I’ve just arrived and was…”
“Oh, you must be exhausted! Please follow me.”

Carolus was taken aback at her readiness to provide him with accommodation for the night. Was she an altruistic young woman who had pitied the tired craftsman or had she been previously informed by the thugs at Hugrëchige to take in anyone they sent? Probably the latter, he figured.

Helga disappeared behind one of the columns and started climbing up a flight of granite stairs. The stairs led to a long hallway, lined on both sides by doors and wall-mounted lanterns. Helga reached the fifth door on the right and took out a dark keychain from her apron's front pocket. The slender key slid into the hole, and with a faint click, the chamber was now unlocked.
“I’ll be back with something to eat soon. If you need me, I’ll be downstairs by the kitchen.”

The room was nothing to awe, certainly not enough to impress a man whose career could afford fine silk sheets and pillows, but it did remind him of his youth, hopping from tavern to tavern, and he was too tired to really care about how his living conditions had downgraded ever since he left Aadenval. He felt a numbness cross his body, falling face first into the bed.

A few moments later, Helga entered the room, carrying a tray with ham, white bread and a cup of steaming dark tea.
She sat by his bedside while Carolus sipped from the circular mug.
“You’re another one they sent?”
“Ja. Thank you for taking me in, Helga.”
“Not like I had much of a choice anyways…”
she mumbled to no one in particular. Before he could ask her what she meant, she handed him an envelope. This one was different from the others. It had a blue wax seal, engraved with the menacing form of a horse, with some words too tiny for him to read.
“A wagon carrying crates of tea leaves will come by when the sun begins to rise. You’ll make your way inside and lay low until you reach your destination. You’re certainly not the first they send and certainly won’t be the last, but let’s keep all of this in the shadows, shall we.”

Carolus rummaged around in his bag and took out a shiny zeatos. “Thank you for the info. I’ll be sure to comply.”

Unearthed - IV -
Expansion Post

Orësbruck, Northern Bälvania

“Ah, finally. Please, take a seat.” the stranger ordered. Carolus sat down on the puffy orange couch. His back ached immensely, even in his old age, he’d always had a good posture and was lucky enough to not suffer the chronic back pain that most of the human population would acquire in their life. Crouching for so long, squeezed between flat surfaces certainly wasn’t something a doctor would recommend to alleviate spinal discomfort, but stuffing pillows behind him was enough to endure it.
The man in front of him had that young glow to him. He was much more exquisitely dressed than all the lackeys before him, and his golden brooch represented an equine figure standing on its hind legs, ducal sigil of the Herzogi of Sleipnivior

“Can I get you anything? Wine, water, a steaming cup of our prestigious tea?”
“I’m not thirsty for drinks. I’m thirsty to know the exact reason why I was called here.”
“Fair enough. Most of the people we recruit tell us the exact same. I must apologize for all the secrecy, but I’m sure you’ll understand once I tell you the reason for our request. If you’ve come all this away…” the jeweler interrupted. “Yes, I know the consequence of treasonous actions and am too deep to back out, yadda yadda, I’m not turning young anytime soon so don’t bother wasting your polarean with me.”
“You’re right. You may call me Vadael, I am a humble servant of the most gracious house of Sleipnivior and I’ll answer any questions you may have.”
the young man made a slight bow.

“Well, Vadael, can you tell me what the Sleipnivior are doing in Orësbruck? Isn’t the city Alvërion turf?”
“The Alvërion have amassed too much power amongst the Hierophacy and the foreign powers. How did they achieve it so efficiently? We’re still in the dark on it, but hopefully, this operation may shed some light on their schemes.”
“Tell me more about the operation…”
he asked.
“You may have noticed a bigger influx of cheap replacements of precious gemstones from the Voltan entering Aadenval. That was the result of a small liability that had been uncounted for, it has already been taken care of.
On the southern peninsula where the first letter pointed you to, we’ve been coordinating something with the local urbinian folk who just love to defy imperial authority.
Most of the coastal villages are currently storing gargantuan amounts of cheap replacements of the most sought after jewels. The stock is being gradually incorporated into the markets of the main viftaelian markets, such as Aadenval and the capital.”
“I’ve seen some of the replacements you’re talking about. One of my apprentices brought me some blue gemstone he assumed were sapphires.”
“Wunderbar. You see, whilst those ports are being saturated with rocks mimicking the real thing, Orësbruck has been left to its own devices, so the gems reaching the city are mostly genuine, well, with the small expected amount of bootleg gemstone that still continue to fool the careless.”

“What are you trying to achieve exactly?”
“In six moons time, a message will be sent to all the warehouses to pile the stock into merchant vessels and will try to get rid of this. If the imperial authority hadn't been notified yet, it certainly wouldn't overlook this blatant act of desperate forgery. This in turn will lead to most of the locals being incarcerated while most of the more vital members near the middle of the pyramid are paid off and leave for greener pastures.”

“Wouldn’t the betrayed conspirators give away vital information that would make the Herzogi complicit in high treason?”
Vadael laughed. “That’s incredibly unlikely. This has been meticulously crafted, everyone’s role, what they are allowed to know and how they’ll come out. The people supervising the fakes are paid mercenaries that are already being wanted by imperial authorities, even if the urbinian goons rat them out, they’ll already be out of the Reich, and the ones getting punished aren’t high ranking enough to be aware of the hand behind the strings. As I’ve stated, this has been perfectly designed.”

“What then?”
“With the Cartango gem providers’ confidence in the Reich’s ability to accommodate their products utterly ridiculed, they’ll turn to Orësbruck as the best port In Viftaelia to ship their gems to, an excuse about quality inspections will be fabricated to explains the lack of fakes reaching the city’s port, and just like that, the voltanese scintillating menagerie of precious stones will turn its head towards us. And that’s where you, my friend, come in. For the past year or so, we’ve been secretly recruiting the most talented imperial jewelers to leave their cities and come join us in Orësbruck. When the products start flooding in, you’ll have a wide range of options to complete your pieces and a small part of your commissions will go right to the ducal treasury. In exchange, you may settle down on the new lapidary quarter of the city, where all the most prestigious masters will have their workplaces paid for. The world will know this city’s name, it’ll rise to the podium as a city of rubies and sapphires, and along with Cartango, it shall prosper. And you will be part of it.”

The craftsman’s eyes widened. This journey would finally pay off, in six moons’ time.

The Graveyard - I
Expansion

Near Lesser Nogliano, Greater Nogliano

A few limp bodies swelled to the side of the road, General Poras wincing at their odor despite being rather used to the smell. He had done this long enough.

Seeing this expression an armor-clad infantryman used his spear to shove the bodies to the side of the road, clearing the way for the General’s measured stride towards the smoky village. It was of Polarean construction; a number of elaborate compounds surrounded by cramped hovels - housing for masters and servants, effectively. Little different than the Voltanese compounds in Lesser Nogliano, save that they were clustered together for defence, a necessity in this region. It had been of little use.

“All the signs of a Merchedi attack, General. Bloody murder throughout the estates, few traces of violence in the hovels. It’s a few days old though.”

Alonso nodded to one of his Commanders, shooing him off. There were several like it in the surrounding area, and all looked to the same. A pile of torched bodies, clearly declothed for lack of any remains but bone. A few Merchedi bodies evidently forgotten (they liked to bring their dead with them), and signs of considerable looting. If it had been Revelationist zealots they would have killed in both the estates and the hovels, rather than simply killing the Polarean estate owners and (presumably) ‘liberating’ the poorer native laborers and servants. Slaves was really the more appropriate term. Regardless, it was not the Revelationists, unless they had grown intelligent and realized a large body of Voltanese troops was snooping, looking for culprits.

Instability had always dominated this portion of the island, just beyond the safety of the Voltanese border. But the horrors visited upon the area of late - the sheer bloody contention for power that had followed the collapse of the last vestige of authority in the region (the Okimosi) - was growing to the point where it could not be ignored. Revenge killing was rampant and reaching the scale of entire villages being slaughtered. The death of locals was of little concern to the Voltanese authority, but the growing probability that the sanctity of Voltanese borders was to be violated was most certainly a major concern.

“We keep riding. Any sign where they headed?” Alonso asked, looking about the gathered group of officers.

“East.” came a general reply from a few individuals.

“Most of them went east.” one confirmed, Alonso directing his attention to the man, whom he knew to be a reliable tracker, “As always. I imagine a core group taking loot back to their hideouts in the central badlands. What I presume to be the best warriors of the group, not a large one to be certain, continued south - another compound of Polarean estates lies about a day’s ride from here according to our maps.”

Alonso huffed - he could not hope to catch them with a force such as this. Merely to clean up the mess they left behind. He was hardly in the business of cleaning up messes, that was the job of bureaucrats back in Nogliano proper.

“Torch what remains.” he said sternly, turning from the village, “I needn’t see any more. Where’s the commander of my cavalry?!”

“Here, General.”

Alonso mounted his horse and turned to look to the man, “Take a hundred of your best riders and pursue these savages. If you find another torched village, go east and hunt down their treasure party or...whatever is heading east. For a day at most, they’ll be laden down and without horses I reckon, but I don’t want you to disappear into the vast interior of the island.”

“If we do catch the...warparty, per se?”

“Use your judgement. If we kill them we can claim to provide some vague form of stability over the region. But I want you to return. If you don’t think you can take them observe and send riders back to notify me, and we’ll have the rest of the army slog through a night march to catch them if we can.”

“At once, General.” the man gave a bow, immediately bringing his horse to a gallop and leaving to collect his chosen accompaniment. The rest of the present command gave no expression - they could only hope internally that there needn’t be cause for a night march. Miserable affairs those were.

The Graveyard - II
Expansion

Near Lesser Nogliano, Greater Nogliano

“You have rather brutalized them.” General Poras remarked offhand, observing the state of the huddled masses before him. Most had wounds either open or recently healed, and looks of despair worn well into the creases of their faces. The looks returned to him ranged only from those full of pain to those that were resolutely stoical, much as the look he returned to them.

“It was as required to keep them in line with but eighty-four men, General.”

Alonso nodded understanding, “Civilized people are kept in line by civilized means. To uncivilized, the requirement is uncivilized means. Nevertheless, sixteen casualties?” an eyebrow was raised towards the commander of his cavalry.

“Fifteen in battle, one to...more foolish means.”

“Hmph.” Alonso gave a nod, turning his attention from the now-captive Merchedi natives. As far as he was concerned they were loot to him, just the same as ships seized from pirates were to the Admiralty. And the loot they had taken from their former Polarean overlords was now his too. And his men’s, of course...but mostly his own.

“I do not suppose you tracked their direction even further?” the General continued.

“Yes, General. They were just beginning to deviate a bit north when we caught them. We managed to extract details of their destination even - the head of the main river that cuts through the west of the island.”

“And any sign of the main warparty?”

“They torched the village these scum came from. Same as usual. Continued south yet more. Towards some more Polarean settlements, surely. Led by some lass by the name of Rhona the Liberator. At least, that is what the Merchedi called her.”

“The Liberator.” Alonso shook his head and let out a brief chuckle, “Well this lot shall not go on to justify such an epithet. Commander Colmenares!”

A junior commander made his presence known by stepping forward. A recent promotion, he was only in his late twenties - promising, but inexperienced.

“Take two hundred men and escor this pitiful group back to Nogliano. The loot train too. The Generalship’s office there will sell them off as slaves and we will divide up the profits. Then bring back supplies, you should be able to find us again without considerable difficulty.”

The man gave a low bow, holding it for several seconds before backing away and pivoting, departing to fulfill the command.

“As for the rest of you,” General Poras continued, “On we march again. The warparty needs to be stopped, and this Rhona the Liberator executed to considerable fanfare. Whether we make her a martyr or not, an example must be made of those who would upend the stability of the area. Are there any estimates of how far ahead of us she is?”

“It would seem to be three days, General.” his cavalry commander answered, “We were but a day behind them when we got to this village. A day out to catch the loot and its bearers, and a day back to meet you here. I reckon we have a decent chance of catching them if we depart in the morning and march hard, cavalry first.”

“Then we shall do exactly that.” the General confirmed, “Though I see little reason to set up camp early. There is nothing for us here, let us march on and make better time.”

The Graveyard - III
Expansion

Near Lesser Nogliano, Greater Nogliano

“A decoy party, General.”

Alonso sighed - of course it had been a decoy party.

“Forty fighters in total, we killed twenty-two before they surrendered.” his cavalry commander continued, “Evidently they were onto us, and the core of the warparty made south with haste.”

“I do not suppose this…Rhona, is among those we’ve caught or killed?”

“No, General.”

Alonso shook his head, “What a great liberator, leaving a rear-guard to die.” He looked between the bunch. They too were rather roughed up, but a common malicious gaze was all that greeted him. These were individuals of an entirely different make than the bunch they had captured a few days prior and sent on their way to the city of Nogliano. These were warrior-women, and fierce ones at that. Not good chattel. “Well, we will make camp here for the day. A night march is tiring, after all, and provided Rhona’s warband continues south we can trap them on the lower peninsula. In the meantime,” he looked up to the commander, “Torture these ones for what information you can. Then execute them. Feisty savages are of no value as prisoners.”

He turned to address his staff in general, “At dusk, I shall receive you all in my tent. As appropriate when on campaign with a rather new army.”

***

Dusk rolled about and General Poras sat at the head of a large table in his tent, a dozen of his most senior subordinates spread down either side of the table, save the empty seat where the commander of his cavalry should have been.

An anker of wine served them, a prime Nogliano red whose grapes were dried and deprived by the ever-blazing sun, leaving them low in water content but rich in flavor. It was punchy and bold, accentuating the notes of the fresh-cooked game he’d had roasted for the occasion. They had nicked the wine off the Merchedi party they had caught going east a few days prior, and he presumed it to be of Polarean make. Not quite what one would get in Lesser Nogliano, but on the march it was the best a soldier could ask for.

An hour late the cavalry commander walked in holding a cloth to his forehead. It featured a sharp gash which was still moist with blood, and he walked with a limp.

“My greatest apologies, General Poras. Those Merchedi women are a handful. I give thanks to Astvats that civilized women are all the more tame.” he gushed apologetically as he took his seat, immediately scanning for his glass of wine and, upon finding it, drinking from it greedily.

“Not when you’re raping them, you fool.” one of the other commanders sneered.

Poras could only shake his head, but what more could he expect from a rather green group of officers? They were young for their rank - all of them, himself included - but it was here that they had been sent as their proving grounds. The Kyust were too savage for junior commanders to be blooded against (Voltanese commanders, that was), the Tkhetian’s too crafty of fighters and well ensconced in their mountain fortresses, and the Zadrean’s...well, they weren’t warriors enough to permit bloodshed.

“I trust she got the worst of it?” Alonso finally inquired, once the man had settled and ceased to cause a great disturbance at the table.

“Oh very much so, General. Your orders were completed in full, and I am having my second finish a detail on the results of their interrogations as we speak. I shall have it to you come morn.”

“Acceptable. I suppose you’ll have learned a valuable lesson in why those fighters were of little value to the Wence, and so of no value to us as loot. In any case, your timing is just as well. We should speak to - and plan - our offensive against these Merchedi savages going forward. The south of the island is among its more savage pieces - the Polarean’s only briefly had a toe-hold here, the Revelationists never made it, and the Okimosi never really managed to wrest it under their control. Which means lots of Merchedi natives…”

Reading the room, it was a mixture of joy at the prospect of a proper potential for a good fight, and dismay at the very same. It would not take any longer than this campaign to sort the good field commanders from those more suited to a desk in the Generalship at Vallasa.

“Fernand,” he hailed his personal steward, “if you’d fetch the map. We’ll get to planning.”

The Graveyard - VI
Expansion

Nogliano, Lesser Nogliano

Commander Colmenares and his small force finally marched into Nogliano, the relatively small provincial capital that was near the tip of the peninsula. Their approach had not gone unnoticed, and his men - weary after some 250km marching with a group of prisoners some five-times their number (in the heat of summer-time Nogliano no less) - breathed a sigh of exhaustion as a detachment of the city garrison came to relieve them.

“General Poras sends his regards, these prisoners, and this letter.” Colmenares gave a bow to the local commander, passing off the sealed letter. “They were former slaves of Polarean estate holders, briefly liberated by a Merchedi warparty which he continued to pursue. I’m sure further details are enclosed, however if not, I can provide more context.”

“General Poras is a thorough man.” Jacobo, the other commander, affirmed, “Concern yourself with rest for now. I suppose he’ll want you to return with some fresh supplies?”

“That was among the orders of my return.”

Jacobo nodded, “I reckon it will take me at least three days to put together such a supply caravan. In the meantime, take your command to rest. The local barracks should fit you all fairly comfortably.” He moved to turn back to the city, but caught himself, “Oh, and I’ll clear your men to take out advances on their pay if they should wish to.”

“Have the pay ships arrived so soon?”

“No, no. But the Generalship and the Banco struck up a nifty deal. They front the Zeatos here, and the Generalship pays them back in Vallasa. A soldier can now buy his own luxuries if he finds break on campaign, rather than subsisting on what rations and loot are provided for him.”

“Officers too?”

“Ha,” Jacobo let out a short laugh, “You think the officers would ever get the short end of the stick? Hardly! Now rest up, Commander. I’ll be obliged to dispatch you the very morning the supply train is ready. Vallasa is impatient that we bring a greater portion of the island to heel, and I will not be seen as withholding resources from the good General.”

Jacobo turned for good this time, quickly catching up with the ragged group of native prisoners.

“You there!” He called out to one of his juniors, “Take this sorry lot to the barracks and put them in the lower levels. It’ll be cramped but…” he shrugged, “Have them fed and watered proper for a bit. They’re a sorry looking bunch as it stands. Hardly worth the chains that bind them in this state.”

A sorry looking bunch that could be sold for considerably more with a little investment now. A week of recuperation would add ten, maybe even twenty-five percent to their value. Though he served in an administrative capacity, Jacobo was still assigned to this campaign, and so he would see a share of their value when they were sold to the Banco as slaves. There weren’t that many to be fair, and there were a lot of shares to go around, but a few silvers was still a few silvers, and a pauper could persist for some time on such a sum. Now Jacobo was no pauper - it was good wine that awaited him, not continued existence - but the point still stood.

The Graveyard - V
Expansion

Nogliano, Nogliano

A platter of steaming fish landed at the center of the table, the iridescent scales and silver that supported them gleaming in the closing lights of the day flooding through the windows on three sides. Jacobo had a glint in his eyes to match, and his stomach rumbled for some quality food, provided at the Viceroys expense no less.

“Now Commander Donayre,” Jacobo broke his gaze at the mention of his name, “I’m told I have a thousand savages in my city now.” Agnolo Barbato commented almost offhand, “Surely they are...properly kept?”

“Of course, Viceroy.” Jacobo gave a firm, approving nod, first to Agnolo, then to the servant who was piling his own plate high with fish and some fresh greens.

“I supposed, but I did not want to do so unjustly. Of course, I am sure you can understand my concern that the local populace should grow apprehensive about this. Despite our best efforts, word of course trickles in of the...the barbaric atrocities being visited upon lands just off our border. A ways from here, mind you, but they involve these very people who are here now.”

“Incidentally, I am told.” Jacobo clarified, nesting a cloth in the collar of his shirt, in an effort to ensure his finest uniform was not besmirched by the meal he was about to devour - respectfully devour, of course. “These were ah, slaves to the Polarii. Freed, yes, but only briefly. I am assured they were docile for the duration of their march across the province.”

“Well I should hope! While General Poras’ efforts are welcomed, I would prefer the prisoners culled where they are caught rather than running amok in my province.” The Viceroy too was now looking to his food with considerable intent, raising a hand to stop the servant applying shaved lemon zest, before reaching for his glass of white wine. Jacobo followed suit. “Of course, I do understand you soldiers derive some portion of your pay from selling these individuals off. Do not misunderstand me. But...well...you should get my point. Proceed with caution, for I should hate to have to locate funds to placate locals if any of these prisoners should get out of hand.”

“An unfavorable situation for both parties I assure, and so one we shall endeavor not to find ourselves in. Once General Poras takes possession of a notable port city, we should be able to sell all the loot and slaves there, rather than marching them across your lands. It is a sorry look, such groups trekking across the beautiful and peaceful lands of the peninsula, and one I should not endeavor to foist upon you when I no longer must.”

“Excellent Commander, excellent. I dare say if such an understanding is adhered to, I may have words of praise to sing about yourself and General Poras to the Council. A most efficient operation you run indeed.”

“Such words would be welcome, Viceroy. I have taken a liking to your city - perhaps these words could sway the Generalship in giving me command of local forces here when this campaign is over. If your words are true, and not mere courtesy, I do believe we could work rather well together. Say, have you any indication - within the bounds of what you may tell me - as to what the Council plans to do with these lands?”

The Viceroy gave a friendly nod, though he did not speak for a moment as he bit into a hefty slice of fish, savoring it so.

“Why,” he padded his lips clean with a cloth, “They’ll be rolling it right up into my Viceroyalty. The formalities are nearly complete, in fact. A representative of the Council is supposed to arrive by year end with the final conditions. Then it will merely lie in General Poras’ hands to complete the acquisition.”

“My my,” Jacobo gave an approving nod, raising an eyebrow, “This would then surely be the largest province in the Empire then, no?”

Agnolo smiled, “I believe at this moment Haguessis is larger. Perhaps Alvelos too. But with the new lands, I would agree with your statement. Though of course, in many respects it is people that are power. I would by no means be the most powerful Viceroy in material terms, but I have been told that, given my position away from the mainland, I will inherit considerable leeway in my administration of these lands. More than the average Viceroy.”

“My felicitations.” Jacobo gave a polite bow of his head, raising his glass, “To the future of Nogliano!”

The Viceroy obliged, raising his as well, “And perhaps to a long and prosperous relationship between us two - I will certainly require a friend in the Generalship to keep the new half of these lands humming along.”

They both drank, before turning their attention to the food before them for a moment. It was a fresh catch from that morning, elegantly cooked by the Viceroy’s long-time chef, a local who was by all means an expert in his cuisine.

“Say,” Agnolo looked up after the two had eaten in silence for a few minutes, “I should state clearly to you my intentions for this province. You may have moral qualms, and in liking you and respecting you, I wish to give you some advanced notice before you make decisions about your future that leave you...restless. Now understand, this province will never find prosperity in attracting great artisans, or thinkers, or merchants. We are a stopover, as far as this city is concerned. But the land beyond the walls is richly endowed for agriculture. It is thus my fullest intention to leverage this, and in doing so I will require considerable quantities of labor. Cheap labor. Slave, labor. My new powers permit me to ignore existing laws regarding slavery, as the Council has interpreted them as pertaining only to the mainland and the Central Isles. Would this bother you? It would fall on your shoulders to put down any slave rebellion. Or preferably, to deter it on a regular basis.”

A half smile crept across Jacobo’s face, “Viceroy, I would not have a single qualm in the world. Provided the opportunity at some point in the future even, I think an estate of my own would be most…”

“Most assured.” Agnolo said firmly.

Jacobo’s smirk widened briefly - he understood the Vicreoy’s intentions, and as it would set him (and his family no doubt) up for life, he welcomed it entirely.

“If that is the case, perhaps I should begin selling you the slaves General Poras sends back. The Banco will slap a premium on them anyways, and likely sell you stock of reduced quality from abroad. But you and I - well, if an agreement can be reached, we can skip the middleman’s cut entirely and you will get slaves already well-adapted to the crops grown here.”

“A topic most worthy of further exploration.” Agnolo agreed, “Most worthy indeed. Permit me a short period to...cast a cursory glance into the markets. I would like a general feeling before I proceed with any agreement in full. Of course, I must also receive the Council’s representative first. But I’m sure he would look the other way if I began some acquisitions...prematurely. Perhaps we shall take dinner again next week?”

“Of course, Viceroy. I am at your beck-and-call insofar as dining company is concerned. After all,” he cast a quick glance out the windows to his right, “You can practically see my office from here.”

“That’s the spirit. Now what do you think of this wine?” the attention quickly turning to the meal, “A bit virgin, perhaps, but I find the acidity just melds so perfectly with the fish.”

The Graveyard - VI
Expansion

Nogliano, Nogliano

The Viceroy sat with two other figures around his dining table: a representative of the Council to his right, Domingo Aguayo; and one of the Banco to his left, Manuel Manrriquel. Both had arrived two days prior aboard an Admiralty vessel, and opted to take a brief rest, agreeing to dinner only tonight. They also brought with them a self-evident rebuke of what was, presently, considered fashionable in the high-society of Nogliano. Apparently a little ruffle in your silk robes was now considered in vogue, and wearing it straight with an expensive brooch piece adjoining the two halves was not. At least, so it seemed to the casual observer that he was himself - high society was anyways rather insulated on the island, and most days it was the Viceroy who was the trendsetter. Visitors of such high regard as these were rare indeed (not only because they were few in number anyways).

In any case Agnolo felt outclassed, but then again how could he not? Individually both other men were more powerful than he, and ultimately they each answered to the same master, and so would work in tandem, though from different directions, should they need to milk any concessions from his requests. As a long-standing Viceroy he had some power to dictate terms, but far less than they. He supposed he ultimately also served the same master as they, but much more removed in many senses.

Pleasantries dispatched, and charcuterie and wine heartily dug into, the conversation at last turned to the business at hand.

“Have you any...recent reports from the situation in the east?” Domingo inquired, his bushy black eyebrow raised but his tone flat and official.

“They come in here and there,” Agnolo set his glass down, “The most comprehensive was received some two months previous. A junior commander returned some prisoners, and full correspondence from General Poras, who heads the operation. Myself, and my local attaché from the Generalship, judged progress to be swift and effective from these reports. General Poras maintains my full confidence, for what it’s worth.”

“What of those...prisoners?” the Council representative pressed.

“They are currently in the rural fringes of the province, being used as labor until we can properly return them to their former villages. They had been uprooted by an enterprising local general, you see, and were being marched back to the interior when General Poras came across them. They are not exactly friendly to us, but it is better they be used for our gain rather than the enemies, at least until they can have their homes back without fear of being removed again. I’m sure, like the natives of Nogliano as it stands now, they will come - in time - to be productive citizens of the rural Empire.”

It was all partly true, of course, in its own interpretation, and so Agnolo could pass it off without sounding deceitful. Not that there would be much inquiry anyhow. Land was much higher on these men’s agenda than the uncivilized inhabitants.

“My ears picked up mention of some rather brutal atrocities out east while I was at the local Banco branch today. Can you speak to that any further?” This time Manuel.

“Ah, yes. The intervention we dispatched was certainly appropriate. As you know, the Okimosi had a tenuous grasp over the land at best. With their collapse, the remaining groups - Polarii, Revelationist, native Merchedi - went at eachothers throats. The former remain cold to our approaches but civilized, the latter pair torch the earth and commit massacres en masse. The most problematic this far south is certainly the Merchedi, however. As of, I would reckon, at least a month ago, General Poras was pursuing a considerable warparty - led by this local general I mentioned previously - with full intent to remove them as a threat.”

“Do you expect a considerable uprooting of the local populace?”

“Oh certainly.” Agnolo agreed with a full nod, “Yes, there will certainly be plenty of land which was once used that is no longer. Numerous Polarii townships were entirely wiped off the map, and thousands of native Merchedi settlements disturbed. A number of larger settlements will likely remain, mind you, but we will have quite the...tabula rasa, per se, in the hinterlands.

“Well I have yet to pass my judgement,” the conversation swept back to Domingo, “But you have faithfully served nearly two terms as Viceroy here, seemingly to considerable success. The Council expresses general pleasure in reappointing you come the termination of your current term. Would you accept?”

“Most heartily.”

“Very good. I shall host a ball at the Banco later this week, provided I am welcome to…”

“Certainly.” Manuel assured.

“Provided that goes swimmingly - that is, the locals whose support you require give their approval - I foresee no issues in reappointing you here. Further, as that appointment is forthcoming, I see fit to divulge that these new lands will indeed be appointed for you to rule on behalf of the Crown. It seems you have a competent understanding of the current situation within them, and I sense they will need a strong hand with a stable base,” he gestured to the city beyond, “To properly develop them into something useful to the Empire.”

“I appreciate your kind words.” Agnolo bowed his head, “And of course express my utmost loyalty to the Council. There was further mention of relabelling me as...beyond the mainland. Was this also expressed to you? I don’t want to misinterpret my position, is all.”

“Yes, yes.” Domingo waived it away, “That is all in the paperwork. We can speak to that post-ball.”

“Of course.” Agnolo said respectfully, “And barring any unfortunate catastrophe there,” he continued with a chuckle, turning his attention to Manuel, “I should heartily hope that cooperation with the Banco is further in the books? I imagine I should need some resources to aid in building up those new lands, and I’m sure the Banco could find many most profitable endeavors in such an effort.”

“The Banco always welcomes mutually beneficial partnerships with Viceroys.” Manuel gave a knowing smile, “And we do believe you will have many, many such endeavors to offer.”

“I would drink to that.” Agnolo said with a raised glass.

And drink to it they did.

The Graveyard - VII
Expansion

Near Lesser Nogliano, Greater Nogliano

General Poras watched the battle from a hilltop, his horse shifting anxiously beneath him - not out of fear, the General reckoned, but boredom. Excitement abounded below, and he had been stationary on this hilltop for some time now.

His force, 15,000 strong, had met a decent match. The party they had previously pursued seemed to have been about 500 strong. The force that met him here was well over 10,000, though perhaps smaller than his own. Of course that was only a decent match on paper - how they would fare in battle was a different matter entirely.

They were quick - mighty quick on their feet, the majority of them appearing to be irregulars. Good at fighting, but only in smaller numbers, and with poorer equipment. Certainly poorer equipment compared to Alonso’s men. Though Auvreignnaise were better disciplined, and certainly better with the sword, Alonso’s men were far better financed by the Voltanese state. It provided a heavy body of armor, and well-crafted weapons, along with rations fit to make any man stocky and strong. Perhaps the Biscayyans were better soldiers, but surely they could not have had the financing strength of the Voltanese Generalship.

Relative to the Merchedi, the Voltanese were better trained too, not only in individual combat, but even more so in group combat, in which they now moved mechanically to engage. Leadership was the only real wildcard here - Alonso had formal training, but the other leader seemed to have considerable charisma. Certainly so if she had more a than twenty-fold increase in her forces over the span of but a pair of months. It meant she had many friends or supporters in this region - but frankly Alonso was happy they had all gathered here today, in one force. It made it that much easier to slaughter them at once, which was his highest intention.

It seemed to be going his way too.

His right flank was flagging, but not so much that a quick charge of his cavalry could not keep in check every half-an-hour or so - after all, it was mostly occupied in fending off small attacks on the far flanks by fast-moving but small groups of natives, a valuable task but one which did not require the total attention of his cavalry. Good, he realized, that few of them had horses. It would’ve made the strategic situation much more...not more difficult, necessarily, but it would have required a considerably larger degree of contingency planning and defensiveness on his behalf. The left flank was not doing strongly either, but it was holding firm. It didn’t need to do any more as he pushed his crack infantry - veterans of the Kyustsaryan conflicts and the most experienced of his infantry - straight into the middle, and ground the opposition down woman-by-woman.

As the afternoon wore on, a trickle of defections began to leave his opponents lines. A slow hour - mostly of repositioning by both sides - followed, and then a considerable point of contact in the center. It lasted only briefly however, before the enemies trickle turned to a river, then a wave, then a general rout.

Discipline would always win the day, he reflected, especially over disorganized idealism. Committing the entirety of his cavalry reserves to cutting down those who fled, he gave orders for his infantry to advance at full effort on all fronts.

The more he could kill, the better.

The Graveyard - VIII
Expansion

Near Lesser Nogliano, Greater Nogliano

Dunran was a perfectly respectable coastal town, replete with a (fairly) deep-water port and a long history of trade connections throughout the region. Long enough that, in spite of its native name, it was hardly native in composition. Sure it’s core was native Merchedi, but by-and-large they had interbred with merchants and travellers from all over. Voltanese and Viftaelian, Biscayyan and Polarii. Even old Iatinan, or savage Urbinan, with a sprinkle of (discontented, as always) Revelationists. It was a melting pot which belonged, at a whim, to the power of the region, and demanded nothing other than a free hand at trade and general stability.

The time was fast approaching, then, that it bow to the inevitable tide of the Voltanese. Approaching at marching pace, indeed, as General Poras made for the closest notable port he could find. A messenger had already sought to rent out a local vessel and notify the authorities back in Nogliano of his intentions (and needs, after such a large battle), and he hoped they had already arrived.

The dozen crisp vessels sitting in formation off the coast told his hopes had been heard, and he whispered a small thanks to Astvats. The Voltanese flag already fluttered above the local mayor's residence, and though the bulk of his army set camp outside the walls of the city, Poras and his staff entered without opposition, riding their mounts directly to the harbor, where they were met by the city’s leadership and an official who served under the Viceroy.

The local leaders bowed graciously, offering wine and food, and while Poras’ staff took advantage of this the man himself went directly to the official.

“General Poras.” he gave a respectful, though not all that low, bow, “My congratulations on your victory against the forces of savagery. The Viceroy’s as well, you have his eternal gratitude and praise for your actions. I trust you have a report for him that outlines the specifics?”

“Of course.” Alonso handed across a small package, weighed down by the parchment it contained, “1,300 wounded or dead on our behalf. We counted three-thousand bodies on theirs. I would put the figure closer to four, when you consider those wounded or carried off the field.”

“They do treat their dead just as well as the living.” the official nodded in agreement, “Nonetheless, a significant reduction in their ability to offer a fight. May they never assemble in such numbers again.”

“I trust they shall not. Though rumors are mixed as to whether their leader - a woman by the name of Rhona - was among the deceased. I believe we will never know, truly, but that we will encounter at least one imitator in the future.”

“Should we, they will not represent a challenge in the short term. In any case, I welcome you back to the territory of the Empire. I arrived just yesterday, and swore in the local mayor. You stand, again, in the Viceroyalty of Nogliano. Of course, that was officially mandated a month ago, but...I consider it to come into force as of today. As of you stepping into this city a victor.”

“I should congratulate the Viceroy then.” Poras said rather genuinely, “And indeed I shall do so on my way to the Generalship building in Nogliano. Could I trouble you, perhaps, for a ride back to the city?”

Oops! All South II
Expansion Post 2

After only a month or so, the sailors had set up a small fort which would serve as their base of operations. Subsequent ships — mainly from Celmuhb, though some were from the other League states — brought the other important people which the settlement would need to survive. Among them were artisans and their families, people fluent in Polarean, and even someone who knew rudimentary Szwonian. All hands were on deck for this colony and the League was not going to falter in its quest for it. The settlement had no name for it was not yet a true settlement; it was still a nothing in the scope of the Island of Many States[1].

It wasn't Fredrick that led the colony, oh no. It was some other man whose name Fredrick had trouble remembering. It wasn't his fault, really; something happened in his youth, blah blah blah, tripped and conked his head something fierce on something, blah blah, et cetera. He may not have remembered faces, much less names, well, but he still got the job done, so who was to complain? There was just one issue though. One big, glaring issue staring him right in the face.

This wasn't the coastline he meant to land on.

He checked the map, then the coast, then the map again and the coast again.

"Och, feck."

And then a few men came along the shore. They were tan-skinned and had what looked to be feather hats and other aboriginal garb. They were chanting some sort of eldritch, demonic language towards Fredrick's ship.

"What on Rhine's green Earth?" murmured a man behind Fredrick. He was probably a Biscayyan, though Fredrick couldn't remember for the life of him.

"A e aloa nishwequanniwaqueseh-kenuu!" was what it sounded like. Though, he was certain he would record it somewhat differently. It was all an aboriginal language to him. That long, uninterrupted name though... Nishwequanniwaqueseh? What kind of name was that? He remembered Nosnacras, sure, but not whatever this disgusting name was. He'd have to investigate.

"Oy-yuh!" he yelled as he waved toward them. "Do you speak Uinnlantish? Polarean? Voltanese? BIscayyan? Aboriginalese?"

"A e aloa nishwequanniwaqueseh-kenuu!" they continued.

"Wensesprek?! Uinnlantag?! Voltaneso?! Ouruumpolaregengo?! Nabano?!" he yelled back. He had to name off those languages in their original names: Wence; Uinnlantish; Voltanese; Polarean; and Biscayyan. Admittedly, that last one was likely the Voltanese term he had heard, but it worked. The Biscayyan beside him gave him a death glare though, so perhaps that wasn't the right move.

"By His holiness if you mention those Rhineforsaken Narvanians—"

"—Iia, iia," Fredrick said while waving his hand downwards. "Cool it. You know I'm not meaning to be that way."

The Biscayyan exhaled with vigor before shaking his head.

The ship drew closer to shore. Fredrick's heart began to race as he watched those aboriginals come closer to shore, some of them armed, even. He paused, contemplating running from the railing and into the cabin. He would've, too, if it weren't for one of the aboriginals walking forward and speaking in broken Polarean, "You come Nishwequanniwaqueseh; what do?"

------
[1] - An epithet referring to Kyojin. Its origin stems from the multiple states that have fought over the island, whether for control of Shimmering-Southern routes; to keep trading posts along notable routes; or for clout.

Usta Absura
1/1

Summer's warm gust whipped around, the air tasted of salt, Asvaldus rode his horse slowly, taking the scenery in, it was definitely a beautiful place, he'd never been this far south of Biscayye, him and his men rode along the coastline, the map he was given showed that it would be the fastest way to his destination.

His job was a simple one, go down south and silence a revolt, a small state to the south of Absura, and north of Salvano. He couldn't remember much of the history surrounding it, but supposedly it was a minor state that was vassalized many moons ago, the Biscayyans called it Usta Absura or south Absura since they were directly south of the region.

They were much like Salvano, mainly making their money in mining and the like, they had grown bold with the death of Edouard and the outlawing of their religion, something that the crown had nothing to do with, the area had a high level of autonomy before so the local government is what and who made that decision, Anthönius took the call for help swiftly, the king himself personally handed the job to him.

Asvaldus wasn't the smartest man in the world but he could see what the king wanted here, to send him and his men to silence a forgien powers revolt, gain more power and hold the position, it would be better than just taking the states autonomous status, "Asvaldus? You've been having that same dumb look on your face, whats wrong?"

Asvaldus smiled to his left and waved to the man, as he made the gesture he chuckled, "dumb look you say? I was just thinking, you know how I like to approach everything with a beyond normal level of caution. I can't lie, I'm nervous too just a few months ago we were border guards, now I have a small warband and the king sent for me to personally do this quest, I was given the honor of having a Uhambise I'm worried though it's only a thousand of us, when men come together to fight for a cause they believe to be just they'll fight to every drop of blood drains from their bodies."

"That may be true but we'll cross that path when we get there, Asvaldus caution is a good trait to have as a leader, being too cautious however you get nothing done and your blade rust with inactivity!"

Asvaldus laughed pulling at the reigns of his horse making it speed up, "that's why I chose you as the second in command Perikes, your hearts burns with a undying fire," Asvaldus's body jerked a bit as the animal sped up, "the sun is beginning to set, we'll set up came a ways down!"

They went a bit further down the coastline coming away from it a bit, enough to be hidden away from any that would travel these paths and enough to not lose one's way in the brush, as the men sat around the few camp fires silence fell, Asvaldus had no relationship with any of these men, only a few of them were the ones who served with him to the north.

As they sat Asvaldus ate bread and smiled; who would have thought a farmer's son would be the leader of a Uhambise, he still didn't know why he was given the honor but he would try not to question it so much, this was what he always wanted and it was finally here.

Asvaldus smiled as he looked up to the sky, hopefully his little brother was finding luck out west - the king had given him orders alongside Asvaldus. 

Expansion Post V - The Scouring of Melisonde

Though the Serbadiyans had been hamstrung and the bulk of their forces had been scattered unto the four winds, remnants still remained, clinging with tooth and claw to their ill-gotten gains. Now, aside from small, splintered warbands, the only remaining seat of Serbad power had lain in the city of Melisonde itself. The majority of the Vyzant army dispatched to subdue to Serbads and the Peshemgari now marched back north, hoping to link up and relieve the forces holding down the fringes of the grand net around Vhorse held Solonicon. The march led the host past Melisonde itself, having already fallen to Commander Petros Lavasenēs’ wing of the army but the morning prior.

General Vestas Taloumenēs slowed his horse as the central column of the Vyzant IV Telemata, his face a story of rising horror and seeping hopes by what foul visions confronted his eyes and those aghast around him. Though the season was accustomed to the blossoms of new life from awakening plants in abundance, what lay splayed before them was a spring of horror and death. Bodies, broken and rent, hung sprawled from the battlements of the city, in their scores, their last anguished cries laid bare upon their faces. Not only men, but women and children could be spotted amongst the fallen, as a testament to the Serbadiyan criminality.

The Vyzant host ground to a horrified halt, not braced for this harvest of unfathomable death as prepared for them by their Serbad hosts. Curses and tortured cries rose up into the air, some spilt the contents of their stomachs as, and yet more in quivering rage, reached for their sword hilts. Taloumenēs reined in his horse to a halt, entirely at a loss as to what to do at this despicable act of depravity. His mouth hung slightly open, his eyes clinging to the nightmarish vision as a moth drawn to light, try as he might to tear himself away.

Mustering his courage in his heart, and thrusting that from his throat, General Vestas Taloumenēs turned his horse about to look into the vengeful eyes of his Sun-loving peers and soldiers alike. Hatred burned in his soul, too, but he had need of stifling it but a little longer. His eyes swept across his men, feeding off of their rage as his voice gained an oddly cool composure.

“Children of the Sun, my brothers and sisters alike. Look upon the horrors laid before you and know that even the heavens themselves baulk in agony at this transgression against all that is true and right in this world. Let the embers of these brave innocents find respite eternal in the loving embrace of our celestial deities, and their rebirth be swift and in good grace. Let us cut down their forms and give due pyre and rite as to see them sped on their way. Let the Sun and Moon above judge our diabolical foes when we send their broken husks reeling unto Ōsom’s depths, accursed and broken. Let not the crops of the Serbadiyan heartland grow tall and fair, as penance for their misdeeds. Let not their children grow tall, nor their livestock grow fat. Let not air flitter through the lungs of their people any longer. Let not stone be etched of their name, save only the terrible deeds of an erased people. Let not any, save the Eternal, remember even their existence, when we wipe clean the slate of the Serbads for their transgressions against the Chiroist faith! Solostravoliou¹! Solostravoliou upon the lands, they hailed from! Death to the Serbadiyan people!”

---
1 - Ⲋoλoςтρⲁvoλιoυ - Solostravoliou - Path of Sunrise - A crusade in all but name.

New horizons

Preparing to retire was no simple business, as Mehmed had discovered. To start with the long list of hurdles in his way: Medilan law did not allow for that. There were provisions. None whatsoever. Mehmed was the first sultan of the reunified empire, before him, there were only beys. Those were expected to rule until their death, either on the battlefield or in their own home. None of Mehmed’s predecessors even entertained the idea of giving up their power to someone else willingly.

He supposed it was ironic, in a sense. Medilan law was quite well established at this point, regulating everything from military makeup to taxation of trade and land. With all that, something as important as succession received comparatively little attention during the entire centralization process. There were other, more pertinent concerns at the time. Nevertheless, the moment seemed opportune to amend this oversight.

Mehmed would have to make a law and have the Imperial Diwan accept it which would not be a problem. Then, protocol would follow. Ceremony. The priests will have to be involved somehow… Changing a ruler was never truly free of risk, but Mehmed wanted to devise a mechanism that would minimize the likelihood of something going wrong. He had faith in Ibrahim, but he would rather spare his son the test of betrayal so many newly crowned rulers have to pass.

“Father, you wanted to see me,” Ibrahim walked into the office with a small bow.

These days, Bey-çekcä ruled the empire more than the sultan. Everyone expected Ibrahim to ascend to the highest throne of the realm soon enough. Mehmed was nowhere near the age of dying, he still hoped to enjoy life for another decade at least, but everyone already saw his son as the leader. It was very much intentional. Power had the strongest lure in the world and it was probably the most addictive substance ever known to man, but when one grew old and weary, it turned into a heavy chain around their neck that dragged them to the ground. Sure, one could easily manage the numerous and ever-mounting affairs of the state all the while watching out for any power plays around them when they were young and full of energy, but old age stripped away the eagerness and replaced it with irritation. Mehmed had no intention of turning into a hateful and bitter old man who would see treachery everywhere. He could see the signs. That point was fast approaching.

Ibrahim, on the other hand, had his youth. He had recently been married. He had reliable friends and the trust of the court as well as the Imperial Diwan. Mehmed knew his son would be fine. As an apology for dumping everything on Ibrahim's shoulders, Mehmed would devise a way for his son to hand the mantle of imperial authority over to his own son in time.

“Yes, have a seat,” Mehmed nodded at one of the chairs at his table. “I am growing increasingly weary of my duties as Sultan. So I want to step down and let you be crowned as soon as possible.”

“Father, that’s…”

Mehmed silenced his son with a raised hand.

“I have a condition though,” he spoke.

“What condition?” Ibrahim asked with some barely noticeable hesitation.

“A Sultan must have an appointed heir,” Mehmed said. “You will need to have a child with your wife before you ascend to the imperial throne.”

“I see, Çünimä is already pregnant, if it pleases you,” Ibrahim nodded. “What about Jähap and Joyuc?”

“What about them?” Mehmed asked in confusion. “Jähap is almost the bey of Yäcdücä, and Joyuc will remain in Yolshehir and not attract any attention.”

“I see…” Ibrahim replied. Mehmed could see his son thinking. “If that is all, I will tell the news to my wife. When will it happen?”

“A few months after the birth of your heir,” Mehmed spoke. “Better brief Güyü-cä. You are going to appoint him as the Janissary-General, aren’t you? He will need to be briefed by his father on the duties of that station.”

“I will, thank you, father, if that is all…”

“You’re free to go,” Mehmed nodded.

“Father,” Ibrahim bowed and left.

City Post: The Southern lands

Tokhae was named after the King who led the Hisari in their migration to the lands of Kashania, there was no doubt that Tokhae was considered a great King by his people as his successors renamed the city he founded after him.
Tokhae was not considered a very well organized city and was younger than Heglax but it was considered the jewel of the South and had a population comparable to Eisenfurt, something around 20,000 people today.

Some Kashanite peasants heard that life in the city was better and therefore decided to seek a better life there, as a result the city had almost doubled its population in the last decades to reach the current number of inhabitants, but as a result of the rapid growth there was not much urban planning and the city was considered a mess by local engineers and architects.

In the city market all sorts of things were sold, but the local specialty was ivory that was collected from certain animals, in the south animals such as mammoths and behemoths [1] had not been hunted as much as in the north and as a result the southerners gained a reputation for living in a wild land.

Manfred was the son of a Hisari nobleman named Gan, his father had commissioned him to take 5 mammoths to Tokhae with the intention of conducting trade, the young man was quite reckless however and was considering other plans however.

He had made an appointment to meet an old knight in a tavern in the city, and when he arrived he opened the conversation with the characteristics of a nobleman.

I suppose you don´t brought anyone with you, Sir Haakon knows that I don't like to receive uninvited guests.'' Manfred said.

"There is no need to worry Lord Manfred, I made sure no one followed me in the streets, so I think we can talk without any problems.´´ Said Haakon.

``I will take 1200 Heglaxian Silver Arians for the mammoths.'' said Manfred.

``For 1000 I will buy, my employer does not want to spend a lot of money on something that might be fruitless.'' Haakon said.

``I will accept this price as long as I know who your employer is, which of the big ones is it? Shishio or Andor.'' Said Manfred.

``None of the two Lord Manfred is just a respected little lord, I don't think you want to know about people who are not noble, right?'' Haakon said.

``You are right, I am not interested in meeting people who are not important in the future, but if your employer is a great warrior be sure to have him meet me in the future.'' Manfred said.

Don't worry Lord Manfred, I believe that one of these days you will meet him, no curiosity aside, do we have an agreement then?'' Haakon said.

``Yes.'' Manfred replied pompously and went to order some beer.

It was easier than he had planned Haakon thought, it would go badly for him if it got out that he was working for the Mountain Order, it looked like he would get his promotion however for providing 5 new mammoths for the rebel forces in the future. However to make sure it wasn't a trap on Manfred's part he would have to do one last check on the mammoths, the young noble could be appearing dumb to make the trap less exposed, Haakon had used this trick in the past.

[1]: Giant sloth

OOC:

121-122CE Update Complete.

Competition Post - Vyzantia - 2021

The ravenous gulls of Selenica called in a shrill cacophony as ever they did at high noon, swarming overhead like a whirring gyre of wing and beak. Nothing was particularly out of place - the Sun shone, the children laughed and wended their way amidst the benches on the seafront walkway as they played. Battered old cars in an eyesore of colours arduously inched their way along the beach view road, occasionally lazing a hand to rest their piping cigarette butts on the window ledge between their stop-start crawl, the little sun-shaped medallions dangling from their mirrors with each pothole they cursed their way over. Inquisitive tourists of all nationalities wended their way amidst locals all too used to their constant shutter snapping and self-indulgent selfies posed with the ancient cultural sights of their esteemed capital. Hawkers cried from market stands, promising the full spectrum in bargains of exotic goods, trinkets, refreshment and culinary delights, to name but an inkling. Shipping containers with international branding were hauled up and off of rusty container ships on rickety cranes as they had for as long as any could remember. Truly, amidst the baking hubbub of the tourist trap city, little was out of place.

That was the pity of it all, thought Lena Soparaiolessa, as she idly kicked her heels against the peeling green coat of 1950s era bench she found herself nestled upon as she tucked into her lunch. Today’s offering consisted of a rather fine (if she dared to say so herself) homemade pasta salad with a dusting of goat’s cheese and sun-kissed tomatoes. As her flimsy, plastic, fold-away fork pierced a teasing olive folded into the mix like a rare prize, she allowed her emerald eyes free rein to roam the little square she so often found herself in between meetings, without truly giving it the credence it deserved. Set back but a little from the railings and pavement of the sea break that delineated the beach, this secluded little spot looked to have seen better days. The paving here, though once looking to have had engraved carvings, was now faded with footfall and the weathering, salt-laden rain blown inland from the Bay. Besides which, there was so much chewing gum ground into the slabs that it would have been nigh on impossible to decipher the swirling shapes anyhow.

Her vigil was briefly intercepted by a pair of youths skateboarding unceremoniously through the square, guffawing to each other over some unheard joke as they went about their lives. She followed them with her gaze as they breezed past, allowing it to be intercepted by a striding man in a flash green suit marching hurriedly as he lilted on to his presumed business partner. His journey allowed her eyes to slide on once more, this time catching a little old lady perched daintily upon the edge of her bench on the other side of the square.

Through her thick, moon-rimmed glasses, she peered down at her trembling, gnarled hands, at some small paper clutched there. Lena squinted slightly, trying to get a better view of the item, without making it glaringly apparent that she was going so. The faded, age-worn markings, with a tightly-scrolled scrawling descriptor upon the reverse, gave the impression of an old photograph, perhaps. A fond memory? A memento? An old flame? Curiosity welled up within her, putting even the dietary treat of olives out of her mind for the time being, as she yearned for some sort of fantastical story to bring some modicum of excitement to her otherwise dull administrative day.

Packing away her lunch for the time being, she got up and smoothed herself down, before heading over to the grandmotherly figure. She did not stir or baulk at Lena’s approach, in part, she reasoned, due to ailing vision.

“The Sun shines,” She started, in formal greeting as befitted an elder. Absently touching her hair in anticipation of a reply, Lena smiled brightly down at the frizzy, greyed locks and gravity sunken creases of the woman’s face, as at last she glanced upwards, clutching the picture to heart instinctively.

“Good afternoon, dear. Can I help you?” Came a shrewish tone, piping up in startled appreciation. Beady eyes washed over her before Lena was able to formulate a response.

“I was just curious as to what you are holding there. Forgive my intrusion, I don’t mean to be rude, or be rude, or...” She quickly added, to backpedal out of a potentially awkward situation. Much to her relief, the elderly lady’s sagging jowls pulled up in a smile and a short, raspy little laugh of joy escaped her lips. It looked as though the simple probe had made her day the brighter.

“No, no, of course, sunflower! Come, sit. Sit. Make yourself comfy,” she started, patting the bench beside her as she repositioned her handbag. The scent of musty cat food and overly floral perfume wafted through the air, as Lena uneasily swept herself onto the bench beside the older woman. “Now, dear, look here. This,” She stated, her voice rising with pride, “This is my father, at the tender age of twenty-six. Can you see?” She finally unveiled the secret Lena had coveted answer to from across the way, revealing a stoicly handsome young man with side-slicked hair and a serious expression touched with but the spectre of mirth beneath the sombre mask such a photograph in such a time entailed. The thin wisp of a moustache bloomed above his lip, though it was yet to be fully formed, likely much to his chagrin. A strong jaw clenched in a tight smile above the high, lace-fringed collar of the uniforms seen in 1940s movies. Though, what drew Lena was the eyes. Though captured in a medium devoid of colour, she could feel the intensity of the stare, sense the fearful trepidation for what was surely to come after this cadet graduation photograph, almost taste the intense passion for life flaring from those pools.

“He was so young here,” The old lady began, wrenching Lena back from her daydreams of a bygone age. “This was shortly after the advent of the War. He’d just earned his commission and kissed my mother and I goodbye as he boarded the train for Aore to fight back the Duners. I was just a child, of course, but I can remember that day as if it were yesterday. The look in his eyes as he bade us farewell at the station, the tender firmness of his grip, the little tune he whistled as he clamoured aboard that steaming carriage. Of course, I now know it out of tremoring fear than the merry little singsong I took it for at the time.” A bitter-sweet smile flashed across her haggard features, as she looked tenderly at the visage of her father, frozen forever in time as she aged and withered. Her eyes glimmered with the sheen of sadness, as warm tears, certainly far from the first, slipped delicately down the crags in her cheeks. “That was the last I saw of him.” Came the haunted voice, long since resigned to acceptance, but still tinged with a remorse for that which was lost and that which never came to be. “I’m sorry dear, forgive me.” She stammered after a moment, trying to regain composure as she wiped her dampened eyes on her kerchief. Lena soothed her with a hand, trying to pull her into a stranger’s embrace for comfort.

At last, realisation seeped in, as to the reason the old lady had chosen to sit here, specifically. In the rear of the square, a plinth still stood, though covered in vines of decrepit ivy and stained with generations of seagull excrement. Though the statue that had once stood atop it had been torn down by the occupiers of the Republic’s lands, the screw holes, a rusted green, still remained. What she could make out of the plinth still bore the heart-wrenching inscription, ‘To the Valiant Fallen’. A message all too easily reviled and rejected by modern Vezants, if it was even dwelled upon in the self-obsessed and whimsical modern era, given their defeat in the War. It was something not to be spoken of, to be shunned, covered and forgotten, as a shameful, tarnishing blot upon their history. Lena’s heart welled up into her throat, feeling hot tears splashing down her face as a waterfall in sympathy with the grieving grandmother. She looked back to the war memorial, then to the old lady, reading the anguish upon her ageing features of a generation left behind as a photo frame shattered into pieces upon the floor. Her grip tightened, as she pulled the stranger into a tight and more kinly embrace.

Prismea and The venusians

The Xuyang Times
Competition Post

1/17/2021 Evening Post

NATIONAL CONGRESS BUILDING BOMBED – 3 KILLED

Cabinet officials in Xuyang report that yesterday at approximately 15:16, two bombs were set off at the National Congress Building. Three people died as a result of the incident — one of whom was a member of the congress with the other two having been staffers in the vicinity.

The National Democratic Party has publicly reported that incumbent opposition leader Luo Xuefeng was injured and is currently under medical care. Other political parties have remained silent on the incident, believed to be considering their options and waiting for official tallies of those injured before rushing to make any official statements.

Ongoing investigations have been working to give an official report on those affected by the incident, with further studies looking into where and how the bombs were placed within such deadly vicinity. The Heavenly Army, a prominent revolutionary faction in the region, has declared itself responsible. However, their level of involvement is not fully defined, with the Heavenly Army not having shown willingness to commit such a dramatic act.

The National Security Minister, Wu Chen, has faced heavy backlash from the public due to the incident. Inside sources have stated that Prime Minister Chen Ju has plans on firing the minister for failing to prevent such a devastating bombing. Additionally, they have noted the possibility of martial law being enacted temporarily to ensure safety within the Xuyang Metropolitan Area.

===

2/23/2021 Morning Print

MAN WALKS FROM XUYANG TO LAN’AN ON A WHIM

Liang Meng, 43, has ended his several-week long journey walking from the heart of Xuyang to the town of Lan’an. What makes the journey notable is his method of transport - his own two feet. The considerable distance between the two locations is estimated to have been roughly 300km.

In a statement to the press yesterday, Liang Meng stated, “I was just in the office one day, standard day y’know? Then suddenly I get the intense need to visit [my mother] in Lan’an. I haven’t been there in like three years, so it’s the strangest thought. So I walked out during my lunch break, without my phone, without my car, without even telling my wife! But yeah, I ended up walking for a few miles, then a few more, then some more. At some point, I found myself in the countryside and far from Xuyang.”

Liang Meng was initially reported as missing by his concerned wife, until a few days later when he was found by police walking along the side of the road. Reporters followed and took down statements of his throughout the journey, with his appearance in towns along the way inspiring celebrations of the locals.

“It always felt good to be wanted whenever I came walking in. But now I’m getting a proper train back, the journey here was hard enough for a lifetime!”

===

2/31/2021 Morning Wire

PRIME MINISTER CHEN JU DECLARES OFFICIAL RESIGNATION

XUYANG (WN) –– Prime Minister Chen Ju has resigned following the recent uncovering of a billion-dollar corruption scandal. The scandal, which involved the regional telecommunications giant SuDu and much of the former prime minister’s cabinet, has left the current government to collapse. The involvement of most parties affiliated with the National Union Coalition that has ruled the country for nearly a decade has caused the coalition to disintegrate rapidly. Pressure from the public has left a number of politicians to resign in disgrace, many of whom were highly influential within the congress.

Prime Minister Chen Ju is the latest to join the ranks of these resigned men, having been closely implicated with much of the scheme. Federal investigators are continually uncovering more about it and those involved. National courts and prosecutors are preparing to receive a flood of criminal cases, with the opposing Liberal Party leading the push to prosecute those involved.

He issued his official resignation before the press during a press conference at 7:00 this morning. The National Congress has yet to elect an Acting Prime Minister into office, meaning the country is currently without a prime minister. The current cabinet of ministers has been thrown into disarray by Chen Ju’s sudden resignation, with inside sources saying that nobody expected him to resign so quickly.

The former prime minister has been taken into the custody of authorities. Additionally, several members of the congress and the CEO of SuDu have also been recently detained. Their charges have yet to be fully released.

===

4/9/2021 Evening Post

TRIAL OF TIAN ZHELAN OFFICIALLY BEGINS

National courts have begun to officially try those involved in the Xideng corruption scandal, beginning with Tian Zhelan – CEO of SuDu Telecom. Federal lawsuits have already been filed against the corporation, with related settlements and fines currently totaling roughly 300 billion Ying[1]. However, federal prosecutors have also leveled criminal charges against Tian Zhelan and a number of other ringleaders of the scandal.

They have charged the disgraced CEO with seven counts of bribing a public official, three counts of fraud, and one count of conspiracy amongst other official charges raised against him. Other specific details of the case are still classified, though official evidence is likely to appear during official trial proceedings.

Investigations of former prime minister Chen Ju and his associates are continuing, with investigators now focused on procuring evidence. The new Progressive Congress Alliance has continued to push for trials to speed up, with current coalition efforts focused on building a temporary majority from the fractured elements of the National Union Coalition.

The attorney general Wu Mei, a member of the former administration under Chen Ju, has received heavy criticism for her supposedly weak prosecution of those involved in the Xideng scandal. Many have pushed for her position on the official prosecution board for the case to be removed and for her to be fully replaced. In press conferences, she continues to state that those involved in the scandal will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.

Protestors and demonstrators have gathered outside the main national court in Xuyang, with reports of increased police presence due to the crowds. Many are pushing for harsher charges and stern punishment against those responsible. The results of the trial are still yet to be seen.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

[1] Ying - Currency of modern Mengguo, roughly 1,000 Ying is equivalent to a dollar for a general comparison.

Prismea and The venusians

expansion 1

Heading southbound the imperial army galloped and marched as the vegetation dispersed slowly engulfed by cacti and seas of sand.

Leading this expedition was Jiaxi naturally eager to continue his streaks of victory and hopefully reverse the fogs of misfortune his country and dynasty currently suffer.

Wiping a bead of cold salted sweat from his brow Jiaxi with a light nod indicated the target of today’s campaign.

The southern badlands had like many other former provinces broke free of imperial control; this ends today!

An overwhelming detachment of the finest troops from Xanxi swelled with conscripts from the retaken river provinces.

“On my order we storm the rebel civilians, draft those which you can into servitude and.. pacify the rest!”

Jiaxi spoke with newfound bravado and courage as his demeanor swelled with confidence.

At once the horses made their way into the encampments dispersing and wrangling civilians with brutal proficiency.

Sector by sector the area was cleared and sweeped for any sign of armed hostiles.

After a few rounds of ‘persuasion’ a captured vendor led the way to the compound housing the rebel soldiers.

Time was of the essence we had to act now.

Jiaxi immediately signaled his men forward as the battle ensued surprise on our side.

Imperial issued pikes and swords clashed as the rebel soldiers struggled to defend themselves.

It was no use ultimately they were outnumbered and would only prolong the inevitable.

Startenly Prince Jiaxi addressed the traitors with a booming and commanding demeanour “By the order of your crown prince I command if you have even the faintest shred of respect left for the imperial family I implore you rethink your next few moments very carefully.

Drop your weapons and I give my word imperial protection and splendor shall grace your lot, however if you were to reject my kindness your little band will find itself without a cause or heads for that matter.
I await your decisions.” Jiaxi concluded with a fierce expression that meant business following some brief dead air suddenly all the rebels dropped their weapons to the floor and began to bow at the prince's feet for mercy and forgiveness.

This was the way of Jiaxi, a unique young man merciful on one hand brutally efficient with the other he was destined for far more than to be a group of bureaucrats figurehead it would be a matter of time to make policy of such destiny.

With the start of the badlands pacified a small band would stay behind to ensure the former rebels loyalty whilst the lot headed by Jiaxi turned towards Xanxi, the council would be pleased to hear of more bested rebellions; deep down however Jiaxi could sense that the more power he brought before the council the less likely they would be to part with any of it.

With such regard Jiaxi longed for his coronation as he tried to shelter away his doubts. For now the journey home continued and he could even see the smallest of smirks as a microexpression on one of his most veteran soldier’s face. It is good to be back.

Prismea and The venusians

Low Meetings in High Places
Competition

Solnezov

“You have business here?” A gravely request from an equally rough looking man, a hulking figure whose bulk occupied a vast swathe of the central corridor. His words dripped with a thick Wence accent; one, in particular, that belonged to the lower reaches of Solnezovi society. His clothes spoke otherwise; tempered Mokrani leather - rare - stained black and kept in near-perfect condition, hardly a scuff to be seen in the dim.

“I do.”

The man merely looked down on him, unmoving and unanswering, challenging for more information.

The stalemate persisted for several seconds.

“State it, then.”

“That hardly seems to be in the nature of this place.”

“That’s a nice suit.”

“I’m going to be very frank here: I have business, and I will enter one way or another.”

The Wence doorman smirked, looking as though he would relish the challenge. He swelled his chest, leaning forward slightly in a not-so-subtle attempt at intimidation, his hand disappearing into the folds of his jacket. “Anyone with true business here knows how to state it. Now f*ck off.”

The small figure opposite him made no such move.

The Wenceman’s arm drew back, a polished blade glinting in the gloom.

“A bold move to so blatantly threaten a government official. Strike me and you’ll be sentenced to life tomorrow - regardless of questions as to my being here.”

“Is that so?”

“You can ask the SAF[1] directly if you’d prefer. Though I imagine your employer would be none too impressed by their presence.”

“Heiko.” A firm call came from a slit just opened in the door.

The Wenceman stepped back, pocketing his blade and casting a curious look to his side, though keeping eye contact with the smaller man.

The door opened and a face leaned out, indiscernible in the shadows.

“Is your business with a man from the south? One belching great clouds of smoke?”

“With a fresh tan and a most disagreeable demeanor, I am sure.”

The figure pushed the door open, using it to nudge Heiko aside and invite the man in.

“I apologize for our doorman. I can ascribe it only to great zeal in doing his duty. Please, follow me.”

He entered, passing through the first door and then a second. The illumination beyond was equally as dim, colored lights swirling from the ceiling, their beams illuminated by thick clouds of smoke. The smell of tobacco struck like a bullet, choking in its intensity, but he continued to follow, deeper and deeper into the reclusive den.

To either side circular couches were sunk into the ground, and within folks of all manner engaged in the widest variety of activity imaginable. Gambling, smoking, drinking, and socializing. The harsh glare of laptop screens, the muffled voice of intense phone calls, the silence of someone too high to give response to any stimuli. Dancing, humping, and one, even, simply rolling about. Above it all smoke - and music, Thurengian rock-and-roll, a steady bass chopping through the haze of it all, a constant thrumming serving in place of a ticking clock.

The lounge-like setting gave way to proper tables, where the conversation - and in many respects the mood - lightened. The odor of tobacco and other smoked substances gave way - only just - to that of fresh food. Sizzling fish, bubbling stews, fondues, and sauces. Waitresses busily passing, decanter in one hand, plate in another, a false smile permanently etched into their countenance. Through the fog a black wall approached, a collage of bright color slowly bleeding through, and finally the dull outlines of the cityscape beyond. He reached a staircase, which descended into a long, thin, well-lit area, composed on the outside of window-view tables and the other of bars and kitchen windows, frenetic with staff fulfilling orders.

“The last table, Senor.” the guide gave a bow, urging the man forward.

He passed a dozen tables, then another - he had known this place to be large, but certainly not this large - and a final dozen again before the end came into view, dark against a far wall and in many respects the most secluded table he had seen yet.

The only figure there sat with his back to the wall, his form overflowing from his seat. He was stupendously large, but in the complete opposite manner to the Wence doorman. His face was freshly shaven, however, and his hair combed back slick. Presentable, nonetheless. The bright flash of a torch suddenly illuminated his face further - small eyes, at least juxtaposed to his massive aquiline nose, a red tie loosely dangling from his neck, the point of which was hard to see for it still seemed his collar was choking him in its attempt to stay buttoned. A trim dress shirt, a deep black jacket. Nice - certainly custom.

“Xavier!” the man gave a firm nod, bringing the cigar he had just lit to his mouth. His cheeks compressed briefly, before a cloud of white smoke drifted from his lips, billowing up into the raised ceiling. “I’m glad you could meet me tonight, and so early too. I had been under the impression you would come nearer to morn.”

“I told you not to speak my name.” Xavier said as he swung his jacket off, dressing the back of his chair with it. “This is hardly a respectable place for me to be.”

“Pfah,” the man waved the concern away, “The scion of the Melero dynasty, ashamed of being in a den such as this?!” he gestured to the windows. Solnezov - the megalopolis some 50m called home - glimmering as a backdrop. They were high - half-a-kilometer - and the message was clear; anywhere the powerful were not supposed to be would not afford such a view.

Xavier bit his tongue, taking his seat and folding his hands. “Neizen Fonz. Shall I cry that name aloud?”

Neizen kept a flat expression, but Xavier could still tell he balked at that suggestion. The Fonz’s were not a particularly popular family. Indeed, half the members of the current two generations had been either murdered or imprisoned, and another quarter had outright disappeared. Nonetheless they persisted, and Neizen was a plain example of this.

“I thought not. I could have sworn I’d seen a Pinky[2] here…”

“I would’ve killed them where they stood.” Neizen said with total certainly, before his eyes fell behind Xavier and he gave a nod.

Xavier turned, and was greeted by a dewy-faced waitress, an amiable smile glowing back at him.

“Anything for you, Senor?”

“Espumoso my dear. Patichulo, 567 vintage. On my tab.” Neizen said, with a wink to Xavier, “I can hardly invite you here and leave you thirsty.”

“Hardly.” came agreement, as the waitress silently bowed her head to the order and turned to leave them.

“I have some food coming too. I trust you’re not allergic to shellfish?”

“No.”

“Then you may well enjoy indulging.”

“You certainly look as though you will.”

Neizen brushed the comment off, returning briefly to his cigar, before swirling his glass of unknown liquid and shooting back the remains.

“Ah, would hardly be courteous of me…” Neizen put his stogy in the ashtray before fumbling in a bag on the seat next to him, eventually producing an identical one. “I suppose you should wish to try one.”

Xavier took it and the torch, heating the end before putting it to his mouth and taking several puffs to light it. The smoke left a complex impression in his mouth, and he exhaled slowly, analyzing its every facet.

“Genuine, 100% pure, completely f*cking illegal Subinski cigar.” Neizen said with a criminal smile to match, “And I have $75mn more of that sh*t ready to go.”

“And the other things we discussed?”

“Oh all of it, I assure.” He dug in his bag again, producing a small plastic bag of colorful powder.

Xavier took a whiff, the immense smell slapping him into an untold state of alertness.

“Yeah, pure sh*t.” Neizen gave a knowing nod, “Between the Comradeists hoarding it and your government banning its import, I’d reckon its worth its weight in gold and then some.”

“And your supply is regular?”

“Mhm.” the large man gave a rather muted reply, and the next second the waitress returned to view, depositing a pair of flute glasses and a large ice-bucket on the table. Pouring each man a glass, she deposited the bottle in the bucket, gave a bow, a smile to Xavier, then stepped away, disappearing once more.

“Take a puff and then try that sh*t. It’s living, that is.”

Xavier complied, filling his mouth with smoke, exhaling, then taking a measured sip of the sparkling wine before him. Swishing his tongue around, the titillating sensation of fine bubbles filled every cavity in his mouth. He swallowed, then took another sip for good measure. He had fine espumoso at his chateau, of course, but that did not dull this in the slightest. The best was, eternally, the best.

“Very agreeable.”

“Agreeable?” Neizen chuckled and shook his head, “You’re one rich bastard, you know that? That waitress has never f*cked a man worth half as much as that bottle, and she’s finer than most any I’ve ever met.”

“Such a statement doesn’t rule you out.” Xavier shot back.

“Hah.” he shook his head, taking another sip before putting his glass down, “So, I deliver. And I will continue to deliver on a regular schedule. And if you fulfill your end of the bargain faithfully, I will deliver regularly to your account, as well.”

“Bearer bonds.”

“I was thinking those massive checks actually, you know?” Neizen leaned back in his chair, the back groaning under the strain, “Like the kind you win on a game show. Big, bold, black ink, and in the comment section I’d put ‘Criminal Proceeds’... Yes bearer bonds you insufferable f*ck.”

Though the sarcasm was amusing in a sense, Xavier could not chuckle, leaning back in his chair instead and taking a drag.

“So, are you going to deliver, or is my ship going rust away in some unknown Iatinan port?”

Xavier sighed, before reaching his hand inside his pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper. “One ministry-granted import licence. No questions asked, imports of national security.”

Neizen unfolded the paper, his face growing red and his tone louder, “Three times? Three times? You give me three shipments? We agreed five.”

“We said five before, I’m saying three now. If you deliver, I will renew. If you don’t, I’ll f*ck you in the courts. That’s a no-questions-asked piece of paperwork; even if you did only use it three times and then we never did business again, you’d still double your wealth.”

Neizen let out a huff, before folding up the paper again and shoving it in his own jacket pocket. He raised his glass, “To a deal. Not a good one, but not a bad one.”

Xavier obliged.

Glasses clinked, and sparkling wine flowed.

A trio of figures suddenly appeared at the side of the table. Black suits, stone-cold expressions betraying little.

“Sr Melero, Xavier Melero?” the lead man asked.

“No.”

“Xavier Melero. Born 543CE, Reithal. Representative of Reithali 7th district, and Deputy Minister of the Ex-Im Authority. I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.”

Xavier cast a glance to Neizen, who merely looked blankly back at him.

“I’m- I’m- I’m sorry, who are you?” Xavier stuttered, turning his attention back to the men.

“We’re with the SAF.”

“Ah, good.” he nodded ot Neizen, “It's him you’ll want then. He’s a Fonz.”

“The SAF doesn’t deign to the level of arresting mid-level criminals, Sr. Melero. Please, come with us.” he placed a hand on Xavier’s shoulder.

Xavier nudged his shoulder, “Even if you are SAF, I’m a Representative. I’m going to count to five, at which point your hand had best not be staining my shirt.”

“I’m going to count to three, at which point I’m going to detain you by force.” the lead man replied, his tone as even as it had been the entire time.

One of the other men lifted his own jacket slightly, revealing the outline of a handgun. Xavier’s heart raced faster; that something difficult to acquire no matter your person. Whether these men were SAF or not, they hadn’t come to f*ck about.

The hand found its way back to Xavier’s shoulder, squeezing tight and evoking a wince.

“We can walk out of here a group of unassuming individuals, or I can drag you out.” the lead man added, “I’m sure someone here would recognize you were the latter to be the case.”

This resonated with Xavier - the last thing he wanted was to be seen here. Seen and recognized. Finally, he relented. His heart sinking, he cast one final, malicious glance to Neizen - the man had surely set him up - and donned his coat.

------------------------------------

[1]: SAF - Special Action Force, an elite police unit serving at the beck-and-call of the central government.
[2]: Pinky - a semi-derogatory term for a Szwonian gang member, a particularly dangerous group in and around Colosart.

Prismea and The venusians

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